Relapse / / h.s.

Chapter Six.

    My mother owned a house straight out of a catalogue. It was huge- a white three story farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with a white picket fence and a massive wrap around porch. It seemed to reflect her new life- perfect new family, perfect new home. It only made sense.

    I stood on the front porch for awhile, debating on whether or not I actually wanted to put myself through this. I could only shut myself up in the boys room for so long before Anne would pester me into speaking with her. I took another glance down at the welcome mat, rolled my eyes, and let myself in.

    I don't know why I expected everything to be different, but it wasn't. I hadn't even thought of coming back after the incident last Christmas, but everything was exactly as i remembered it. The wooden floors were so shiny that it made me kick my boots off at the door. Pictures of my sister and I growing up took up the majority of the walls- even the giant less than family portrait from the first time my family had ever visited Paris. The place even still smelled overwhelmingly of cinnamon.

"Hello?" I called into the seemingly empty home. I ventured into the living room when there was no answer. The place was incredibly clean, but will homey. I rounded my way into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway when I noticed Anne, her hair held up in a high pony-tail, stirring a boiling pot on the stove.

"Hey," I said coolly, crossing my arms over her chest. She startled, her frantic blue eyes settling on me and her face turning to a grin. Anne looked massive, like if she so much as moved the wrong way she would pop- or topple over with her own weight.

"Harry, dear," she smiled warmly. She had the same smile as me and my big sister, Gemma. "Thank you for coming."

"Yeah," I told her. I felt awkward. I never knew what to say to her. "What are you making?"

"Spaghetti," she stirred the noodles with a wooden spoon. "Just the way your dad makes it. I know how much you love it."

"Used to love it," I corrected her. It had been my favorite when I was twelve- the last time she ever took any interest in my life before now. Her face fell and I realized how harsh that might have come out. "I mean, sounds good."

The smile reappeared on her face. "Everything's all set upstairs. You can head on up. I'll call you down when it's done."

I nodded, dismissing myself to find the wooden staircase by the front door. I took the steps two at a time, the wood creaking under my weight. I found the room I was looking for after one failed attempt at looking into the bathroom and another in what I was guessing was the guest bedroom.

The room was huge like the rest of the house- like, too big for babies. Dark hardwood floors contrasted against white furniture. Literally everything was white. White wooden crib. White bookshelves built into the walls. White rocking chair in the corner. The only sense of color was the baby blue rug in the middle of the room between the two cribs. Everything was covered in plastic wrap, even the seat underneath the big bay window that overlooked the backyard.

As I opened up the first can of paint, I couldn't help but to envy my little brother's. They weren't even born yet and they already had a better life than I did. They had a massive house. They'd probably get the best education money could buy. They already had two loving parents. And I was almost positive that they'd get a mother that didn't run away.
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"It looks good in here," Anne leaned against the door frame, her eyes scanning over the only wall I'd managed to submerge in the baby blue color. The clock that had been set on the floor told me I'd already been working for forty-five minutes. It certainly hadn't felt like it.