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home - part one
Time is a funny thing, isn’t it? So much of it can pass, and yet you can still feel like you’re trapped in your own secluded bubble, where the sun never sets, and the clocks on the walls stop ticking. That’s how it feels to be back in Limbo; when Stone died, I packed a few bags for myself and Lilah, and moved to a sh*tty apartment in Salacity, and swore I wouldn’t return unless I had to. There were plenty of places for me to shop and get diapers in town, there was no need for me to travel unless I really had to, so I stayed put. I built my own little bubble in Salacity, and I was happy… at least, I pretended to be.
It’s been six weeks since I’ve lost my husband, and I couldn’t fight the itch anymore. I needed to feel him again, I needed to be home. The air in Limbo smelt exactly the same as the day I left, musty with a hint of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air and never seemed to disappear. The air felt heavier than it did back in Salacity, but I welcomed it with open arms.
The walk to our old apartment took no time at all, my feet practically ran down the sidewalk and up the stairs to the front door, and it was almost as if the bare walls were calling my name, begging me to come back. I hesitated once I reached the front door, though. My hand shook, and I could feel sweat dripping from my palm. As much as I missed this place, I wasn’t sure if I was ready. The one place that was supposed to bring me solace was also the place that brought me the worst pain.
After a few deep breaths, I opened the door, surprised that my key still worked. Though I technically had never sold the place, I expected the town to take it away from me since I stopped paying the rent. My heart felt heavy as the lock twisted, and I really wanted to turn around and go back to my actual home, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t allow myself. So instead, I put on my big girl panties, stepped inside, and closed the door behind me.
The living room was dimly lit by the cracks in the curtains, and everything sat just the way I had left it before leaving town; dishes still sat in the dish rack, though once clean, they now collected dust. The house plants that scattered around were mostly dead, though the ones closest to the window still thrived from the slight amount of sunlight. I didn’t make it too far inside though before I caught his scent. The mixture of bergamot and rosemary invaded my nostrils and knocked the wind right out of me, and suddenly I was on my knees, hand clinging to my chest.
I didn’t realize how much I had missed it, or how much I had missed him. I masked my pain for so f***ing long that I never properly grieved his untimely death, and being engulfed in his scent for the first time in a month and a half hurt. It hurt so f***ing bad.
*author's note: I never write in first person so this might be terrible and I'm SO sorry if it is, but I wanted to get something new out. xx thanks for reading, if you do.
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