I'm Yours [h.s]

Chapter 22 ~Giving up~

Chapter 22~ Giving up

I have never given up anything.

Getting a D for math? Never gave up, I tried harder, even got a tutor to get my A, and I eventually did.

Music? Especially music, I have never given up on Music.

Louis? Our friendship has taken an awkward state because of the whole Larry Stylinson thing, yet, I have never dared give up on our friendship. We were as close as we were- maybe even closer.

If I don’t easily give up, why is it that I’m standing right in front of mine and Lora’s house just after calling a real estate to sell the house?

I stood at the porch, I’m still not sure how did I get the strength to climb the three stairs leading to the porch, right in front of the door. I just can’t bring my hands to touch the handle of the door.

I haven’t stepped a foot here since a year. Since Lora’s death. Just after she passed away, I didn’t bother going back to this house. I spent most of my time at mum’s house, or my house back in London. I even asked someone to bring my clothes from here, because I just couldn’t – I totally refused going back in there.

I’m scared to feel her presence if I go in there.

I’m so frightened I’ll smell her scent.

“Go on” I say to myself, “You need to do this” As I’m selling the house, I need to at least have the courage to go look at it for the last time.

Struggling, I dragged my feet across to the door and my hand brushed the handle. I used every ounce of strength in me and squeezed the door handle opening the door with ease – it might be with ease to other people, but I felt like I was moving a brick wall.

The scent of cinnamons filled the house and I wanted to crawl into asylum away from it. The memories went gushing into my brain. Lora loved making cinnamon rolls around the house. Baking was the only thing she was capable of doing. We lived on take away or my from time-to-time homemade food. Other than that, Lora couldn’t cook to save her life.

Cinnamon rolls were her obsession. She said they made her feel better, and when she was on her ‘girl time’ they were always good to munch on – which is why our house always smelled of cinnamon.

It made my heart ache remembering those little things about her. I don’t want these memories to lurk at the back of my mind. I want to set her free, set those memories free. Why do I keep holding on?

Rubbing my feet on the welcome carpet, I walk into the alleyway and stand at the door way of our living room. My hands lying at my sides in defeat. Pictures were placed beside the TV as I absorbed them in, reminiscing our memories together in this house.

I remember begging the brunette to buy a three storey house but she insisted on one storey because she was too lazy to go up stairs again and again, and apparently it was easier for us to communicate – yet the yelling around the house calling each other never stopped.

I smile painfully at the memory.

I turn around from the familiar living room and walk over to the kitchen. Nothing has changed. There were no dishes – of course. Lora had an obsession with cleaning the dishes; she never kept any lying around in the sink. And since she resided in the hospital for quite a time, I never bothered coming back home.

Home. I miss calling it home.

I was trying not to walk the rest of the alleyway to our bedroom because that’s where it all hits a nerve. But I nevertheless dragged my feet all the way to the closed door. I twisted the door knob and walked inside the room with closed eyes. I took a deep breath sniffing in the intimate fragrance of Jasmine. Opening my eyes, I studied the all too familiar room. The king sized bed covered with white sheets still, not touched for a year – probably even longer, I haven’t slept here since her sickness.