As It Was [Emily Prentiss]

Eight

It took about another eight weeks before I was officially moved into Emily's home, the process of selling my parents' house had taken longer than anticipated, but in that time, I'd sold what I could of my parents' belongings, donated what couldn't be sold, and the rest was put into the smallest U-Haul I could rent to be driven from the small town in Indiana to Quantico, Virginia.

When I first pulled up to the house in a tiny U-Haul, my jaw had dropped, ("no, fucking way") and as I put it in park and stepped out, Emily greeted me with a cheerful smile that made stomach flip, "Welcome home."

It wasn't an enormous house, by any means; a cookie-cutter home, almost identical to those around it, but the window frames and the front door were a stark navy blue against the pristine white color of the house. I noticed immediately, unlike the other houses I'd past on the way, that there were no signs of life, no personality; nothing to say Emily Prentiss lives here. No welcome mat, no wreath on the door, nothing to indicate the house belonged to anyone, much less to Emily Prentiss. Still, from the outside, it was far better than any house I'd ever stepped inside.

As Emily lead me through the door, her hand on my lower back, I realized it wasn't just the front of the house that lacked personality, but the entire interior. She led me through the entryway into a living room and kitchen, an open floorplan blended the two and made it seem far more massive than it was. The cupboards were a navy blue, and the counters were a gray and white swirled quartz, the floor a natural wood.

"I just went grocery shopping yesterday. I wasn't entirely sure what your eating habits looked like, and I mostly do take-out, so help yourself to anything you like."

The living room had a creamy U-shaped sectional with a white coffee table, where a single mug sat on a coaster. A large tv hung on the wall, showing scenes from a cooking show, the sound having been muted upon my arrival (I'd assume). There was a cat sitting on the arm of the couch, napping.

"That's Sergio; the only man I'll ever let into my bed." Emily introduced, petting the cat briefly. I smiled at her, but said nothing as she walked across the living room to a set of two doors right next to each other. "This is your room. I hope it's not too bright for you."

It wasn't a large bedroom, by any means, with high white walls and a ledge with several plants spilling their foliage over the edge, their leaves reaching toward the head of a black, wrought iron bed, decorated in various white and mauve pillows, and a fluffy white duvet. My jaw dropped all the same, taking in the tall, black bookshelf, white nightstand, and mauve sitting chair.

"I know you don't have a green thumb," Emily spoke softly, her breath warm on my ear. I could feel her hand pressing against my back gently. "but you love the aesthetic of being a plant mama; so they're fake." She chuckled into my skin as I blushed. "No green thumb necessary."

"Emily, it's too much." I hadn't intended on her furnishing the bedroom. I had my old bed in pieces in the moving van. "I told you not to do this."

She waved me off, turning away from the room and opening the second door, revealing a fairly large, full-size bathroom. It was simple with a toilet, a large counter with an oval sink, and the bathtub/shower was quite large, to say the least.