I used to feel sad for him. Worried about him for hours and hours when he vanished and wouldn't return. He went missing for two days once. "The number you are calling is out of reach" – the robotic voice droned as I failed to get a hold of him. When I was little I was always afraid something bad would happen to him. But I've stopped caring now… or at least I like to believe that I have. "He can do whatever he wants, it's not like he'd listen to me if I tried to stop him anyway," I consoled myself.

It's 3am and I go to the darkened dining room and notice light shining through the slightly open main door. The door is open….not again.

"Where is he? He left? Again?!"

"I don't know. It's not like he ever tells me anything."

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