"Hello?"
"Portman, this is Clark. There may be something to discover."
"Go ahead."
There is also a chat window between him and his best friend. They were together Tuesday night. "
"detail?"
"Not much. Just said he would be picked up around 9 p.m."
"Pick it up? Carl doesn't have a driver's license. Or a car."
"So there's a third party here."
"Talk to his mom again. A friend with a car."
"…I'm not sure if you're still coming," Sarah said awkwardly, the front door ajar.
"Of course I'm coming," I said happily. "It's Thursday, isn't it?"
"Yes, but-"
"But what." I gave her the best crooked smile I could muster. "Are you going to make me stand outside all day?"
I'm right outside Sarah's door, at the end of a stone path lined with little lanterns and flowers and - no kidding - a white picket fence that borders the lawn. Maybe a painting. After a long afternoon in the woods, I finally worked up the courage to return to civilization. I was lucky it was a Thursday; any other day I might have been out there paralyzed with worry.
But that was Thursday. Dinner at Sara's on Thursday. I never missed a Thursday party at Sarah's house.
It took me a long time to recover from my conversation with Carl. I spent hours poking the ground with a stick, trying to find out in the Etolin language about Reynier Selman.
i
Cellma
)’s tirade and increasingly incomprehensible invective, as well as incredibly specific insults toward his followers. It's really useless stuff because there's nothing else I can do, but it makes me feel better. Clinging to Etoline in the dirt was the feeling of nostalgia I allowed myself to feel upon my return. Like a drowning woman, I grasped at these threads of identity and pulled myself out of despair.
Damn, it worked. I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm eager to hang out with my best friends.
Sarah finally opened the door completely, but was still confused.
"Is anyone home?" I asked, walking past her and kicking my shoes into a neat pile by the stairs.
"Mom's in the back." Sara closed the door gently. I looked around and recalled what the house looked like.
The staircase wall is covered with photos of their family—Sarah and her parents. Real, professional stuff, every one. Proper lighting and framing and so on. Her father worked in the computer industry as a minor engineer. This is very common in our area, but it is too high-end. They are rich, but they don't show off much. He drives a regular car, and so does his wife, and their house isn't much bigger than ours. From the outside it looks neat and tidy, but very middle-class.
Inside? Tons of gizmos and gadgets. I couldn't tell you what half the stuff in their house was made of, but I know it was all expensive. Her dad loves his toys.
A hand touched my shoulder.
Despite everything that happened, despite knowing exactly who she was and what she meant to me, I held back. I raised my hand suddenly and knocked her hand away.
I turned around, ready to apologize, but her expression was...satisfied?
"You're still hiding," she prompted.
"Sarah, look," I started to say, but she just shook her head. She took my hand and dragged me up the stairs one step at a time.
After a while, we entered Sarah's room and the door was closed tightly. I remember this room very well. Sarah's bed, the most comfortable bed I've ever felt, was tucked into the corner. The walls were covered with posters and drawings (some by me, better still by her), and there was a closet full of clothes, far more than I'd ever had before. In another corner, near the window, there's a wide table with a row of screens (three, count them), speakers, keyboards, and everything you need as a techie.
Her computer, which probably cost more than everything I owned combined (I never asked - and I don't think I really wanted an answer...) sat underneath, with wires running out in every direction. The bookshelf next to my bed is filled with great novels (my personal lending library). The gaps in it are probably my current books at home), and "my" laptop is sitting on top, probably where I left it the last time I was here.
Sarah let me use it. She said it was mine and promised that no one could see or enter it without my permission. Not even her. Even so, I didn't take it home. I guess I didn’t want to make my mom feel guilty for not having the money to buy me one.
Sarah closed the door behind us and plopped down in her chair. I took my usual spot on the bed across from her. For a moment we were both silent.
I felt uneasy and looked around, avoiding her gaze. I don't want to say it first. I wasn't sure what she would come up with, or what she would hear, or find out. I want her to take the initiative so I can be smart. Matt’s words about trust echoed in my mind. This, combined with my personal experience of betrayal, meant that I was extremely reluctant to open up to anyone. Sarah.
But she won't give up.
"You know, people talk a lot..." Sara said very formally. Like she was about to give a speech.
"What?" I asked innocently.
"Fuck it," she snapped. "What happened after the second period?"
"You need to be more specific..." I don't know why I'm stalling. Apparently she already knew.
"I heard you took down a college football player with ease. Throw him right into a locker."
"Oh. Yes, I did."
"Jen," Sara said, her voice unusually high-pitched. "Last time I recall, you were afraid of hitting a flirt who was too aggressive. Now you hit a jock for fun?"
"Not for fun," I said quickly. "Definitely not for fun."
"So what?" Sara sounded worried, which made me feel worse. "Did he do anything to you?"
"No. Nothing. It was an accident."
"It wasn't an accident," she said, eyes narrowing. "Oh my God, Jen, what's going on?" You've been feeling crazy these days, and you're not the only one. Matt is suddenly super confident and outgoing, which is nice, but still weird. Now this guy named Carl, you’re suddenly super good friends with him even though I’ve never heard of him before?”
I nodded slowly, wondering what was going on. What did Carl do? Oh my God!
This sentence means: "Well, Carl - a very quiet guy, I didn't even know he was in our class - suddenly kicked the teacher out in the middle of APUSH. kept saying some really horrible things. Things." Sara shook her head angrily. "Jen, something's off about you three. It's obvious. So... tell me?"
"I can't," I muttered, my eyes quickly looking away. I didn't dare look at her when I said this.
Sarah stood up and knelt before me. Her hand tightened around mine, holding on for dear life.
"Please Jen. You're my best friend. I just want to help. Tell me what's going on." Her eyes sparkled. She looked like she was going to cry. I just had to speak to stop her.
Oh, stars, I thought. I wanted her to know everything without me having to tell her myself. Skip all the hassle and just get back to being best friends.
Why not? came a little voice in my head. This is Sarah. If there's anyone in the world besides Matt who knows my secret, it's her.
I could feel my entire body sharpening to a point as if I was about to take off into a sprint. When I turned to face her, I felt like my whole world was shaking. The air was thick with anticipation, enough to stop time.
"I went to another world."
Sara's eyes blinked. They blinked again.
I said nothing more. I just watched. waiting.
Will she think I'm crazy? Will she believe me?
Do I want her to think I'm crazy? Maybe I want to be crazy. Imagine this whole crazy thing.
I'm not sure. All I know is that I want my best friend to be by my side again, to be with me through thick and thin, the two of us against the universe.
"...Tell me again," she said at last. I didn't know if she was being sarcastic or serious. Her face looked serious. A little skeptical, but definitely not angry or amused. I decided to go with the flow. I trust her.
"Tuesday night. We, uh, me, Matt and Carl, we all... had a boss. To the other... geez, I can't think of the word."
"Earth?" Sarah guessed. "Dimension?"
"Dimension, yes." I nodded. "A place called Sierraville."
"Like a forest?" Sarah's voice hesitated again. She leaned back on the floor and leaned against the desk. Her water bottle was nearby, and as usual, she took a deep sip, still looking at me carefully.
"That's where it happened," I replied, nodding again. "We went to the forest that night. The four of us found a-"
"Wait, you four?" Sarah interrupted. I couldn't help but swallow. "…Jane?"
I can't count him out, but I certainly can't talk about it yet. One day, I promised her in my mind. I tell you, I swear. "I'm sorry. Do you know Blake Swatham?"
"No."
"He's friends with Matt and Carl. Nice guy. A little silly, but really nice."
"He went with you, too," she concluded.
"……Yes."
"So where is he hiding?" I feel like I have to go see him now because of how crazy this is. "
I looked down at my feet, focusing firmly on my toes as a gust of wind blew into my ears. "He didn't come back," I muttered. Against my will, against every fiber of my being screaming at me to avoid this farce and stay calm - I burst into tears.
"Oh...oh, God."
Sarah immediately stood up and came to my side. Even in my current state, even in this place, damn it, I still had an instinct to escape the sudden appearance of my body, but I suppressed it. I don't know how I did it, but I'm forever grateful to the star who decided to give me the mental courage in that moment - to let Sarah take care of me for a minute.
She put an arm around my shoulders and I instinctively rested my head on her shoulders, tears welling up in my eyes. It was the first time since I'd been back—and the first time in a long, long time before that—that anyone had actually seen me cry.
Are you talking about Black? No, although that's heartbreaking.
It's actually simpler than that. Sarah—whatever she was thinking right now—saw my expression and without hesitation jumped to her feet and tried to comfort me.
Do you know what it's like to have a friend like that? Someone who will always be on your side no matter what the situation? I miss her the most when I'm not here. What I miss more than showers, regular clothes, microwaves, brownies, or anything else: I miss my best friend.
I sat up again and wiped my eyes. Sarah found a tissue box and handed one to me.
"Fannan," I choked.
"Don't worry," she said with a smile. "I guess it means 'thank you'."
"First in class."
"So you speak another language now?"
I nodded. “Etoli
e. The language of the Silvandans. "
"Sounds magical."
"Well, yeah, they're basically elves. I mean, there's more to it than that, but, yeah, elves."
Sara raised her eyebrows. "Elf?"
"Hmm, Sylves. Calling them elves is a bit racist. Sarah, that's totally a fantasy world. Elves and dwarves and stuff. No, I met a dragon once."
"...How on earth did you meet the dragon?"
"Be very, very careful." I laughed. "They're not actually that bad. Not that one, anyway. The others I don't know about, they're long gone."
"Wait a minute." Sara cocked her head to the side. "You said you left on Tuesday night. - "How long?
"Seven years".
Halfway through, Sarah's mouth seemed to open. It took her a while to recover and I just stared at the pile of stuffed animals in a basket in the corner. "...Seven years?" she whispered, in disbelief.
"I think so. Likav sila
. "
"You don't look 23," she said, doubt in her voice again.
"I do feel 23," I complained. "Being shoehorned back into my 16-year-old body really, really sucked, trust me. One sila nev isn't exactly the same from one year to the next, so there might be a little deviation. Plus, when I got there, I There's really no way to keep track of time. I really don't know how long I was lost in this country before Tetvalen found me."
"So you're back and no time has passed. Narnia. You've mixed up your fantasy world." She laughed.
"Don't be ridiculous," I argued. "I want to be serious."
"I know," she said, returning to her state of contemplation and relaxation. "It's just... too much, you know?" I'm catching up. "
"...You believe me, right?" I said nervously. I don't know what I would do if she said no. If she didn't believe me, I don't think I could survive. However, Sarah wasn't the type to take someone else's word for it. She always wanted proof. It's a family trait, it's in her blood. I don't know how she's going to react to all of this because it's all so...weird.
"That's right," Sara said deliberately. "Either you suddenly develop a rich imagination overnight—"
"Vack bucket."
-You're lying to me. You've never lied to me. Or you're crazy, which makes sense but you don't look like it. mainly. "She shrugged. "So, I pretty much have to trust you. She tossed her hair back and looked directly at me. "Sounds good?"
I could have kissed her. "Thank you," I said, and a warm glow spread through every vein in my body.
"Okay," Sara said excitedly. "Now, please explain how a girl who basically failed French for two consecutive years suddenly mastered another language."
I shrugged. "I lived with the Sylph family for many years. None of them spoke a word of English. With a little magic, I quickly learned Etoli
e. It had to be done. "
"...Magic?" Sara's eyes sparkled. Now she's really interested.
Me too, I want to explain my whole world to her, to my dearest friend. I've always loved telling stories, even if I wasn't very good at them. Suddenly, I had a great, true story to tell and the perfect person to talk to.
"Magic. Etola."
"Details. Now." Sara said so fiercely that I was startled. But I felt it, just as eager as she was. Longing for real fantasy. One that I actually experienced.
"What if you...uh." I frowned. "I can't put it into words."
Sarah looked sympathetic. "Did you really forget English?"
"I haven't forgotten," I said a little angrily, "but I didn't speak English for a long time... I just started speaking English again about a year ago." When I started—" I paused, searching for the right words. word." explained. For treaties. "
"…'Interpretation for the Treaty,'" Sara repeated in disbelief. "Well, that's not fair, you just made me ask 50 more questions."
"Well, I'm the only one they have who speaks English. I'm the first member of the Sun Tribe to negotiate with humans. They even made up a special title to commemorate it."
"Well, now you're just bragging."
"Yes," I said with a smile. "No joke, they named the position after me. The ambassador to humanity is called Sirajane. Even the one who succeeds me, she's the new Sirajane."
Sarah grinned. "So you're immortal. Good job. At least that explains your weird accent."
I suddenly felt embarrassed. "Is this really weird?"
"No. Well, yes, but it's not weird." Sarah tried to give me a reassuring smile. "I like it. Don't lose it."
"Sel
ou. "From then on, I stopped trying to correct it, which was a huge relief in my throat.
"Wait, aren't elves - er, Silvers - immortal?"
I sighed. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, even though I hated thinking about it. "No, but everyone thinks so. But thanks to etola, they do live for hundreds of years."
Sarah was too shrewd not to notice this possibility. "So if it was magic and you lived with them and had access to it... would you live that long?"
I hesitated. "...I said calmly. "Every time I do this ritual, I can feel it. You know, heal me. "
"But when you tried it yesterday..." Sara continued slowly, connecting the dots in her mind. "oh."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, Jane," she murmured.
"S'okay." To be honest, I don't know how I feel yet. It took me a long time to get used to the idea of living a hundred years or more beyond my normal age and staying young and healthy. It's quite unsettling to have it suddenly taken away from you. Also, I take more care of myself now.
I really hate brushing my teeth in the morning, or watching what I eat, or dealing with my period. Don't ask me to say anything else. Sometimes, being a human being really sucks.
"Wait, so you can do magic?" I mean Etola?" Sarah's eager tone returned.
As she spoke, her cat poked its head out of the closet, where it had been lounging on a pile of clothes stuffed inside. This was his usual spot and the only thing Sara had left on the floor. Other than that, her room was spotless. It came slowly over, jumped on the bed, and soon climbed into my lap. I smiled and stroked it, and was rewarded with a satisfied purr. After a while he dozed off again.
"No—no," Sara warned, "he won't let you go."
"I can," I said casually. "At least a little."
"Oh, kind of. Right."
I grinned. "Well, I behaved well. Tethevalle
Said that I mastered it faster than anyone he taught, even better than some real masters. In some places they say I am the best in the whole forest. "
"And humble," she teased.
I laughed. "They think it's because I'm human. I don't know. They last a lot longer than I do. I'm a lot faster than them." Her cat moved around on my lap, prompting me to keep caress.
"So what are you good at?"
I frowned and looked down at the cat. "What's his name?"
"Standard. Daddy named him that. It's really cheesy to name a cat after a keyboard, but whatever." I could tell I should have known that already, but Sara explained it as nicely as she could. He didn't sound angry at all. She just looked worried again. "Are you OK?"
"Yes." I cleared my throat. I felt a little depressed as I continued. "I was best at shooting. It was fun, throwing it around, taking it apart and putting it back together, changing colors, making fireworks and explosions, etc. Once I studied and practiced and meditated enough, I could really get into the fire. Realm. I can even start from scratch. They think it’s impossible.”
“Etole
dei?" Sara asked. I purposely frowned at her pronunciation, even though it was really bad. She picked up a stress ball from the table and threw it at me. I laughed and dodged it. "But seriously. "
"It's really hard to describe," I said honestly. "I guess, it's like... really knowing something? You can't do anything with it or with it until you really know it." "
"Hmm," Sara said, her eyes cool and analytical, like they were whenever she was solving some programming problem. Of course, calm analysis doesn't help with magic, so after a while she came back, looking frustrated. "I'd like to see something more concrete."
"I'm sorry. I really can't explain it well in English."
"Damn elves," Sara said solemnly. I grabbed the ball and threw it back to her, nailing it into her chest. "Ouch."
"Does it really hurt?" I asked worriedly. I didn’t pay too much attention to how hard I was throwing.
"No," she said, realizing I was serious. She squeezed the ball and thought for a moment. “…I can’t help but feel like there’s a dark side here.”
I looked away again. "Yes," I said to the wall.
"Look," she said. I looked at it. Her eyes looked so friendly and warm. I haven't seen eyes like that since I left Neferin on the pitch outside Qandil, covered in blood but still ready to give me a hug and tell me everything was going to be okay. "If you don't want to say—"
"I did it." I had to do it. It was the only way I could escape the pain inside me. "There's a reason they're so pleased with my fire skills."
"...I bet it has something to do with those treaties you helped translate, too," she added. Her voice became thin and strained. "There's a war, isn't there?"
I nodded.
"Did you fight in there?"
I nodded again.
Sarah said nothing. She looked at me carefully. The silence continued, getting more awkward every moment.
What would she think of me? I couldn't tell. Even as my best friend, the things that were done to me? I did what I had to do to survive, right? That's what I say to myself every night before I go to bed, and every time these memories come to mind inside.
Although I didn't fall asleep. A full night's sleep is normal for a human being. I wasn't normal and I definitely didn't get a full night's sleep. Napping on and off during the day, this is my life now. Even the previous 15 hours were filled with moments of panic where I would wake up with white knuckles ready to slash at an opportunistic cell mate who wasn't actually there. Sleep is not relaxing for me, it is a horrible state and is when I am most vulnerable.
I can't go on like this anymore. Please, Sarah. Don't abandon me now.
I prayed like crazy in my head, praying to all the stars closest to my soul that she would accept me for who I had become. If you can still hear my voice on this planet, pass on my wisdom to Sarah. Let her know what to do because I'm clearly out.
"Look," she began again. My eyes met hers, hoping desperately, but I forced my face back into a passive expression. I can't let her see my emotions now. "I can't possibly understand what you're going through, but I can try to listen. Try your best. Anything you want to say, anytime. Are you okay?"
Oh, Sarah. How can you exist. How could you be so perfect? What kind of fate sent you to me? I want to cry, laugh, laugh. I wanted to dance, I wanted to sing, I wanted to hug her, I wanted to curl up in the corner of her room and cry my eyes out while she hugged me. I want to pour out my soul to her, admit every bad thing I've ever done, the men and women I've killed, the friends I've failed, the laws I've broken, the people I've loved and lost, and the things I've accepted The whole lonely life. I wanted her to see me and tell me everything was okay.
I didn't say those words. I did none of these things.
I just waited, staring at Sara, her watchful, lonely eyes forever fixed on my face.
"Thank you." I said with a smile. She smiled too, but she also had a sadness that I had never seen in her expression before. Or was it always there and I never understood it? Never realized its true nature?
I didn’t know, but I could tell at that moment. I'm not the only one in the room with a secret.
＊＊＊
Sarah's mother asked us to go have dinner. We started talking again, thankfully back to happier, more relaxed topics. I tried to answer truthfully and thoroughly. Sarah loves fantasy novels, but even so, I underestimated her desire for all my adventures.
In fact, it was really fun to tell her everything. She was so obsessed. I could have talked about the weather and she'd probably still be interested. She wanted to know every detail and I was happy to share. Mainly a story about the Silvers and how they adopted me, but also a story about the world in general, about different people and their cultures (Silvers didn't really get out as far as I know anyway) , and of course, the story about Etola and Etolin.
Despite the different names, there is no real connection between them. I mean, saying a phrase related to whichever etola you want to play might help you focus, but at a true level of mastery, saying it out loud is considered amateurish. As long as you know exactly what you're going to do, you don't need to say anything in any sense in the world.
However, gestures are very necessary. As Sara has noticed, over the past few days, I've been acting like a very confused mime, both in my midday rituals and in my eating rituals. While some etolev don't require handwork, most do, especially the external stuff. I don't know if this is just another way to help focus, but I've never gotten anything good out of etola without gestures or movements to guide it. My efforts failed.
My fingers were burned many, many times until I learned how to move the flame with precision.
Sorry, I got distracted again. There's a more important story to tell here than me playing with fire.
Sarah and I walked downstairs, chatting and laughing as usual. Her mother was setting dishes for dinner. I smelled pizza and I was excited. I haven’t had pizza yet – well, you get the idea by now. But seriously. Pizza. Is there anything more authentic than pizza?
"Shasii, selaval," Sa said as we walked into the kitchen.
a shouted nonchalantly. I giggled and nudged her with my elbow.
"What's that?" Mom asked, looking up from the oven.
"Oh, it's nothing," she said very seriously, holding back a laugh along with me.
I whispered in her ear, "My daughter, my daughter, my daughter, Carl." Not exactly, both she and Carl were terrible. But I just taught her the line; a minute later, she still got it wrong.
"Huh?" she asked loudly, but I just smiled innocently in reply. "Oh, this is a game for two." Look at êtes, look at my face, my face, my face.
"Behave yourself, Sarah," her mother interjected absentmindedly as she pulled out the pizza. It's homemade and looks absolutely perfect. Not that I have anything to compare to recent pizzas, but seriously, I'm salivating over this one.
Her mom started slicing it into thin slices while we took our usual spots at the dinner table. Just as she got each of us a piece, I heard the garage door begin to slide open.
This is unusual, but not unheard of. When we eat, her father is usually not home from get off work yet. He often works late. Our conversations were a little quieter while he was there, but he was always polite, asking after my family and asking me how I was doing. He seems like a nice guy. Yes, he was a little cold at times, but he was also very tired and stressed out from work. I can't blame him for not being willing to tolerate two high school kids once he got home, and even then, he always acted like a competent host.
This time, something was wrong. I can't tell what it is. Some details have changed. Except... I was here last Thursday and also on Monday for Sarah's mom's birthday. Just three days ago, something felt different. Except for me of course.
I looked around the room. Sarah was still talking about what happened at school today. Her mom nodded and continued our conversation like nothing happened...but I could see it. She began to move cautiously. She measured every step she took and carefully planned every movement, both cautiously and cautiously.
Sara also seemed suddenly alert. She was staring very intently at her plate - her empty plate, I should point out. Her hand fiddled with the fork. As my eyes glanced over, I could see how tight she was holding her. It's subtle and comes and goes, but the intent is clear.
It was like an arrow shot into my stomach. I am an idiot. How could I have missed this?
They haven't changed at all. I finally figured out what was going on.
They are scared.
Everything becomes clearer when the door to the garage opens.
"Welcome home, honey," Sarah's mother called. Very normal.
Her father looked down the hall and saw me sitting at the table. He smiled and waved, putting his coat away. "Night. It smells so good, honey."
"How is work?"
"It's exhausting. I'm just happy to be home."
"Would you like anything to drink?" Sara asked, still staring at the plate. Her voice was very casual.
"Thank you, Sarah, but I can get it. Do you want anything?"
"Coke sounds good. Jane?"
Stars, were they all acting? All the time? I gasped when I realized both Sara and her dad were looking at me expectantly. I swallowed and tried to clear my throat.
"Uh, do I want a root beer?" I asked awkwardly. Should I follow the script? I'm a terrible actor. I can hide it if I need to, but I'm not good at pretending to be normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore.
"Oh, is it Jen now?" her mother asked, shoving a slice of pizza onto my plate. Her hand was still clutching the pizza roll, its sharp silver edges glistening in the sunlight.
"Yes. It's time for a change." Sara nudged me under the table, trying to get me to focus, but I was still staring at her hand holding the fork like a dagger. "No more Jenny."
"That's too bad. I love the name Jenny."
"Well, honey, it's her name. She can do whatever she likes with it," her father said. He winked at me. “Not the Jenny from the block anymore.”
"Jesus, Dad." Sara rolled her eyes. "Please don't try to reference pop culture. Passed."
I'm very confused about what's going on. I couldn't handle the ridiculously conflicting conversation that was going on, and the physical reactions of everyone in the room. As soon as her father spoke, Sara grabbed the fork again. When he looked at her mother, she seemed to flinch a little—but when he looked at me, her knuckles turned pale as she gripped the pizza roll.
If I hadn't had this dinner in their kitchen a hundred times under almost identical circumstances, I would have thought we were about to be screwed.
Except this is suburban Oregon, not an alley tavern or a seedy dungeon. Fighting here is like a portal opening and throwing us all into another universe.
Sorry, sorry.
This was the case throughout dinner. It was like they were performing for me. A normal, happy family. They would make fun of each other's old habits, argue about politics, and discuss movies and TV shows. It was all so perfect, so ordinary, that I found myself reaching for the knife, still hidden under the hem of my shirt at my back, the only thing I hadn't told Sarah.
When does the curtain fall?
＊＊＊
there has never been. After dinner, Sarah's mother tidied up, and I walked straight out the back door to the yard to get some air. Sara left her position and followed a moment later. It wasn't until the door closed and we came around the corner and the light disappeared that I turned to face her.
"Is that Dov Nara Wacker?" I asked, confused and angry.
Sarah looked really confused too. "Um?"
".The whole dinner. All of you." I was nervous. very nervous. Sarah is lucky I can't conjure up fire now or the neighbors might have called the firemen.
"what are you saying?"
I guess she was determined to keep the show going. I didn't know how to react, what to do, how to respond. I want to be mad at her for hiding this from me, but how could I? I've been hiding this from her for the past few days, doesn't that make me a super hypocrite?
This time was different, I convinced myself. This is control and fear. This is actively happening and has apparently been going on for some time.
Without warning, I grabbed the hem of Sarah's shirt and lifted it up. No, I'm not thinking about those things. Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm looking for bruises. Any kind of markup. evidence.
"Well..." Sarah looked around to make sure no one saw us. "Well, that's weird."
In spirit, I agreed. There were no signs of abuse on her body. Was this all a figment of my imagination? Was that really a perfectly normal dinner?
Am I completely crazy?
"I'm sorry," I muttered. I let go and backed into the wall of the house.
"Don't worry. Will you remind me next time?" Sara looked at the whole situation and calmly.
"I'm sorry," I repeated it and turned to leave.
Before I had time to leave, Sara reached out and grabbed my hand. "Hey, it's okay," she said calmly.
I feel my eyes are moist again. I can't even spend one night with my family's family, and my past will suddenly appear in my mind. My instinct almost asked me to attack Sarah's father, in his own family, in front of his family.
Can I really live here like before?
That night, I cried for the second time, but never had any happiness. Happiness is left to those who do not take the initiative to lose their minds
