@natdyrâ
âyou need to clean things out, caleb. your best best would be to sell the house if youâre not going to live in it.â
his attorneys voice repeated over and over in his head as he drove towards his parents house. he hadnât -- no, he couldnât, bring himself to even look at it, let alone to clear things out. he didnât want to touch anything. fuck, he thought. those very thoughts running wild as he drove from class to his childhood home. the house isnât even meant to be sold and here this jerkoff was telling him that people were interested, the money that he would fucking make, as if he fucking needed it. as if he fucking wanted it. no, that house was his parents, and why his parents left it to him and.. fuck, he couldnât even bring himself to think her name, say it. there was so much that he had yet to do since he came out and one of them was going to see her. sierra. some would think it was a successful avoidance. 10/10 caleb townsend, great job, fucker. have you thought of a job as a csi agent? go in and out unseen. except, he wasnât doing it purposely. he had probationary officer visits, school. Â
it wasnât long before he pulled up the driveway, sitting in the car for a minute longer than he wanted to, his hands still gripping the wheel tightly. he breathed in and out, frustration and anxiety wanting to get the best of him. this was never suppose to like this. he was suppose to drive home as soon as he got out, and they would be opening the door for him. greeting him. hugging him. fuck. the man hesitated for a moment. it wasnât too late to open to drive back out, forget that he even came here. fuck his attorney. he would sell the damn house when he wanted to. he would reach out to sierra to figure out what the fuck she wanted to do with it when he wanted to. maybe heâd just sign over the other half of the title to her. merry fucking christmas. oh, hey. iâm out of prison. hope youâre doing okay. Â
it was the christmas music that brought him out of thoughts. caleb looked up, looking around the area. there wasnât a house for another 12 acres. neighbors lived far from one another. was there a groundskeeper? not that he fucking knew of. he definitely wasnât paying for it.Â
fuck. itâs a hobo.Â
caleb rubbed his face in frustration. this was the last thing he wanted to deal with today. the young man hopped out of his car and headed towards the front door, the music only becoming louder. he logged in the code on the door, the scent of pine tress and poinsettias strong. so not a fucking hobo. cool. âhello?!â he shouted, walking deeper into his childhood home, throwing his car keys on the side table as he then headed towards his living room.
he stopped short when his eyes fell on the woman with the christmas lights wrapped around her, watching her tiptoe around the tree as she sung along to the christmas music that blared around the house. his mothers judy gardland vinyl.Â
sierra.Â
it was as if time froze as he watched her. countless of memories rushing back to him of the two of them, their friends. the plans they made together. memories here, in this very same fucking living room. she hadnât changed much. legs that killed, a voice that could make any fucker want to stop and listen. she belonged anywhere else but westfield, connecticut. she belonged besides angels and if heaven didnât want her right now, she belonged somewhere everyone knew her name.  Â
âsierra,â he finally spoke up, calling out her name. a name he hadnât spoken outloud in so long it almost felt strange. he couldnât ignore the slightly hint of pain he felt. âsorry. i didnât know anyone was here and i heard music.â caleb swallowed, releasing a breath. âit.. itâs good to see you.â Â



















