#achingrust

She’s got a small duffle bag resting over her shoulder as she reaches the top of the steps. Lydia is in town for a long weekend and she’s been looking forward to it all week. She’s tired of dealing with things in Beacon Hills and it’s been far too long since she’s seen Derek. She shifts the coffee in her hand, attempting to balance her bag while grunting. Eventually she reaches out and knocks on the door with elbow. “Der, can you let me in - my hands are full.” She calls out.

        two years;  familiarity a distance recollection though not something mourned.  home should be a place of comfort,  though nothing but ill feeling and woe is brought forth.  question lingers of why the decision to return was welcomed yet home will be home.  (  regardless of tragedy that idled  )  pathway to the house dissipated,  yet boots soldiered through thicket before simple remains fell in sight.  GONE.  perhaps rumble fell easier on the eye than burnt remnants.  a sadness weighs heavy on the chest,  reason to return now retreating  ------  urge to leave replacing.

“I don’t think your dad would be happy with you being in Beacon Hills Teej.” Malia told the dark haired girl with a soft smile. Beacon Hill was dangerous for Hale’s, and even not-so-Hale’s like Malia, but in the end, she’d stayed to get to know Peter better after she was done travelling with Scott. The coyote supposed the good thing was that the town had been quiet for the last year. “You here to see me or your uncle Peter?”