Junk of the Heart

chapter six - the lucky socks

AN: hokay, so being that it's been eighty-four years since i updated, this is probably a bit rushed and in poor shape... but hey, it's up, right? a lot of people said they really liked c.s. as a character, so i wanted to give him a chapter that was sort of in his mind. also, i want to say that while i wanted to let the narrative alone create character images in the reader's mind, i found a picture that spoke "rene and brodie" to me... so i've attached it to most of the chapters - a visual of a time when they were happy together xD enjoy! and thanks sooooo so so much for all the support!

Day two was already behind schedule. C.S. had pulled up to an empty yard around ten AM - just in time to see a yawning Brodie ducking out the front door. His t-shirt was inside out. The display blanket dragged slowly behind him, looking like a sad cape. He hadn’t slept.

“You look great,” said C.S. sarcastically, helping Brodie place the chairs.

Too tired for a witty comeback, Brodie just let out a puff of air. “I could use a coffee run,” he admitted, extending an upturned palm. “Lemme borrow your keys.”

“You mean my car,” corrected C.S., tightening his grip on the keys. “I think you’re asking for the keys with the intention of borrowing my car.”

Brodie shrugged and started flexing his fingers expectantly.

“How about I go?” asked C.S. with a sigh.

“No dice, mon ami. Someone’s gotta set up the sale.” Brodie jerked a thumb over his shoulder, where the tattered box and blanket were awaiting. “And besides, you have the very important responsibility of drawing people in with those pretty doe-eyes of yours…” He feigned affection, grasping C.S.’s hand in both of his own. “You have very soft skin...” Brodie wrenched the keys into his clutches and swiftly spun towards the car.

C.S.’s shoulders sunk. “I think a latte for my efforts would be nice!” he called after Brodie.

“Remember, time is money!” Brodie responded, throwing up a twinkling wave before disappearing into the driver’s seat and peeling out towards the local Starbucks.

Had he seemed in better shape, C.S. never would’ve let him get away with it. But there were subtle signs that showed his friend was truly hurting… He started to spread out the merchandise, unfurling the wrinkled blanket near the edge of the lawn. Brodie’s form of therapy was always a bit twisted, but if auctioning off Rene’s stuff helped him gain a bit of closure, C.S. would stand by him, reluctantly supportive, until the end of his slump. Always patient, though justifiably sassy, C.S. had played the dependable role through many-a-breakup over the years. Brodie always proved surprisingly resilient, recovering from every ceremonious dumping with pliancy unparalleled…

But this time was different - C.S.’s acute eye for detail and in-depth understanding of “Brodie Bryce” could tell. This time, it was Rene. She wasn’t someone Brodie could just move past… He needed to get rid of her, cleanse his life of her presence, pretend like they hadn’t shared two years together. And that, C.S. had come to realize, was what the sale was about; Brodie didn’t want her mementos in his basement, or in his life....

They still had a good haul to sell. As he unpacked the box, C.S. noted that only a fourth of the stuff had been shelled out the previous day. For Brodie’s sake, he hoped this junk would sell quickly…

C.S. furrowed his brow as he set the sale, unearthing a pair of socks at the bottom of the box. “I hope you washed them…” he muttered, as though Brodie were living in his head. Knowing his friend, he probably hadn’t. With a light wince, C.S. turned them right-side-out and laid them on the blanket, half wondering if they had been a pair of Brodie’s that had gotten mixed up. But then again, this was a pair that actually matched, meaning they more than likely belonged to Rene.