Bit Into Your Love {SAPPHIC}

🩸Journals (pt.28)🩸

January 20th, 2024

"It's beautiful, Marine,"

"I'm not quite sure what to do with it." I replied, looking over at her as she dropped the boxes down on the tile floor of our new kitchen.

The kitchen was right next to the front door, the whole house was modern, but also gave a cozy feel. I loved it.

"Can I put you in charge of furniture?" I was mesmerized by the way she was easily hauling in boxes from the truck in and into the house.

"Of course."

"I trust your taste, ever since the wine,"
I paused, then directed my eyes up from her arms to her face. "I should help with those."

"Sure." She gave me a small smile.

After a few minutes of carrying various sizes of boxes in, Cleo spoke.
"My taste in furniture may be just a little different from my nonexistent taste in wine."

"You said the bottle attracted you. It all comes down to looks in the end. As long as the colors somewhat match and it doesn't look...janky..I don't give two shits about what you choose." I smiled.

She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, "Of course, babydoll," then she paused.

"Although, maybe I should warn you, sometimes I think I'm still in 1930."

"Well...this should be an adventure then." I huffed as I dropped a box on the ground, out of breath.

I was trying to fight past it, especially this year, but I hated the holidays, all for obvious reasons. But now there was secrets I didn't know about, exactly how my sister had died, I still didn't know. Now it had been three years.

Her suicide and my parents faking her death was still lingering in the back of my mind.

I drove the truck back to my house, Cleo had never gotten a license apparently. I had one, but I'd gotten it a few years ago, and I was definitely a little rusty on the road. I had almost run over a squirrel.

Cleo should've been the one driving, illegally, but driving nonetheless. It wasn't my fault it had run out into the road.

"I feel like we missed something."

I looked at the exterior of the cabin I'd grown up in. I'd miss the forest, the owls hooting at night that I'd fall asleep to.

Or the times I would go back there to do my homework until it got dark, I'd sneak up the stairs around midnight, hoping not to get caught.

Slinking down the stairs while the house was pitch black, getting cookies with Marionette after she'd had a nightmare.

But I couldn't think about Marionette without feeling sick, replaying images of her about to stab herself in my mind. I didn't want to think about her.

And as I walked inside for one of the last times, I looked at the bare interior. Almost everything was gone.

I looked at family photos hung up on the fridge. Mostly all of them were fake smiles. I could tell. But some of them, just a few, were real.

Like the times Father would spray me with the hose in the front yard when I was little. I barely remembered that, but it was documented in photos. I was a toddler, and having a blast in the water. We were both laughing.

I hoped to have photos like that with my children one day, but I would try to make sure they wouldn't regret them later in life. I didn't want them to be sad every time they looked at them, like me.