I watch the clothes tumbling around, oddly comforted by the rhythmic thwoomp as they hit the the sides of the drier. Sam always brought a book with him when we did the laundry together, usually something stuffy and old, while I read…less reputable material. Usually a swimsuit addition when I could get my hands on it. I always managed to tease him just enough to get under his skin by the time the loads finished running, sometimes ending with him throwing the book at me or some of the clothes somehow ending up outside of the basket and in his face.
It's been a month now since he left. A long month.
At first, I half-hoped he'd come back, all floppy hair and long limbs and dimples, that maybe he was just trying to piss Dad off, but at the same time, I knew he wasn't coming back and I didn't want him to. I mean, I just want him to be happy. And it's not like I can't hunt without him, can't function without him. Usually I barely even notice he's gone.
The drier beeps and I pull the warm clothes out, tossing them uncermoniously into a trash bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I throw the load of whites into the drier and sigh as I start the load.
Who the hell am I kidding?
I can't even do the damn laundry without taking a trip down memory lane, thinking about how we used to do it together from the time he was little and loved burying his face in the warm clothes. Everything is different now that he's gone. It shows up in the weirdest ways, how it takes twice as long to go through a bottle of shaving cream, not having anyone beg to drive, not having anyone to tease…Still, I'm holding up okay. It's Dad I'm worried about.
He acts as if nothing's changed, as if all that crap he gave Sam about "never come back" wasn't a complete bluff that he just never expected Sam to call. But he misses Sam and he doesn't act the same. The easy partnership we shared on hunts while Sam was here is gone, replaced with awkward silences and frequent solo hunts. I don't think he means to, but he's gotten distant, taking to the bottle more and more and going on hunts without me all the time. Only a month and we're already completely screwed up.
Maybe, with time, we'll be able to talk again, forget that Sammy, that kid who I've looked out for my whole life and protected at all costs, that kid who is Dad's favorite though he'll never admit it- maybe we'll forget that he's gone. Until then, I sit watching clothes tumble around and try not to remember a certain floppy-haired, long-limbed little brother.
