Call Me Nothing

Chapter Four: Sharp Rules, Sharper Edges

The car is too quiet.

Not just in the way all luxury cars are—soundproofed from the outside world—but in the way that feels like silence is the only thing allowed here. Even the air feels expensive. Clean. Sterile. Unfeeling.

Elaine made good on her threats. A social worker- dressed in professional muted greys and an extremely stylish chignon- showed up right outside my door as Elaine and I stared each other down.

It was decided I was going to have to stay with my maternal grandmother seeing as I had no other family and I was turning 18 in eight months. I didn’t even get a word edgewise.

The movers left with every item that filled my home with invaluable memory until all I was left with was a haunted shell. Even the smell had changed. It left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Elaine wasn’t far behind a victorious smirk on her face as she informed me a driver was going to pick me up in an hour and that was all the time, I had to say goodbye to my childhood home as it was to be placed on the market immediately.

The man driving me right now was a complete stranger and he hasn’t spoken a word to me since I got in.

Just nodded when I opened the door, like we were strangers sharing a secret neither of us wanted to keep. I don’t even know his name. All I know is that he showed up exactly when Elaine said he would, dressed in all black like this was a funeral. Maybe it is.

I watch my neighborhood disappear through the tinted window. The streets I know by heart, the corners where I scraped my knees, the mailbox my dad fixed with duct tape and stubbornness. It all blurs. Fades. Vanishes like it never mattered.

The folder’s in my lap. My arms are crossed over it like armor. Like if I hold it tight enough, I won’t disappear with everything else.

The tears threaten to choke me. My entire life was being uprooted and I couldn’t do anything about it. No one said goodbye. No one asked if I wanted to leave. No one gave me a choice.

I feel like a ghost. Like I died with my father and no one noticed.

We reach the bend that would take us out of the neighborhood and everything feels like a horror movie.

“Stop.” I manage to force out through my silent sobs.

The car jerks slightly. The world tilts. I don’t get out. I don’t cry. I just look. Burn it all into memory. However, I wasn’t given much time to soak in all the details as the car kept moving less than a minute after my plea.

The driver clears his throat. I glance up, but he doesn’t look back. Just speaks into the silence like he’s reading from a script.

“Miss Elaine asked that I let you know she’ll meet you at the estate. You’ll have your own room. Anything you need the housekeeper.”

My jaw tightens.

I don’t answer.

Because what I need isn’t something they can give me. What I need is him. His voice, gruff and half-asleep. His huff of a laugh when he tried to hide his amusement. The smell of burnt toast and bad coffee. His presence. His steadiness. The truth he owed me. But all I’ve got is this folder, and the ache where he used to be.

The estate rises in the distance like something out of a dream I wouldn’t want to live in.

All stone and glass, like a magnificent museum someone mistook for a home. The gates open before we reach them—silent, mechanical, obedient. Just like everything else here.

It’s funny. Looking at the sheer size of my so-called grandmother’s estate made me resent her even more. My father and I had to scrape by everyday while I had a relative who could afford to occupy half a town by herself.