The Chase [Chenford]

Compunction

Lucy POV:

As the houses and street signs race out of my view from the passenger side window, more and more confusion mixes with the ever-growing pain in my body. "I'm so hungry." I can't help but remind myself.

"Where are we going?" I mumble as my head hangs heavily on the headrest. "Home." Caleb all but smiles in my direction. Swerving through an empty wasteland all but sits the one house we're directing for. Not too long after, the infectious tune of the radio fills the empty silence of the car for the rest of the drive to my previous 'home'.

The lyrics play in my mind before they're sung;  I've breathed the melody like a second nature. Every instrument plays like I've lived it—the tune rushing like blood in my veins.

"I know this song." My eyes widen to the jazz notes between us. The words, too far away, yet so close I've held onto; I start mumbling again. "Stars shining bright above you-." 

I stutter out that sentence in a harsh voice long after it's sung, tears filling my eyes in a combination of worry and adoration. "The nurse in scrubs, the hospital, this song." The replay of recollection of memories, all memories.

"That's great Becca." Caleb chuckles as the song and the drive come to an end. "We're here." He exclaims as I attempt to visualize the dilapidated white house surrounded by foilage, dirt, and mountains. 

More mumbling and confusion leave my lips but none of them quite form legitimate words. "Do you remember it?" Caleb parks the car and kills the ignition. His hand reached for mine in a firm grasp. "It's your home." His smile completely vanishes with the last word of his sentence.

My discomfort with the vast wasteland of a neighborhood drowns around me as I'm escorted out of the car, each step feels wrong and untrustworthy. "This is your home Becca, you're okay" I recall to myself. "The hospital is over, you're okay."

Humming the melody of the song decreases my rapidly growing heart rate with every passing step. The one thing I can fall back on. Caleb's smile has long faded as he's urging me closer to the entrance of the house. 

His hold is strong and unrelenting against my lower back and a grasp too firm for a marriage is attached to my left hand. "Let's go." He urges with an inconsiderate tone.

The door creaks open to a shabby living room, dust piling on for miles throughout the entryway and far into the dining room. Half of the furniture I can locate is broken, worn, or chipped.

The dust, the dirt, let alone the furniture doesn't strike a nerve quite like the large, metal barrel occupying the space in front of me.