Ruin

Four

The bed is cold. I wake up but find I can easily go back to sleep to avoid the reality that I'm in someone else's bed. Sounds from the kitchen tell me he's probably making breakfast for us even though I'm really nothing more than a complete stranger to him. But he's got to eat, and so he's probably going to make me breakfast too. I stretch out, sliding my bare feet into the cold unused corners of the bed and pushing the blanket away from me to let the early morning air into my warm sanctuary.

I reach over to the table for my glasses. The lamp still sits there with its shortened wick bravely burning away. Not much is left but a small halo of flame. I sit up and blow it out, not quite sure what else you're supposed to do with it. A tail of smoke curls up from the wick and pokes at my nose.

My clothes are crumpled. It's a little too dark for me to go digging around in my duffle bag. Plus I don't want to be rude. I don't know what Brandon's schedule is like yet. What if he needs to get in here and I'm in the way? So I just pat my clothes to smooth them out the best I can, and then step over to the door.

I open the door carefully and peek out. It's still somewhat dark in the main room. There are three windows, but only one is facing towards the sun. The two other windows at the front of the apartment will be covered in the building's shadow until noon most likely.

Brandon peeks out from the kitchen with a small smile. "Did you sleep okay?"

I nod, still not knowing exactly what to say to him.

"Well, breakfast is almost done. You should probably get cleaned up or whatever you need to do." He motions towards the small bathroom beside the kitchen before he steps back to the stove.

The door is already partially open. It gives a short squeak as I push it open further and pause. The apartment is barely lit so the bathroom, lacking in any windows at all, is black. My throat pinches shut at the sight. I glance back to Brandon who has his back turned to me.

"Uhm," I clear my throat softly, prepping for the stupidity of my next statement. "It's dark."

Brandon puts batter down on the hot pan before he turns a bit to look at me out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, you're just going to have to make do. It's fine. There aren't any monsters in there, I promise."

My cheeks flush. I touch a cheek with the cool fingers of one hand and step back to the bathroom. The sink is right in front of the door, so I stand at it with a foot holding the bathroom door against the wall to let in what little bit of light there is. I wipe down my face with my wet fingers while trying to ignore the darkness sitting in the corner of my eye. Not having a towel to dry my face, I let it air dry and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Without light there isn't much to see, but still I'm surprised at the dark circles under my eyes. My face just doesn't look right. Paler in some places and darker in others, I almost don't recognize myself.

I turn away from the mirror and step back out with the spaces between my fingers still moist.

In the main room, Brandon's already put a small stack of pancakes down at the breakfast table. There are some freshly chopped fruits and some cheese on the two plates sitting at the table. It's not exactly like breakfast at home with Mom but it still makes my stomach twist at the simple familiarity of it. I pause, frozen in spot by a pain from not one specific memory but every memory all at once.

Brandon steps out from behind the kitchen counter with a concerned look. "Are you okay?"

He can probably read it all over my face. Still I try and cover it up with a nod as I give myself some time to shove things down. "Yeah."

For a moment, it looks as if he'll call me out on it, but he doesn't. Instead he goes back to the counter and pours us two small glasses of water from the water jug which he then brings over to the table.

We both sit down at the small table. He takes a couple of pancakes and some pieces of fruit. "I don't really know what you'd eat."

"It's fine. We used to eat pancakes all the time." When my answer seems to satisfy him, allowing him to dive into his own pancakes, I get a burst of bravery. "So, uh, what do you put on them?"

When he turns to me with his brows raised, his mouth full of pancake, my whole head turns red in embarrassment. "What?"

"At home, we have syrup with pancakes. And sometimes butter."

I'm not sure what he thinks. Brandon gives a laugh before slicing into his pancake again with a shake of his head. "Syrup? I dunno. Butter we can get, but I don't use it that often. Don't want it to go bad."

My head is still hot as I cut into my pancake with the side of my fork.

We don't say much else, and in a way I'm thankful for it. I don't really think I'm capable of holding a real conversation right now. Brandon eats his meal in quick bites just like any regular guy. When he's finished, he stands up and picks up his plate and the empty pancake plate. "I have to head out for training. I'm already almost late. Do you think you can get the dishes for me?"

His back is to me as he puts the plates in the sink. Across his broad back the fabric of his shirt is stretched thin, and I can see the darkness of the tattoo. It's not small like some of the others I saw yesterday, and though I can't see its detail, I guess that it's about the same size as the tattoo Grey Eyes had.

Brandon turns around and glances at me, waiting for an answer. I nod, "Sure."

He steps forward to the door and pauses with a hand on it. "Thanks. I'll be back for lunch, okay?" Then he's out the door, cold morning air swirling into the warm kitchen.

I take my time cleaning up. There's a rag on the sink next to the faucet. I don't see any soap, but the dishes are only covered in crumbs from the pancakes. Once I'm done with that, the apartment is lighter though still not ideal. I take another look at the bathroom with the intent of taking a shower, but it's still much too dark for me and so I take a seat on the couch. I'm only sitting there for a couple of minutes before I flop over on my side, my knees in my chest, my fingers pressed lightly to my lips as if to keep my mouth from my thumb.

This is wrong. This is all wrong. I feel like I should be crying, mourning the loss of my mother. I don't know where she is or what's happening to her. Is she somewhere out here too? I guess I could have asked Brandon, but I'm scared of the answer. Wherever she is, that's wrong too, and she's in trouble probably more than I am.

This isn't real yet. Everything still has the haze of a nightmare washed over it. I pull my knees closer. My right arm is starting to ache and I let it hoping that it will help me come to terms with reality. My eyes burn. I stare at the bathroom door, partially closed, the room still dark.

Today is a school day. I wonder what my friends must be thinking. From time to time it happened that someone would move away suddenly. We'd discuss it at breaks between classes, asking if anyone had heard anything. There was never a warning. But we just shrugged our shoulders. It had been happening for so long that we never thought about it.

Is that what my friends are saying now? Do they believe that I'd leave without telling them? Will they completely forget me?



The tasks I take on for the afternoon don't last long enough. Before I know it, I'm lying on top of the bed curled in a ball, my shoes kicked off nearby. The bedroom is chilly just from the bareness.

I shiver, but I don't pull the blanket up. The cold keeps me awake. I try to sit still without thinking, but the cold also brings back memories. At first I fight it in an attempt to keep my mind clear. The memories still come though, washing over me and making the hair on my arms stand up.

It was the old vinyl seats in a truck. I sat with my coat on, wrapped tight around me as I scooted closer to Rob. The vinyl of the seat was like ice through the fabric of my pants. I jumped and he laughed, reaching for me to pull me to his side. His stupid truck broke down in the morning when we were on our way to see one of the parks. It was supposed to be a surprise, but we didn't make it. Stranded at the side of the road, both of us absolutely freezing, Rob, my shy friend who never made a move on anyone the whole year I'd known him, finally made a move on me.

"I know how we can get some attention so we're not out here too long," he'd said with an arm draped over the back seat of the truck, a hand on my shoulder. "I don't think you're going to like it."

"Does it involve us using our jackets somehow?"

"No, that's not exactly what I was thinking." Rob looked to the roof of the cab with a smile on his lips.

I was completely baffled. "Are you thinking we should get out and walk? Because that I'll definitely object to."

He laughed and looked down at me. I expected him to make another joke or give another hint. Instead, he leaned down and kissed me. My heart beat so hard in my chest that I shook. The temperature in the cab suddenly rose and both of our faces turned red. His shoulders rose as if he were trying to hide his head between his shoulders, and as soon as I saw his mouth even starting to shape the beginning of his apology, I threw my arms around him and pulled him back down.

In the real world, I gasp. It starts out as one, then a second one as I fight for air to breathe. I shut my eyes, still gasping, shaking with tears, crying over a boy when I don't even know where my mother is. I still hold hope for her. I want to believe that she's out there somewhere and we can find her. But in Rob's case I know that's over. I'll never see him again. He'll sit in class and stare at the empty seat until the teacher calls someone from the back to take my spot. Then I'll just become like any other person in our life that's disappeared. I'll just be a memory in the back of his mind-- a what if and a wonder.

The shared moment of that memory is as clear and pure as if it had just happened the day before. But even that memory is tainted ever so slightly.

There was the knock on the window that broke us apart. We were both embarrassed, out of breath and red faced, burning up from the sudden rush of blood against our skin trapped by our coats. A man dressed in the formal uniform of the Security Force stood waiting, his jaw square and taut, and his shoulders round and broad. Rob rolled down the window and explained to him about the truck stopping, how we were from out of town and didn't know which way to walk.

The Security Force guy had on shades similar to the one worn by the special ops that would later steal me away from my mother. They hid his eyes and reflected our own faces back at us. He frowned at the two of us in a way that made me wonder if he'd ever been young and just discovering how much he really liked someone. He stepped away to call us a tow truck with a stern warning that he'd be back.

Rob watched him walk away before putting his arm around me again and whispering in my ear, "See? I told you it would get us noticed."



The weight from a large hand on my foot makes me jump. The room is dark again and I can't see who's touching me right away. I almost kick him until he speaks.

"Hey, it's me. Don't kick." Brandon's hand is still on my leg, holding it down now instead of just lightly touching it. "I made some dinner."

I nod before realizing that it's probably too dark for him to see me unless seeing in the dark is his power. "Crap. I fell asleep again."

Brandon chuckles. I sit up and he reaches out for me, the hand that had been on my foot taking hold of my arm lightly. "Sorry, I forget you don't like the dark."

The oil lamp is on in the main room, but it only casts a weak light. Brandon picks it up and puts it down on the table as we both have a seat.

Dinner seems to be canned meat, canned veggies, and some sort of grain. I'd laugh if it wasn't another painful memory to shove away and hide from.

Brandon digs in hungrily. His hair is wet from a recent shower, and his clothes have changed from earlier. Now he wears a tank top, his arms showing from the shoulders down. There aren't many scars on his arm like there were on Grey Eyes though there are a few. His arms are thick and muscular. It makes me nervous. I'm not quite sure what they plan to do with me, and so far I've slept away the day. That doesn't exactly make me stand out in a good way.

He glances up at me then down at my plate. "You're not used to canned food?" The acknowledgment brings back the memory I'd tried to shove away. Brandon's mouth turns down ever so slightly as if he can read my pain on my face, and he probably can. I've never been very good at hiding things like that.

"Another memory."

Brandon's mouth falls open partially as if he wants to say something, but then he closes it right away. Maybe he wants to tell me to get over it and deal, but then he realized that it's only my second day. Or maybe he just doesn't know what to say.

I hate being the cause of the silence, but I don't know what to say either so I dig into my own food. The flavors are all familiar though the seasoning's different. It reminds me of those times when Mom would go to her political functions and leave me with Uncle Wiley. He'd show me how to play chess while we dug into our canned dinners with our spoons.

It won't help the silence any, but I still ask the question, the words are so thin they slip right out. "Brandon, do you know anything about my mom?"

The light of the lamp on his face casts a shadow over half of it when he turns and looks at me. He clears his throat and wipes his mouth with his hand. "No. Henri-- Mr. Smith is looking into it."

I nod. It is sort of a relief and sort of not to have no definite answer. There is still hope.

"That's why you're still here."

My eyes drop to my plate as I gather another forkful of food. It's only my second day. I haven't really had time to give thought to my living situation. And then I realize with another guilty pang that I've had all day and I spent it feeling sorry for myself and not thinking about what a burden I must be to him.

Brandon speaks at once, his voice steady and calm. "I just mean if you were wondering. Because he's going to want you to go with him at some point."

That doesn't make me feel better.

A sad fold forms over the corners of his eyes. Perhaps he realizes that there isn't really anything he can say that will make me feel better, so he leaves it alone.

I take a bite of my food and that seems to signal that the awkward conversation part of the night is past so we both return to silence. But after my second bite, I'm staring at the small flame on the lamp and really thinking about the situation. At some point, Henri is going to want me to go with him, but he doesn't even know me.

There's a question I'd never asked of those in control of my life before. The word comes out without my even needing to think it. It's there across the table before I've even realized I asked it. “Why?”

Brandon pauses, his fork lowering to his plate. “What?”

“Why would he want me? He hardly seemed interested in me when I did see him, and he's never been a part of my life. So why would he care?” I sound angry though I don't mean to sound that way, so I take a deep breath and keep my eyes on the table. “Sorry. This whole thing is just-- it's just hard to understand. I don't really know why I'm here, or what we did. Mom's always worked for the government to make things better. So I don't understand why they'd...” My voice slightly warbles right before I just let the words die. Crying in front of Brandon isn't acceptable, so I turn my head and blink through the mist of unshed tears until my vision is almost clear again.

Brandon is very still. He clears his throat after a couple of seconds and speaks before I have my eyes back in my control. “You'll have to ask Hen-- Mr. Smith when you see him.”

I turn back to him unsure how to take his words until I see his eyes and the steady way he looks at me. He's being honest with me. There's no way for him to know what's on Henri's mind. He could guess, but that won't help me right now. I need honest facts. I do need to talk to Henri about this, not Brandon.

“So I'll get to see him?”

“In a day or two.” Brandon's look softens ever so slightly and I'm not sure if it's just because that's what I'd like to see. “In the meantime, you really should start taking a look around outside. You should get used to it.”

I nod though I honestly have no intention of going outside for as long as I can hide away.