Chapter 4
The night air grew colder,
seeping into our light jackets.
We found a 24-hour laundromat,
a place that was brightly lit and, thankfully, empty of anyone but a tired worker in the back.
I sat on the edge of the plastic chairs,
Graham curled up beside me.
He was exhausted,
his eyes drooping.
I was wide awake,
my brain racing through a thousand scenarios.
I checked my phone—twenty percent battery.
I had no charger.
I realized with a jolt that my mother would likely call the police,
claiming I had kidnapped my brother.
I needed to get ahead of the story.
I opened my phone and started writing an email.
I addressed it to my school counselor,
a woman I trusted,
a woman who had always seen the potential in me.
I laid it all out.
I didn't hold back.
I told her about the abuse,
the neglect,
the gaslighting.
I attached the recording I had made earlier.
It was my only shield.
If my mother tried to frame me,
this would be the truth.
When I hit send,
my phone died.
The black screen stared back at me,
a void of uncertainty.
I felt a sudden, crushing loneliness.
I had worked so hard to keep our little family together,
and now we were literally on the street.
Was I right?
Was it better to be here,
cold and scared,
than to be in that house where the air was poisoned with hatred?
I looked at Graham.
He was sleeping,
a soft, peaceful expression on his face.
He wasn't afraid.
He wasn't in pain.
He was safe from the hands that had hurt him.
That was enough.
That had to be enough.
"You're a good sister," I whispered to myself,
a mantra to keep the doubt at bay.
I stood up and walked to the vending machine,
buying a pack of crackers with my last few coins.
I sat back down and just watched the machines spin.
I was seventeen,
and I was supposed to be preparing for college.
Instead,
I was preparing for a life on the run.
But I was learning something,
something deeper than any math equation or history lesson.
I was learning that I was stronger than I had ever believed.
I was learning that love wasn't a static thing,
that it was something you had to actively fight for.
The door of the laundromat opened,
and a man stepped in.
He looked rough,
his eyes darting around.
I tensed,
my hand reaching into my bag for the pepper spray I still carried.
He ignored us,
going straight to a machine.
But the air had shifted.
The world was no longer safe.
I realized then that I couldn't keep staying in public places.
We needed a sanctuary.
We needed a home.
I didn't know where it would come from,
but I knew I would find it.
I wouldn't let anyone take my brother’s light.
I wouldn't let anyone turn him into a ghost.
The night dragged on,
each minute a testament to our survival.
We were out there,
May you like
we were invisible,
but we were alive.
