Moving In

Shaylee follows her late parents' wishes- she tries to move on. But what happens when her dream turns into a nightmare?

    

I glared at all of the boxes that stood tauntingly in the door way, daring me to come and knock them all over.

There were so many damn boxes. Moving everything in proved to be a lot more difficult than I had anticipated. It was all too stressful. I dug around in my pocket, my fingers fumbling over keys and random dollar bills to grab my phone. I coaxed it out and flipped it open. Six thirty-seven. Did I really want to spend the rest of my Friday night unpacking?

Yeah, right. Packing could wait. After all, today's excitement had really worn me out. I had found out that my dream house was officially mine, loaded all of my belongings into my car, started the two hour long journey here, and then started the rigorous task of unpacking everything.

Standing in the front entry way, I took a quick glance up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to set, giving the only wispy clouds in the sky an orange glow about them. It was just stunning. I was home.

I shook my head. It was time to get inside. I dug around my pocket again, hitting the lock button on my car remote. I listened for the sound that would tell me that it had locked, and then I walked through entry way again, shutting and locking the door behind me. If I had learned anything from years of cop shows, it was to lock the door behind you.

Yawning, I shuffled my legs into the living room. It had a really updated and cozy feel to it. Barbara had told me that the previous owners had gotten desperate when they hadn't gotten any offers on the house, and had decided to go through the house and make all the renovations they could, hoping to snag someone with the promise of brand-new furniture and shiny new appliances.

Even after that, there were no potential buyers, and I guess that was the part where I got lucky and scored the house for “a ridiculously modest price”.

I went over to one of the boxes labeled “Bedding” and tore it open, the urge to lie down overwhelming me, and shoved my hands in, grabbing all of the pillows and blankets that I could. Bringing it to the center of the living room, I threw it all down into an extremely comfy looking heap- a heap that would look a whole more comfortable with me in it.

Yanking a blanket out of the pile, I waved it around, spreading it out as best as I could across the floor. Then, I grabbed whatever pillows and blankets were lying around it and threw them on top of it. Standing back with my hands on my hips, I admired my makeshift bed. For something made in less than thirty seconds, it was looking pretty good. All there was left to do now was to grab a lamp and a good book.

What would my mom think of all this? Would she be proud that I had moved on, trying to make good on all of my promises- or disappointed that I hadn't been able to convince Jeremy to come with me?

I shook my head, bringing my hands up to rub my eyes. Jeremy was forever lurking in the back of my mind, a reminder that no matter how hard I tried, nothing I did was going to be good enough for him. If he ever wanted to come live with me, all he had to do was ask Barbara where I was staying. He knew that. Even so, the guilt that swept over me was almost all consuming.

The slap that his words had given me still stung and I hated it. More than that, I hated that it seemed like I couldn't forget.

~ ~ ~

"Jer," I pleaded. "Jer, please listen to me. It's what she wanted. She had it all planned out, and Barbara's going to help us start looking for somewhere else-" The sound of his hand hitting the table silenced me, and the thought that if my mother would have been enraged had she seen Jeremy hit her precious mahogany table came out of nowhere.

He took a ragged breath, lifting his head slightly to be able to look at me. His brown eyes, so much like our dad's, were filled to the brim with tears, giving him a wild, unstable look as he tore his fingers through his hair. The tension in the air was so thick, it kept catching whatever I had to say in my throat and shoving it back down my windpipe.

"This is bullshit, Shayls," he spat through his clenched teeth. "I don't give a f**k about what she wanted. She's dead. Get it through your head!" He shouted. I buried my face in my hands. It felt like someone had just kicked me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me senseless. What the hell did he expect me to do?

"You can't ask me to not do what they wanted, Jeremy. Mom wanted us to start over. She thought moving out of this house was the first step to going about it." I said quietly, my voice choked and whisper-like. I glanced down at my shaking hands and stuffed them in my lap.

He let out a bitter laugh and stood up from the table, kicking his chair to the side, the loud bang of wood hitting wood making me flinch. I watched as he walked into the kitchen, pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair over and over again vigorously.

His eyes were wide and bloodshot and his whole body was shaking. He just kept shaking and I tried to block out the choked sobs that kept ripping their way out of his chest. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, a mess of tears and snot and phlegm and pain and I couldn't stop myself from walking over to him and gathering him in my arms and rocking him back and forth, letting his nails dig into my skin because this was all my fault and I needed to fix it.

"I'm sorry, Shayls. I can't leave, I can't." he mumbled over and over. His hand grasped mine and I squeezed.

"I'm going to fix everything, Jer. I promise. I promise..."

 

~ ~ ~

 

What was the point of thinking about Jeremy? Nothing I did now could change anything. He wanted to stay. Who was I to force him to do anything that he didn’t want to do?

Sighing, I reached into another box labeled “Whatnot” and grabbed the lamp my grandpa had given to me for my fifteenth birthday. My grandparents had a habit of giving away whatever they didn’t want as gifts. I reached over to an outlet and plugged it in, and then reached into my purse and grabbed whatever book that I had laying around in there. I laid down on my makeshift bed and took a second to let all of aches in my back go away. My jeans crinkled, and I remembered the letter that I had stuffed into my pocket.

With a groan, I rolled over and reached into my back pocket. Who the hell leaves the future owner of their house a letter?

Little did I know, that letter was going to change everything.

 

Author's Note

Chapter 2. Please, enjoy!