Alone, But Not
Julia’s POV
The rain began somewhere over the county line, soft and relentless against the glass, like someone whispering the forbidden. I leaned my forehead against the window, watching the wipers remove the haze, only for it to reappear seconds later.
“You all right back there, miss?” the driver inquired. Jeff was in his mid- forties, with thinning hair and a subtle fragrance of peppermint and motor grease.
I straightened. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He chuckled nervously. “Just making sure. You’ve been quiet for a while… talking to yourself, too.”
Had I?
I turned my gaze to the window again, tracing the fog my breath had left behind. “Habit.”
He didn’t press on. Smart man.
The road stretched eternally ahead, a bleak ribbon lined by weathered skeleton trees. Outside the fogged–up window, the world was still–quiet, abandoned, nearly forgotten. We were nearly two hours out of Manhattan, meandering through Connecticut’s back roads. I’d taken this route before, more times than I could count. Each trip felt like peeling back a layer I’d
buried under newer sins.
I hadn’t bothered confirming the exact town with Jeff–the driver I’d booked under a false name this time. I just gave him the same destination
as always: a quiet pocket on the outskirts of New Haven. Far enough to disappear without being missed. Close enough to still hear the echo of everything I’d left behind.
“Are you from around here?” Jeff asked, tossing the question over his shoulder like it didn’t matter.
I didn’t answer right away, eyes fixed on the gray blur of the horizon. After a moment, I said, “I used to be.”
He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, waiting.
“In another life.” I added, my voice barely audible enough.
Jeff grunted, a sound that could mean understanding–or just acknowledgment. I wasn’t sure which.
He had no idea.
No idea that the house we were driving toward had once been my refuge… and my cage. No clue that every mile chipped away at my nerves, threading together dread with something colder–memory.
Still, I’d told him to avoid the toll roads.
“Why the detours?” Jeff asked, breaking the silence.
I shrugged, fingers tightening around the edge of the seat. “Detours give me space. Space to think… to unravel. To remember.”
He hummed faintly, as if filing it away.
The windshield wipers brushed methodically while the rain fell outside, turning the world a dark shade. The streets blurred past in stillness, with the stormlight producing eerie reflections on the wet tarmac. Shadows stretched and faded beneath the rhythm of the rain, and we soon arrived
at my destination.
Jeff pulled up in front of a weathered duplex sandwiched between a defunct deli and a laundry facility, with a rusted sign wobbling on its final bolt. The structure appeared to have forgotten what it meant to be lived in its paint peeled in brittle curls like shed skin, and the windows were covered with grime and age. The porch slouched forward, twisted and worn, as if burdened by secrets too heavy to bear. The whole place. breathed with the damp, heavy scent of rot and memory.
peeling like old scabs, windows dirtied with dust and rain.
“This it?” Jeff asked, glancing sideways at me through the rearview
mirror.
I nodded, sliding the door open and stepping out into the damp, heavy air. “Yeah. Stay nearby, but don’t wait. I’ll call when I’m ready.”
He gave a slight nod, already calculating. “Tll be here when you need a ride back to Manhattan.”
I gave a forced smile, more out of habit than comfort, and shut the door behind me. The driver’s taillights vanished into the mist as I approached the front door, keys cold and heavy in my pocket.
With a reluctant sigh, the lock finally gave way. I pushed in.
–
The house smelled of wet plaster, stale cigarettes, and something vaguely medical possibly antiseptic. The air felt dense, as if it had not been disturbed in months. Dust motes fluttered in the slivers of light that filtered through dusty windows, catching on a cracked lampshade, a fraying curtain, and the tattered upholstery of a drooping couch. I sank down onto the couch, the springs protesting under my weight, the fabric coarse and threadbare against my thighs.
The room lay in a murky hush, lit only by the fractured daylight seeping
through the bent slats of a broken blind. Dust floated in the still air, catching faint glimmers like ghosts suspended in time.
I let my eyes fall shut.
And the memories surged–jagged, uninvited.
We were six, knees knocking in the hallway closet, hiding from our mother’s moods.
Jane held my hand. “Pretend we’re statues. Statues can’t be hit.”
She played brave. But her fingers trembled.
She was scared too.
But I was always the problem.
At eleven, Jane made the honor roll. I forged a signature on a test I hadn’t even taken.
Outside the principal’s office, I watched our mother smooth Jane’s hair and say, “Julia just needs more structure.
Two identical faces were reflected in the glass. But only one of us was worth saving.
At fifteen, our first party.
Jane wore blue. I wore black.
She sparkled. I imitated her laugh, her tilt of the head–like maybe I could borrow her light.
Later, I kissed the boy she liked. Not because I wanted him, but because I needed to feel like I could take something.
It didn’t stop..
College: She got the scholarship. I got caught with a stolen keycard.
She was praised. I was warned.
Everywhere we went, she was the control. I was the malfunction.
That’s the thing no one tells you about being a twin.
Sameness is a lie. The world always picks a favorite.
And once it does, it never lets the other forget it.
The buzz of my phone dragged me back.
I opened my eyes.
It rang again, sharp and insistent.
I stared at the screen, reluctant to let go of the storm still raging in my head.
Nathan.
Of course.
I grabbed the phone, crossed the room in a few brisk steps, and stopped by the window. The glass was cold beneath my fingers as I pressed the phone to my ear.
“Miss me already?”
There was a beat of silence. Then-
“Where the hell are you, Julia?”
