through it all, there was you ↠ conrad fisher {2} (on pause)

t h r e e

I have a spent more then half of my life in my own head. The constant chatter that goes on up there, I sometimes forget there is a real world happening around me. I get so lost in my thoughts that days pass and I realize I haven't had one meaningful conversation with anyone. Days pass and I am not sure I even showered or brushed my teeth.

       I forget all normal human emotions. I don't get how I feel so much yet somehow how nothing at all. At the same time.

        That's how I feel right now. It's like an out of body experience as I creep up the step. My heart is in my throat, because my the state of this house — if I find my Mom here, I'm scared of what kind of person I'd find.

        From such a young age my Mom has always been this sharp, poised women. Hair always in something slick back, or if she had it straight not a singular hair was out of place — never any fly always. Even on days she spent at home, she still wore her hair like that always. She'd always have on pantsuits, and not cute ones either — or pencil skirts. Always in the same dull colors; black, white, or gray.

       Never with pants, always skirts. I'm not sure I've ever seen her wear sweatpants, at home I rarely ever saw her in night clothes. She was always up out the door before me in the morning, and up late in her office until long after I'm in my room for the night.

        The hair was always a mere example of my mothers OCD, the house was so much worse. Nothing could be out of place; jackets instantly had to be hung up, couches were for decorations and not sitting, cups were in the dishwasher seconds after you left them on the counter — it was so scary living in a house I felt like I couldn't live in.

       It wasn't until I was 13 that my mom left my room alone. She let me be messy in there, I was in charged. It killed her so much she stopped coming into my room altogether after only two weeks of letting me do what I want in there.

         It wasn't that I was messy, I was just finally able to leave my jacket on the floor for an hour before I felt like picking it up. I was able to leave my cup on my nightstand for days until I had a full nightstand of cups I kept bringing up and forgetting to bring back down — all full of water, thankfully. It was little things like that I was able to do. I was able to be a normal kid.

I'm scared. Every ounce of my being is terrified right now. I'm not even sure that this is my Mom here, I just assumed. It looks like her stuff, it smells like her — but it's also mixed with a foul smell that is coming from the trash which also makes me question if I really smelled Mom at all to begin with.

I grab the umbrella from beside the door, making sure to keep my keys in my hand so I can make a run for it if someone I don't know is in the house, or if my mom is in a mood — judging by the place, id say I'm running bc back out this door regardless of the outcome. I place everything else I was holding down gently.

I tip toe over to the couch, peaking over it. With my heart hammering in my ears, I let out a relieved sigh when no one is there. Just blankets and a bag of lays chips sitting wide open. What the actual fuck is going on? I walk over to the steps, I pull out my phone — wishing I had someone to call but everyone I know is miles away and can't do anything. So I put my phone back in my pocket, and grip the umbrella tighter as I walk up the steps.

Conrad, I love you. I think to myself. I fucking love you so much. I miss you. Dear God, if I live through this I promise I will talk to Conrad and work through how I feel. I promise. I silently pray.

My hands are trembling as I check the first room, then the second, and finally the third. No one is here. I am utterly alone, in an extremely messy house.

I need to call my dad before whoever is currently staying here gets home.

*   *   *

    "You rented out the beach house?!" I scream into the phone. "So this is some random couple staying here? Oh my God, oh my God," I scream and start the car. I am so glad I put everything back in the car before I called my dad. I was leaving as fast as possible.

         "I'm sorry I didn't expect you to want to go back there, considering —" he let the sentence hang there before he clears his throat. "I didn't expect you wanted to stay there this summer. I'm sorry. I should have asked."

         "You should have." I say coldly.

         He hasn't checked in on me at all. He doesn't give a fuck about my feelings, of course he wouldn't have understood why I needed to be here — at this house, right next to Susannah's, for an entire summer.

        I don't say goodbye, I just hang up. I go to put my car in drive but my hands are shaking so bad. I am so upset, but it's the kind of upset that borderlines angry. I'm so sad that I'm livid. I can't believe he rented our beach house without even talking to me about it first! I know I don't pay the bills but I do know we aren't struggling for money. So there isn't a valid fucking reason they needed to rent it out other then they are selfish. Both of them.

        I hear a hammering noise, and my head shoots up, and my eyes fall to a women putting a sign into the Fishers lawn.

         This isn't helping the shakes. If that's what I think it is, I am going to lose my mind. How couldn't Conrad tell me something like this? I question, but hate that I even thought it. There is no way he'd know about something like this, and I'd have to be the one to break it to him.

        I don't even know what the sign says it could just be a tribute to Susannah or something, but deep down I know it's not. I know it's a for sales sign even from here and with my horrible eye sight. I pull up Conrad's number and dial him again. If he sees I call twice this close together he will most likely answer thinking it's an emergency. He doesn't. He sends me to voicemail, again.

          "Hey baby, when you get a chance can you call me? It's really important it's about the beach house," I clear my throat. "Not mine, you-u-'re beach house." I stutter out. "Call me, I love you." I say ending the call.

_
authors note:

I suck I know, I just didn't know where I was going with this story and honestly I still don't. This is a filler chapter