𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 - 𝐉.𝐖.𝐇

01; a home that went up in flames

It was the sound of an alarm that woke Creed up from his sleeping state, the smell of smoke creeping from under his bedroom door and the sudden rise in heat was all that he needed to know.

He rushed out of bed, forgetting his slippers, his tanned feet slapping off the ice-cold flooring. He had grew acustomed to this, it was a routine of sorts.

Throwing a cloth over his nose and mouth, he ran down the stairs and into the kitchen; his mother stood at the cooker, still as a statue, unmoving despite her face being smothered in smoke.

She had yet again burnt down another house, for the seventh time since Creed was born. With eyebrows furrowed, he rushed to her, pulling her away from the cooker, carefully, watching as the wooden ceiling that was laid above her collapses exactly where she stood moments prior.

He held back tears; not because of his home burning to the ground, he stopped crying over that after the third time. He was holding back tears because of the reason why every place he grew accustomed to burnt down.

His mother. It was always his mother.

She was a sleepwalker, a dangerous one; her unconscious mind always telling her to set the house alight, as if it were some demon seeping its way into her mind, persuading her to.

He dragged her out of the house and onto the front lawn, shaking her violently, coughing up his lungs — his body forcing out the grey substance he had slightly inhaled.

She blinked, he sighed. Tears pooled in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks and she frantically apologised over and over, he held her in his grip tightly, thankful that she was alright; unharmed, uninjured.

It was time to move again; for the eighth time.

Creed watched the trees go by, the forest was somewhat pleasant to the teen, calming, relaxing. He was sat in the back seat of his mother's rustic-blue Volvo, they were moving house again.

His gaze drifted from the wildlife outside into the cars mirror, his black eyes meeting brown. He blinked before once again looking out the window.

His mother moved the two to Forks Washington, miles away from the home they once had, she chose a remote town in hopes for a fresh start, Creed did not complain, he never did.

She enrolled him into school, having to re-do Junior year; once again, he did not complain, he nodded his head and that was the end of the conversation.

Laura, his mother, had bought the house located opposite of the Chief of polices' it was dark blue in color with white accents, the brown wood peaking through the cracks in the paint.

Creed thought back to his family, his biological dead-beat dad who up and left when the first fire started, taking away his little brother in the process, he missed Logan, he missed teaching him how to play soccer, missed teaching him things his dad never taught himself.

Eventually, they pulled up to their new home, gathering his bag of clothes, he left the vehicle and headed inside.

The furniture was dark brown, the walls a shade of cream, the building was old, that much was obvious. He ignored everything else as he made his way towards his bedroom, thankfully, his mother gave him the largest room.

Walking into it, he cringed slightly, the walls a dark green, his least favourite color, the bedding was a navy-blue which to the teen was alright in choice.