Re: Yellow (M/L ADULT): Ch. 4 5/10/20
Posted: Sun May 10, 2020 1:32 am
Hi guys! Thanks for the wonderful feedback! I'm really glad there are still people who want to read stories about these beloved characters almost 20 years later!
It's been a bit of an emotional experience to share this version of these characters with anyone because I have been living with them for almost 10 years. I'm just hoping that I do them justice.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I stumbled through the next week in a haze of numbing grief. It seemed each day that there were more people at the Evanses than the last, constantly bringing food and offering their condolences. Diane, Phillip, Amy, and Jim made the funeral arrangements, asking for my input only when absolutely necessary. They would’ve allowed me to have as much involvement as I wished, but it was abundantly clear to all of us that I was in no shape to make such adult decisions. I spent the majority of my time in Max’s room - mine and Max’s room, I suppose - sleeping or doing schoolwork. After some contemplation, I’d approached Phillip and Diane about the possibility of completing the year at home. I knew if I went back it would be first to a sea of pity which would then die down to whispers of ‘that’s the girl whose parents were murdered’ and I simply couldn’t handle that. They agreed and were able to make arrangements with the school within the week. Diane had suggested I take a few weeks’ break but I found that keeping up with my classes busied my mind and kept me from spending too much time in the more brutal places in my head.
Max, unsurprisingly, was my rock. He knew just how much to push and exactly when to back off. His presence was constant but he made sure I had space; if I was reading in bed, he was working quietly at his desk. He anchored me. He still does.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“It should be raining,” I murmured, staring out the passenger window of the Jeep.
The funeral itself had been mercifully brief; my parents were’t ones for fanfare. There had been a minister who mentioned the requisite ‘dust to dust’ and said a few words about where he seemed to think we go when we die. But I didn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear him. All I could hear was a dull throbbing against my brain as I tried to convince myself that my parents were not the ones lying in the coffins. That my parents weren’t about to be buried under a thousand pounds of earth. That my parents weren’t dead.
And now we were driving back towards town, towards the small banquet hall at the church where someone had organized food for the mourners.
Mourners, I thought. Is that what those of us left behind are reduced to? A state of sadness where grief is expressed over your loss and then suddenly you move on? Today, I was a mourner at my parents’ funeral...what does that make me tomorrow?
An orphan, my mind answered, unbidden. Tomorrow, you’re an orphan.
It was like something had pulled every last ounce of air from my lungs.
My hand flew to Max’s and I clamped my fingers down fiercely.
“Liz?” He hazarded, startled.
“Take me home. Please...I can’t...just take me home,” I begged.
“Ok,” he agreed. Just like that. Anyone else would’ve questioned me, told me that it was hard but I still needed to go to the reception, that I needed to be strong or mature or responsible or some such bullshit. But not Max. I let my grip on his hand relax the tiniest bit.
He took a left at the next intersection. Diane and Phillip were behind us and for a moment I panicked thinking that they would follow us, but they continued towards the church. At least they’d know not to expect us.
I took a deep breath when we pulled into the driveway. Ever since that day, the house had been teeming with people. It made me feel like I was suffocating.
I followed Max through the side door, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen to unzip my stiletto boots. Max shrugged out of his suit coat, draping it over the back of a chair and loosened his tie.
“Do you want to go lie down?” He suggested gently and it was only then I realized I was still standing in the archway holding my shoes, the wall half supporting me.
I nodded and accepted his outstretched hand.
Max closed the door gently behind us and switched on the small lamp on his nightstand. The curtains were still drawn and the room was dim and warm. Comforting. I reached for the zipper on my dress but his fingers were there, deftly sliding it down my back and it fell from my shoulders, pooling around my feet. He then released the clasp of my strapless bra and it fell to the floor. He pressed against my back and kissed the top of my head. I closed my eyes and leaned into him for a moment. I would be drowning without him.
He released me and I sat down on the edge of the bed, naked except for my midnight blue panties. I watched passively as Max moved around the room, changing out of his suit and hanging various pieces in his closet - our closet now, I suppose.
“Did you want to put something else on?” He asked, holding up a pair of his boxers and a West Roswell sweatshirt. I shook my head. Just the thought of a simple task like getting dressed was exhausting.
He dropped the clothes on the dresser and came to sit next to me in just his boxer briefs. I melted into his side, my bones too heavy to hold up any longer.
I looked down at our thighs pressed together and felt almost astonished that this was my body, that this was my breast against his side, these were my cheeks wet from tears I didn’t even realize I was crying.
After the initial shock had subsided and that first jolt of pervasive, somatic agony had tempered to something equivalent to open heart surgery without anesthesia, everything had taken on muted quality. It was like looking through water. Ephemeral, unfocused. I knew I was supposed to be feeling something; anger, grief, pain...something. But it was as though I was split in two. The me that was watching myself go through this experience was too abstract for feelings. The somatic me was too overwhelmed to transfer those feelings from the brain into the body.
I was numb.
And then Max placed his hand on my thigh in a completely innocent gesture and I felt the warmth of his touch travel up my leg. Desire unfurled low in my belly a deep, radiating ache that only Max was able to heal. It was the first thing to break through the haze and I couldn’t lose it. Because if I let it go, I was sure that the rest of me was going to drift away too.
“Max,” I whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek.
His eyes searched mine and I could immediately see his uncertainty.
“Please, Max,” I begged. “Please. I need to feel...something, anything. Please. Make me feel...”
He wrapped his hand softly around my wrist. “Liz, I...”
“No, Max. I need this. I need you...Please,” I whispered, my mouth drifting towards his almost unconsciously.
“Oh, Lillabet,” he murmured as his lips met mine. Our kiss muted my sob of relief; he understood.
I wrapped myself around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel his skin on mine. He stretched out on top of me and the feeling of his weight over my body was so calming. I felt so safe in his arms, so protected; I could feel the rest of the world melting away. When I closed my eyes, all I saw was a glorious black void that allowed me to focus on the sensation of his hand on my breast and his lips on my neck. To appreciate the erotic experience of holding him in my hand as he rapidly hardened; like silk over steel. The cyclical slideshow had altogether ceased for the first time in almost a week. If this was what it would take for the thoughts to disappear, I never wanted to stop.
“Max,” I moaned as his hand slid inside my panties. He circled my clitoris once, twice, three times, before plunging two fingers deep inside of me. I cried out and arched into his touch, but it wasn’t nearly enough. I needed more, so much more.
“Please...inside of me...Max...please,” I was becoming incoherent from his ministrations. I grasped him more firmly and stroked him from base to tip, running my thumb over the teardrop opening, spreading the slick fluid across his sensitive skin. He shuddered and groaned, pulling away from me just long enough to remove my underwear and then his. He leaned down and kissed the valley between my breasts, then my neck, and then my lips - so reverently - before reaching for the top drawer of the nightstand. And then he stopped when the realization hit him.
“Lillabet, we don’t have any more...” He began, looking down at me from where he knelt between my legs.
“I’m still on the pill, Max. I need to feel you; all of you,” I said with more conviction than I realized I still possessed.
“Are you sure?” He asked as he settled back over me, the naked head of his penis pressing against my entrance.
“Yes,” I breathed, rocking my hips up to meet him as he slipped inside of me.
It was the first time we had ever been together without a condom between us and it was an incredible sensation. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. I tightened my inner muscles around him, savoring the delicious ache and his moan of pleasure in my ear.
“Christ, Liz!” He gasped, thrusting into me again.
He set a steady pace and my hips rose to meet him again and again. I dragged my nails down his back and grabbed his ass.
“More, Max, I need more! Harder!” I cried, digging my fingers into his flesh.
“Fuck!” I screamed as his finally slammed into me, the bed smashing into the wall with the force. He found the fine line between insurmountable pleasure and indescribable pain and quickly brought me to the edge. I bit down on his shoulder, sucking at the salty hollow of his clavicle. I was so damned close.
I tore my mouth away from his shoulder and kissed him, hard. He could feel the desperation in me and his hand slid between our bodies and found my clitoris once again, but this time he pressed down with his thumb and rubbed in fast, frantic circles.
I screamed incoherently in pleasure and my walls tightened reflexively around him as he pushed me closer and closer to orgasm.
His thrusts became more erratic and his breath came in deep, fast pants.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded. His face was inches from mine. He held my gaze intently, his eyes alight with a panoply of emotions. “I love you, Lillabet,” he whispered reverently and he pinched my clitoris between his thumb and index finger. And I went soaring into that sweet, sweet oblivion.
He exploded inside of me at the first contraction of my orgasm. I could feel him filling me for the very first time, which only intensified my pleasure.
His name was a mantra on my lips, raspy and tearful and desperate and immeasurably grateful.
After what seemed an eternity in that delicious, vast space permeable only to his touch, he released me and slid his softening member from my inside of me. I whimpered at the loss, but Max immediately pulled me flush against his warm, hard body. I laid my head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around me, pressing a lingering kiss into my hair.
He pulled the blankets over us and tucked them around me. I burrowed into him and closed my eyes, a half-formed “thank you” on my lips as I drifted into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I thought the funeral was going to be the worst of it. The pinnacle of the My Parents Are Dead experience. But a few days later, I found out just how wrong I was.
“Liz?” It was Diane.
It was everyone’s first day back to school and I was doing whatever I could to keep myself occupied. At that moment, I was sitting on the back porch in a pair of Max’s sweats and a fleece zip up trying to read Hemingway’s Hills Like White Elephants. After 30 minutes, they still hadn’t ordered their cervezas. This was not promising.
I looked up from the paperback in my hand and watched as she sat down across from me.
“Am I interrupting you?” She asked, gesturing towards the book.
“This? Oh, um, no. I was just…uh…no, you’re not interrupting,” I stammered awkwardly. I still felt so uncomfortable in my skin that interactions with anyone felt staggering.
She nodded and took a breath. “Liz, there are a few difficult things that we need to talk about regarding your parent’s estate. There’s never a good time to do this, but unfortunately, it’s not something that can wait for a less awful time, either.” I noticed then that she had a thin manilla folder on the table in front of her.
“As you know, Phillip and I were named your legal guardians in the event that something happened. This also means that we become responsible for all of the tangible assets of their estate until you turn 18. In most cases, it’s fairly straightforward. We would essentially make sure any debts were paid and everything else would sit in trust. And we wouldn't be having this conversation for months because this is all so raw and absolutely horrible to think about.” It was evident that this was as difficult for her to talk about as it was for me to hear.
“But in your case Liz, there is the Crash Down and by extension, your family’s home. The property is paid off, but there are a number of pieces of restaurant equipment that were purchased on credit and those loans must be paid to avoid collections or repossession or garnishment. There is enough money in savings and liquid assets to pay off these items, but it only makes financial sense if you are intending to keep and operate the Crash Down as a restaurant. If you want to keep the property but close the Crash Down, we would need to discuss other possible uses for the space because it is commercial which affects how it is assessed and taxed.”
“What if I wanted to sell it; all of it?” I interjected, tears pooling in the corners of my eyes.
“That’s another option,” Diane acknowledged, her voice quiet. I could see the strain on her face.
“We’ll have to hire a real estate agent and get it listed and we’ll have to clean out the living areas, figure out what you want to do with the furniture. We’d be able to make payments on the equipment and keep up with the taxes in the meantime,” she said, and then reached across the table, covering my hand with her own. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” She asked, holding my gaze intently.
I took a deep breath, trying to will away the tears with little success. “I can’t ever live there again, Diane. Not without them. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to step foot in the Crash Down.” Just the thought made me nauseated.
“This is a big decision, Liz. Do you want to take some time to think about it?”
I shook my head. I knew from the first day that this would be my decision, I just hadn’t been able to admit it to myself. “This is what I want to do. I don’t know about the things in the apartment yet, but it will never be home again without them and that’s more painful than selling.” I could feel the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes.
“Okay. That’s what we’ll do. I have a good realtor we often write contracts for, she’ll be more than happy to help, I’m sure.” I nodded and Diane squeezed my hand one more time, smiling sadly. “I’ll leave you to your reading, then,” she said as she got up to go back into the house.
“Wait, there’s….something I wanted to talk to you about,” I said nervously.
Diane sat back down and looked me expectantly.
“I was hoping it would be okay for me to homeschool permanently.” The idea of returning even after the rest of the year away was suffocating. I knew that inevitably I would always be the girl with the dead parents, and no matter how much time passed, that was not something I felt capable to handle.
“You don’t think that will be a bit…isolating?” Diane hedged.
“Honestly, I think it would be more isolating to be in a crowd full of people who pity me than it would be to be here on my own. Besides, I’ll see everyone in the afternoons, so it’s not like I’ll be alone all the time,” I replied, meeting her eyes.
“If you feel like this is the best decision for you I am more than willing to support it,” she said. I could feel tension leaving my shoulders that I didn’t even realize I was holding.
“Thank you.”
It's been a bit of an emotional experience to share this version of these characters with anyone because I have been living with them for almost 10 years. I'm just hoping that I do them justice.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I stumbled through the next week in a haze of numbing grief. It seemed each day that there were more people at the Evanses than the last, constantly bringing food and offering their condolences. Diane, Phillip, Amy, and Jim made the funeral arrangements, asking for my input only when absolutely necessary. They would’ve allowed me to have as much involvement as I wished, but it was abundantly clear to all of us that I was in no shape to make such adult decisions. I spent the majority of my time in Max’s room - mine and Max’s room, I suppose - sleeping or doing schoolwork. After some contemplation, I’d approached Phillip and Diane about the possibility of completing the year at home. I knew if I went back it would be first to a sea of pity which would then die down to whispers of ‘that’s the girl whose parents were murdered’ and I simply couldn’t handle that. They agreed and were able to make arrangements with the school within the week. Diane had suggested I take a few weeks’ break but I found that keeping up with my classes busied my mind and kept me from spending too much time in the more brutal places in my head.
Max, unsurprisingly, was my rock. He knew just how much to push and exactly when to back off. His presence was constant but he made sure I had space; if I was reading in bed, he was working quietly at his desk. He anchored me. He still does.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“It should be raining,” I murmured, staring out the passenger window of the Jeep.
The funeral itself had been mercifully brief; my parents were’t ones for fanfare. There had been a minister who mentioned the requisite ‘dust to dust’ and said a few words about where he seemed to think we go when we die. But I didn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear him. All I could hear was a dull throbbing against my brain as I tried to convince myself that my parents were not the ones lying in the coffins. That my parents weren’t about to be buried under a thousand pounds of earth. That my parents weren’t dead.
And now we were driving back towards town, towards the small banquet hall at the church where someone had organized food for the mourners.
Mourners, I thought. Is that what those of us left behind are reduced to? A state of sadness where grief is expressed over your loss and then suddenly you move on? Today, I was a mourner at my parents’ funeral...what does that make me tomorrow?
An orphan, my mind answered, unbidden. Tomorrow, you’re an orphan.
It was like something had pulled every last ounce of air from my lungs.
My hand flew to Max’s and I clamped my fingers down fiercely.
“Liz?” He hazarded, startled.
“Take me home. Please...I can’t...just take me home,” I begged.
“Ok,” he agreed. Just like that. Anyone else would’ve questioned me, told me that it was hard but I still needed to go to the reception, that I needed to be strong or mature or responsible or some such bullshit. But not Max. I let my grip on his hand relax the tiniest bit.
He took a left at the next intersection. Diane and Phillip were behind us and for a moment I panicked thinking that they would follow us, but they continued towards the church. At least they’d know not to expect us.
I took a deep breath when we pulled into the driveway. Ever since that day, the house had been teeming with people. It made me feel like I was suffocating.
I followed Max through the side door, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen to unzip my stiletto boots. Max shrugged out of his suit coat, draping it over the back of a chair and loosened his tie.
“Do you want to go lie down?” He suggested gently and it was only then I realized I was still standing in the archway holding my shoes, the wall half supporting me.
I nodded and accepted his outstretched hand.
Max closed the door gently behind us and switched on the small lamp on his nightstand. The curtains were still drawn and the room was dim and warm. Comforting. I reached for the zipper on my dress but his fingers were there, deftly sliding it down my back and it fell from my shoulders, pooling around my feet. He then released the clasp of my strapless bra and it fell to the floor. He pressed against my back and kissed the top of my head. I closed my eyes and leaned into him for a moment. I would be drowning without him.
He released me and I sat down on the edge of the bed, naked except for my midnight blue panties. I watched passively as Max moved around the room, changing out of his suit and hanging various pieces in his closet - our closet now, I suppose.
“Did you want to put something else on?” He asked, holding up a pair of his boxers and a West Roswell sweatshirt. I shook my head. Just the thought of a simple task like getting dressed was exhausting.
He dropped the clothes on the dresser and came to sit next to me in just his boxer briefs. I melted into his side, my bones too heavy to hold up any longer.
I looked down at our thighs pressed together and felt almost astonished that this was my body, that this was my breast against his side, these were my cheeks wet from tears I didn’t even realize I was crying.
After the initial shock had subsided and that first jolt of pervasive, somatic agony had tempered to something equivalent to open heart surgery without anesthesia, everything had taken on muted quality. It was like looking through water. Ephemeral, unfocused. I knew I was supposed to be feeling something; anger, grief, pain...something. But it was as though I was split in two. The me that was watching myself go through this experience was too abstract for feelings. The somatic me was too overwhelmed to transfer those feelings from the brain into the body.
I was numb.
And then Max placed his hand on my thigh in a completely innocent gesture and I felt the warmth of his touch travel up my leg. Desire unfurled low in my belly a deep, radiating ache that only Max was able to heal. It was the first thing to break through the haze and I couldn’t lose it. Because if I let it go, I was sure that the rest of me was going to drift away too.
“Max,” I whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek.
His eyes searched mine and I could immediately see his uncertainty.
“Please, Max,” I begged. “Please. I need to feel...something, anything. Please. Make me feel...”
He wrapped his hand softly around my wrist. “Liz, I...”
“No, Max. I need this. I need you...Please,” I whispered, my mouth drifting towards his almost unconsciously.
“Oh, Lillabet,” he murmured as his lips met mine. Our kiss muted my sob of relief; he understood.
I wrapped myself around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel his skin on mine. He stretched out on top of me and the feeling of his weight over my body was so calming. I felt so safe in his arms, so protected; I could feel the rest of the world melting away. When I closed my eyes, all I saw was a glorious black void that allowed me to focus on the sensation of his hand on my breast and his lips on my neck. To appreciate the erotic experience of holding him in my hand as he rapidly hardened; like silk over steel. The cyclical slideshow had altogether ceased for the first time in almost a week. If this was what it would take for the thoughts to disappear, I never wanted to stop.
“Max,” I moaned as his hand slid inside my panties. He circled my clitoris once, twice, three times, before plunging two fingers deep inside of me. I cried out and arched into his touch, but it wasn’t nearly enough. I needed more, so much more.
“Please...inside of me...Max...please,” I was becoming incoherent from his ministrations. I grasped him more firmly and stroked him from base to tip, running my thumb over the teardrop opening, spreading the slick fluid across his sensitive skin. He shuddered and groaned, pulling away from me just long enough to remove my underwear and then his. He leaned down and kissed the valley between my breasts, then my neck, and then my lips - so reverently - before reaching for the top drawer of the nightstand. And then he stopped when the realization hit him.
“Lillabet, we don’t have any more...” He began, looking down at me from where he knelt between my legs.
“I’m still on the pill, Max. I need to feel you; all of you,” I said with more conviction than I realized I still possessed.
“Are you sure?” He asked as he settled back over me, the naked head of his penis pressing against my entrance.
“Yes,” I breathed, rocking my hips up to meet him as he slipped inside of me.
It was the first time we had ever been together without a condom between us and it was an incredible sensation. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. I tightened my inner muscles around him, savoring the delicious ache and his moan of pleasure in my ear.
“Christ, Liz!” He gasped, thrusting into me again.
He set a steady pace and my hips rose to meet him again and again. I dragged my nails down his back and grabbed his ass.
“More, Max, I need more! Harder!” I cried, digging my fingers into his flesh.
“Fuck!” I screamed as his finally slammed into me, the bed smashing into the wall with the force. He found the fine line between insurmountable pleasure and indescribable pain and quickly brought me to the edge. I bit down on his shoulder, sucking at the salty hollow of his clavicle. I was so damned close.
I tore my mouth away from his shoulder and kissed him, hard. He could feel the desperation in me and his hand slid between our bodies and found my clitoris once again, but this time he pressed down with his thumb and rubbed in fast, frantic circles.
I screamed incoherently in pleasure and my walls tightened reflexively around him as he pushed me closer and closer to orgasm.
His thrusts became more erratic and his breath came in deep, fast pants.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded. His face was inches from mine. He held my gaze intently, his eyes alight with a panoply of emotions. “I love you, Lillabet,” he whispered reverently and he pinched my clitoris between his thumb and index finger. And I went soaring into that sweet, sweet oblivion.
He exploded inside of me at the first contraction of my orgasm. I could feel him filling me for the very first time, which only intensified my pleasure.
His name was a mantra on my lips, raspy and tearful and desperate and immeasurably grateful.
After what seemed an eternity in that delicious, vast space permeable only to his touch, he released me and slid his softening member from my inside of me. I whimpered at the loss, but Max immediately pulled me flush against his warm, hard body. I laid my head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around me, pressing a lingering kiss into my hair.
He pulled the blankets over us and tucked them around me. I burrowed into him and closed my eyes, a half-formed “thank you” on my lips as I drifted into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I thought the funeral was going to be the worst of it. The pinnacle of the My Parents Are Dead experience. But a few days later, I found out just how wrong I was.
“Liz?” It was Diane.
It was everyone’s first day back to school and I was doing whatever I could to keep myself occupied. At that moment, I was sitting on the back porch in a pair of Max’s sweats and a fleece zip up trying to read Hemingway’s Hills Like White Elephants. After 30 minutes, they still hadn’t ordered their cervezas. This was not promising.
I looked up from the paperback in my hand and watched as she sat down across from me.
“Am I interrupting you?” She asked, gesturing towards the book.
“This? Oh, um, no. I was just…uh…no, you’re not interrupting,” I stammered awkwardly. I still felt so uncomfortable in my skin that interactions with anyone felt staggering.
She nodded and took a breath. “Liz, there are a few difficult things that we need to talk about regarding your parent’s estate. There’s never a good time to do this, but unfortunately, it’s not something that can wait for a less awful time, either.” I noticed then that she had a thin manilla folder on the table in front of her.
“As you know, Phillip and I were named your legal guardians in the event that something happened. This also means that we become responsible for all of the tangible assets of their estate until you turn 18. In most cases, it’s fairly straightforward. We would essentially make sure any debts were paid and everything else would sit in trust. And we wouldn't be having this conversation for months because this is all so raw and absolutely horrible to think about.” It was evident that this was as difficult for her to talk about as it was for me to hear.
“But in your case Liz, there is the Crash Down and by extension, your family’s home. The property is paid off, but there are a number of pieces of restaurant equipment that were purchased on credit and those loans must be paid to avoid collections or repossession or garnishment. There is enough money in savings and liquid assets to pay off these items, but it only makes financial sense if you are intending to keep and operate the Crash Down as a restaurant. If you want to keep the property but close the Crash Down, we would need to discuss other possible uses for the space because it is commercial which affects how it is assessed and taxed.”
“What if I wanted to sell it; all of it?” I interjected, tears pooling in the corners of my eyes.
“That’s another option,” Diane acknowledged, her voice quiet. I could see the strain on her face.
“We’ll have to hire a real estate agent and get it listed and we’ll have to clean out the living areas, figure out what you want to do with the furniture. We’d be able to make payments on the equipment and keep up with the taxes in the meantime,” she said, and then reached across the table, covering my hand with her own. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” She asked, holding my gaze intently.
I took a deep breath, trying to will away the tears with little success. “I can’t ever live there again, Diane. Not without them. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to step foot in the Crash Down.” Just the thought made me nauseated.
“This is a big decision, Liz. Do you want to take some time to think about it?”
I shook my head. I knew from the first day that this would be my decision, I just hadn’t been able to admit it to myself. “This is what I want to do. I don’t know about the things in the apartment yet, but it will never be home again without them and that’s more painful than selling.” I could feel the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes.
“Okay. That’s what we’ll do. I have a good realtor we often write contracts for, she’ll be more than happy to help, I’m sure.” I nodded and Diane squeezed my hand one more time, smiling sadly. “I’ll leave you to your reading, then,” she said as she got up to go back into the house.
“Wait, there’s….something I wanted to talk to you about,” I said nervously.
Diane sat back down and looked me expectantly.
“I was hoping it would be okay for me to homeschool permanently.” The idea of returning even after the rest of the year away was suffocating. I knew that inevitably I would always be the girl with the dead parents, and no matter how much time passed, that was not something I felt capable to handle.
“You don’t think that will be a bit…isolating?” Diane hedged.
“Honestly, I think it would be more isolating to be in a crowd full of people who pity me than it would be to be here on my own. Besides, I’ll see everyone in the afternoons, so it’s not like I’ll be alone all the time,” I replied, meeting her eyes.
“If you feel like this is the best decision for you I am more than willing to support it,” she said. I could feel tension leaving my shoulders that I didn’t even realize I was holding.
“Thank you.”