St. Sims

“I know I should have, but you didn’t need me to say it yet. I owed you an apology, of course, but what good would it have done at that point?”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” I roll my eyes and sit down on a slightly damp chair. “Is that how you’ve coped with all of this?”

Josiah looks like he’s about to say something but stops himself. “Should I go?”

“This is a nice place,” Josiah says quietly.

“Great place to be alone,” I mumble. “What are you doing here? You have yet to tell me.”

“I...I’m worried about you.”

I laugh. “Worried about me? Were you worried about me when I was being watched by a private investigator for two weeks straight? Or how about when I nearly lost my scholarships? Or, and here’s a good one--when my grandmother died and I couldn’t fucking leave school because I was too close to getting kicked out to risk missing a goddamn class?” I realize that I’m digging my nails into my arms when the pain starts to burn. I turn away from him and watch a hot air balloon coast through the sky. I feel him tense beside me.

“Yeah, Killian, I was,” he says finally. “Maybe if you didn’t purposely seclude yourself constantly, you would have noticed.”

“PURPOSELY SECLUDE MYSELF?” Oh, now that’s laughable. “I had no choice, Josiah! I couldn’t be around you! And you...you were all I had after everything happened. I didn’t have my colleagues like you did. I didn’t have lifelong friends. I didn’t have a family.”

“You’re right,” Josiah sighs. “I’m sorry.”

So, I’m an adult now. Which feels weird to be back here. I barely remember how to use this site and I’m trying to remember how in the hell to use Sims 3 in this sense. But I enjoy it. 

I guess I just wonder...how many people are still interested in The Sims 3? How many people are active in the community? I still have a decent amount of followers, and I want to create content that is enjoyable for everyone.

I guess if you want some quick life updates, I can give a few:

“Killian!” Josiah’s voice is like music to my ears. It warms my soul like a latte in the middle of December.

“What do you want?” I try to sound as bitter as possible, and I hope it works. “How did you find me?”

“You’re from Appaloosa Plains,” he begins counting on his fingers, “You told me about the green house you grew up in, and from there, really, it wasn’t all that hard. You’re not answering my calls or my texts.”

“I’m not supposed to be talking to you, Josiah!” This time I am bitter. “Did you forget about that? Did you forget you almost got me kicked out of college?”

He stares at me in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

I take a step back. That was unfair of me to say. It wasn’t entirely his fault. “I’m not finished with my run,” I say quietly and turn on my heel. 

“Come on, Killian, just talk to me,” Josiah says gently. “Just for a few minutes.”

Ethan and I spent all night talking. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, or even need it. He left in middle of the night after a few beers and a lot of catching up. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. Sleeping in this quiet house feels wrong. After staring at the ceiling for hours upon hours, I decided to go for a run. I told myself it would help clear my head, but the entire time, I was overwhelmed with more thoughts than before.

I decide to take a short cut back home. Maybe now I can sleep. Afterall, my body is screaming in pain now. I’m trying to catch my breath and keep the pace as I near the house, but something on the porch winds me completely.

Blond hair, finely kept. An expensive vest that was most definitely picked up from the dry cleaner by his assistant only this morning. He turns his head toward me and my stomach fought between sinking and fluttering. It twisted in knots instead. Fight or flight, Killian. What will you do? Keep running down the street, pretend you haven’t seen him? Or will you walk up to him and confront him? Maybe walk up the stairs and slam the door in his face?

“Business degree? I thought you were going to school for art?” Ethan knits his brows together and considers me. 

“I changed my mind. Business is more practical,” I say. I hope I’ve been giving that line long enough for it to be believable.

He stares at me for a moment. “If that’s what you say,” he shrugs. “I just hope you haven’t given up on painting.”

“No, of course I haven’t. But what about you? What has been going on in Ethan’s world?”

“Not a lot,” he chuckles and rubs his neck. “Dad retired a few years ago and gave me the shop, so I spend a lot of time doing that.”

“And what about Annie?” I ask.

“Annie? Ah, yeah, that ended a while ago. She was just too...she wanted to get married and raise a family, and I’m not ready for that right now.”

“That’s understandable. If that’s what’s best for you, then I’m glad it happened.” I search for something else to say, something else to talk about, but I find nothing. I don’t want to talk more about school, about what happened, about why I’m home. “Want to grab some beer from the corner store?”

“It is you.”

I pull the door shut behind me as I try to find words. Ethan Graves. He looks so...different. But I’m sure I do, too. He was scrawny when we were kids. I remember him getting picked on at recess. I would always defend him, and that’s how we became friends. We were best friends, through and through. We spent every single weekend together, and when we got older, we would sneak out of our houses to cruise the back roads in middle of the night. But now he’s tall and muscular, and clearly he’s been able to grow more than that slim mustache he sported throughout high school. 

“It’s me,” I say finally. 

“I’m sorry about Denise,” he says quietly. 

“They told me you were the one who...” I can’t say it. “Thank you.”

“Are you here to clean out the house?” He asks, leaning against the siding.

“She left me the house and I graduated, so I figured I’d come back for a while.”

“You never came back on breaks,” Ethan curls his lip as he says it. I’m sure he thinks I take offense to it, but I don’t. “I mean...what made you want to come back?”

“School was...” I stare down the road. Cars zip past on their way downtown, probably families headed to dinner or couples to movies. “Consuming, you could say.”

“I’d love to hear all about it. We haven’t caught up in...what, four years?”

My phone won’t stop ringing. I know who it is, and I know they know I won’t answer. Not right now. Possibly not ever. I am busy.

The house smells the same. I take it all in for a moment. It...looks the same. I don’t know what I was picturing--dust, worn out furniture, rotting floor boards? It has been vacant for three months, not a life time. Things exist without me, I remind myself. I close my eyes before that thought goes in a direction I refuse to think of. I can almost smell cookies being baked in the kitchen, though I know that oven hasn’t turned in in Lord only knows how long. Cookies after church. It’s all I can smell. I can’t open my eyes, the memory is taking over.

Grandma in her Sunday best. She loved church so much. I loved playing with the other children. We would come home and discuss what chores we needed to do. Sunday was for cleaning, for grocery shopping, for taking walks in the evenings, for gardening.

Gardening. That front yard needs taken care of. Grandma...she never would have let it look like that. I open my eyes and will the tears to stay inside. I lean against the wall and let out a long breath. My phone is ringing again. I pull it out of my pocket with such a force that I nearly tear a nail off. I swear under my breath and my heart stops for a moment--no swearing in the house. I almost laugh at the sentiment. That’s no longer a rule here. None of the rules exist anymore. Part of that feels...odd to think. 

TEXT FROM: Unknown

Please, Killian. Answer me. At least let me know you’ve made it home.

I consider my reply. I could reply with something short, like, “Yes, I made it.” or I could say something that reflects my irritation, like, “Stop texting me.” Dozens of responses circle through my head while my fingers linger over the glowing screen. 

It’s been too long.

The taxi drives away, the sound of its tires on the wet pavement leaves me to a familiar, yet chilling sound of weeds and bushes brushing against each other in the wind. I wonder why the weeds haven’t been pulled, and then I remember--no one has been here in so, so long. Not even myself. And I should have been. 

I shake that thought away and cross my arms, staring at the old house. Memories of being a child, running about this once nicely kept, but now overgrown front yard flood my mind. I can almost see the tiny version of myself playing around, her tiny fists full of flowers and her dark hair flying behind her as she soars about the grass; her short legs could take her to other worlds back then, and I wonder what place they were taking her to this time. Her imagination--my imagination--used to run wild whenever I was here.

I didn’t edit this, because honestly I’m not sure that I remember how to. 

I’ve had this blog since I was, what, 16? Now I’m 21, and life is so vastly different. I remember that I lived and breathed to post on this blog, to write all of these stories. It was so cathartic, such an intense passion of mine. I miss that.

I know Sims 3 has come and gone, but I’m not too keen on Sims 4 when it comes to the way I like to post on here. But, who knows, maybe I’ll learn how to make it work.

I don’t know that I’ll be too active on here. It was just by chance that I read through some of the old posts I made today. 

Do people still even read Sims stories? 

River poured himself a drink from the keg in the kitchen of the loud dorm building. The kitchen itself was strangely empty, but he figured he would use that to get his appropriate filling of liquid courage before setting out to the rest of the party.

“You’re Jade’s brother,” someone said from behind him. “I had no idea.”

River peered over the rim of his cup as a familiar face strode toward him. “Yeah, she’s my older sister.”

“She’s my roommate,” Cas smiled. “You seem pretty much like polar opposites, though.”

“Jade is a swan in a pond of geese,” River said. “I’m a goose.”

Cas smirked. She gently took River’s cup from his hand and took a quick sip. “I like geese.”