1642734778_punk-57-pdf

Annie’s fabric softener. She was good about doing the laundry, since my
dad was busy and I always did it wrong. I complained about the flowery
scents she used for my clothes, but now I close my eyes, feeling only home.
I made sure to keep using it after she was gone. Nothing would change. We
would never change anything she did.
Annie. I blink, feeling my eyes water. I finish gathering the clothes I
need and pack an extra pair of shoes as well as the pictures of Annie and me
that I have taped to the wall above my desk.
I pass by my guitar, resting on the stand, and a pile of our band’s posters
that never got used. Three months ago I had three things I loved. My music,
my sister, and…
Everything empties from my lungs, and I turn away from the guitar,
unable to look at the fucking thing. It doesn’t matter what I had. Annie’s
gone now. My words are gone, and Ryen’s… I don’t know what she is.
And that’s when it occurs to me. I got a letter from her last week. She’s
probably sent me another one by now, since she writes like I breathe air.
Not that I ever minded, though. They were the best things to come home to.
I leave the guest house, carrying the duffel bag and locking up behind
me. I notice that everything seems darker, and I look up and see thunder
clouds hovering low. Shit. Did I leave the windows down in my truck? I
better get back to school. Falcon’s Well might not get hit with the rain, but
it’s possible.
I hurry to the back door of the main house and unlock it, dashing inside.
The kitchen is dark, so my dad must be out. Heading over to the counter, I
find the pile of mail, all of it mine, and immediately scan for a smoky black
envelope with a skull seal.
But I don’t find one. There’s nothing there but college brochures and
credit card applications. Has she stopped writing me then?