No Place Like Home Part 2 - If These Walls Could Talk

Author: Lexa

Email: c_rossingjordan@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Abby has to face coming 'home' for Christmas.

Spoilers: Don't think there are any.

Comments: Hope you're enjoying it so far. This chapter is different than what I posted at FanForum, EGroups, etc. It's been edited. I just don't remember how much. It's still the same idea, just more sarcastic thoughts on the part of Abby.

The song is still "Sunny Came Home".

Disclaimer: I think we've established the fact that these characters aren't mine.

I recognize the smell of his cologne as he gives me a hug. It's the same cologne he used when I was younger, and he still wears it as excessively as he used to.

As we both pull back, he puts his hands on my arms and looks at me for moment.

He smiles, "You look amazing sweetie."

"I look awful."

"Don't say that, you look beautiful"

"You look exactly the same."

"Now I have a lot more grey hair."

"Why don't you dye it?" I walk into the living room and drop my bags to the floor as I notice that not only has he gotten all new furniture, but new carpets as well.

"So, how was the car ride over?" A little sensitive about hair dye, are we now Dad?

"Long. Is Eric not here yet?" Hey, look at that, I can change the subject too! Guess the acorn really doesn't fall far from the tree.

"No, he's coming tomorrow."

There's a silence. Neither of us know what to say as he stands there looking at me, while I just keep looking around the room.

It's strange, isn't it? You can change the couch, the table, the TV, the carpets, and you would think that would be enough. But you can't change the walls; and maybe that's what gets me the most. These are the same walls that I sat between when I learned to read. The same walls in which Eric and I fought over petty childhood things. The same walls that watched my mother have countless manic episodes. They watched as my father told us he was leaving.

Finally, he says something. "Do you want to put your stuff upstairs? I figured you and Eric would want to stay in your old rooms."

"Yah, I should probably get changed too." I pick up my stuff and start towards the stairs.

"You need any help bringing up your bags?"

"No, I'm fine."

*********

Sunny came home to her favourite room

Sunny sat down in the kitchen

She opened a book and a box of tools

Sunny came home with a mission

She says days go by I'm hypnotized

I'm walking on a wire

I close my eyes and fly out of my mind

Into the fire

**********

It feels a bit eerie, opening the door to my old room. It's been so long, yet as my hand turns the knob flashbacks from some of the thousands of times I must have opened this door come rolling through my mind.

I took most of my stuff when I went to college, but my old bed still sits in the corner, most of the shelves are empty, although a few frames and books are scattered along a couple of them. The walls even have a couple of my posters from the '80's taped up on them (Mental note: Take those down tonight; they are all extremely creepy and I won't be able to fall asleep with them all staring at me).

I drop all my stuff on the bed and stand there, glancing around the room. Instead of wonderful memories of childhood coming to my mind, it's constant turmoil that sticks out.

"..You left! You left me and Eric, and now, thanks to you, the last ten years have been hell!!"

"Abby. come on."

"What's worse, is that you keep trying to act as if you love us. But really, you wouldn't have left if you did!"

He quickly grabbed me in order to stop me as I started to angrily make my way to the door, "Abigail!!! You know why I had to leave!"

"Right. Maggie. You couldn't live with her. Of course you decided to leave us with her. So we could grew up faster than we should have. So we could deal with her depression and her manic episodes, and not having parents who loved us-"

"I love you and your brother, Abigail. I always have!"

"Well you sure have a hell of showing it!"

And with that, I walked out, closing the door behind me; reminding myself not to cry.



I close my eyes and try to rid my mind of these thoughts of things that happened a long time ago. After all, it has been twelve years.

Quickly I throw on a different pair of jeans and a warmer sweater, leaving my cigarette-smelling clothes strewn across the bed.

And with that, I walk out, closing the door behind me; reminding myself not to cry.