Letting Go- TLVS One-Shot

Letting Go.

This one-shot is dedicated to laughterandjynx, for making the beautiful story The Last Virgin Standing. I don't really know what to say here...ummm this is for the one-shot comp. but I mainly just wanted to write a one-shot for the story. The characters have so much...well...character that it's so tempting to play around with them, and laughterandjynx, if you could, I'd love to just get constructive critisism back on my writing. Hope you like it and I apologize for its excessive length.

Charlotte Summers took a deep breath before knocking on the familiar door standing in front of her. How many times had she'd barged into this house? How many times had she just waltzed on in without a care in the world? How many times did knocking on this wood feel even remotely necessary?

Mrs. Chandler opened the door in question and pulled Charlotte from her thoughts before they could bury her completely. The woman looked weathered and older than she used to. Exhausted. A strained smile appeared on her face as she practically sighed out in a tired voice "Oh, hello Charlotte."

A moment passed, strangled silence filling the air at the prospect of what was going to happen. With a quivering breath Mrs. Chandler opened the door and stepped aside. "Come on in, hun. I'll take you to his room."

Mrs. Chandler continued talking as she crept up the stairs, ever-so-slowly. Charlotte could still see the dents made by her own trampling feet, hurrying to tell Luke a new bout of gossip and he'd indulge her by spouting back equally sarcastic and mocking remarks. The scuff marks, which decorated the railing Luke was obsessed with sliding down during his 'rebellious' phase. These little reminders, of a life that was so good and honest and had so much potential for love, broke her heart.

Suddenly she cursed Mrs. Chandler for walking so slow- tortuously slow. It was like being dragged behind a horse and buggy down memory lane.

"He'd just started a load of laundry before the...before he went out that day. So most of the clothes are gone." Charlotte swallowed hard to retract whatever was building in her stomach. She'd thought she was strong enough to do this, but the silent scream that stayed lodged in her throat now told her otherwise.

"Don't." She interrupted the pained woman, the mother of now none, before her. "You don't have to talk...about it...don't talk. It makes it hurt so much more." It was at that time they arrived before his closed bedroom door. How many times had she disregarded the beauty this door held? How many times had she ignored the way she relied on hearing his muffled replies when she called to him through the wood?

"I hadn't managed to get much done, only clear out the closet" Mrs. Chandler continued as her shaky hands reached out and closed around the knob of the door handle. It rattled as she tried to regain composure. "Take what you want, but try to leave the rest. At le-east until the movers come. " Her breath hitched as she clasped a hand over her mouth. It was less of an instinct and more of a desperate last ditch effort to hold in her sobs. Charlotte knew because she'd practiced the maneuvre countless times.

"I'm sorry-" Mrs. Chandler choked out before toddling back down the stairs, her cries growing fainter until it was eerily silent in the hallway. This hallway had never been silent before. And now, it was just Charlotte and the door.

A deep breath and it was cracked open, the view of the floorboards widening until finally they expanded to show the full room. Like Mrs. Chandler had mentioned, everything seemed relatively untouched, the blankets on his bed the same from when she'd last seen them, the itchy pillow cases Luke called ever so insistently to complain about encased the same pillows where he and she had rested their heads so often. Even the floorboards, and the way they shone with the incoming sunlight glistened the same as before. But there was a stiffness, a lack of use and life that didn't stop at the thin coat of dust on every object. It festered in her heart as well. A reminder that though it looked as if Luke would race up the stairs any minute, he was gone.