No Strings Attached

Day 268

            "I know it's a little out of your budget, but after talking to Lisa I think you guys are really gonna like this," the realtor says once they cross the threshold of the house. "All of the bedrooms are upstairs except for the guest bedroom, which is around that corner."

            The realtor points down the hallway, Dean and Lisa's eyes following her finger to the end of the hall.

            "If you follow me, I can show you the kitchen and the living room," the realtor continues, drawing the couple's eyes away from the hallway. Lisa gives Dean a pointed look and smiles before following after the woman.

            They'd been looking for a house for months, but neither of them seemed ready to settle on a house yet. There was always some imperfection, some issue that stopped them from moving in together. Dean was beginning to feel as if they weren't meant to move in together at all.

            "The kitchen is brand new, so you shouldn't have any problems with a leaky faucet," the realtor says, causing Lisa to chuckle. Dean remains silent, the woman's eyes flitting over to him. "Everything okay, Mr. Winchester?"

            "Umm..." Dean casts a look around, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic in the spacious kitchen.

            "I'll talk to him," Lisa exclaims, grasping Dean's elbow and towing him back into the living room. "What are you doing?"

            "Nothing, I'm fine," Dean assures her, smiling stiffly. Lisa narrows her eyes, clearly not believing him. "You're reading into things."

            "I just want this to be perfect," Lisa murmurs, leaning in close. "'Cause if it's not, then what's the point of moving away from your family? What's the point of moving in together at all?"

            "I know, I know," Dean soothes her. "I'm fine really. Go look at the rest at the house with the realtor. I'll catch up."

            "Alright," Lisa mutters, pecking his cheek and taking a step back. "I love you."

            "I love you, too," Dean replies, smiling at her as she leaves the room.

. . .

            The room is stripped bare, just as it had been years prior. He wasn't used to seeing all the scratches in the floorboards and the faded paint where the picture frames used to hang. All the boxes are gone, which doesn't come as a surprise. Lisa was a lot of things, but she was never a liar.

            Taking a long drag of the empty air, Dean runs a shaky hand across his face. The emptiness is suffocating, closing in around him as he takes in the sight of the lifeless house. It was strange, considering only this morning the house was filled with wrapped furniture and cardboard boxes.

            Ignoring the sensation of his thudding heart, Dean moves toward the stairs. He climbs them slowly, each step sending the sensation of breaking bones throughout his body. There's nothing here now, nothing between him and Lisa, but he can't deny the deteriorating guilt inside of him as he steps into his bedroom.

            With the bed gone, the room looks twice the size he remembers. Light from the streetlamp outside seeps in the open window, streaking against the floor and coming alive on the few items left behind. There are a couple of random things—an old stool, a lamp, a decorative paperweight—but the largest feature is the stack of four or five boxes piled in the center of the room. Upon further inspection, Dean finds they are each labeled with Lisa's scrawled handwriting. Squatting in front of them, Dean runs his thumb over the label Childhood and smiles sadly.