Emmett held Phoebe close and though he listened to her words, he went on a separate thought path. She was trying to be so kind, suggesting ways to rebuild or remake, recreate; he knew that wasn't the way to do it. He had to make a harsh line between the old him and him now. He had to cut this off now before he became somebody haunted by ghosts.
[say]"...I wanna take stuff, but...not remake it. Um. Maybe...once I've got everythin' out...we could...we could burn it."[/say] He suggested, trying not to let the tears in his eyes spill over at the idea.
[say]"I don' wanna be reminded of my family every time I go to bed, ya know?"[/say] He asked, imploring her to understand. [say]"We can..keep the farm here, and I'll just walk up. Use the barn for storage. But the house...I can't...I can't use it."[/say]
Phoebe wore a sympathetic frown as he spoke, a little surprised that he came to this conclusion on his own. If his tears did spill over, she would be quick to wipe them away. [say]”I know. I understand.”[/say] she said gently. In a way she did. She had lost family twice now. She didn’t even know if they were alive or dead to be honest – a very odd limbo to exist in. [say]”And that’s fine. We can take everything out that you either want to keep or that can be traded for something and get rid of the rest. You don’t have to keep anything, house included.”[/say] if he wanted to make a delineation and move forward from a completely fresh start, he could do that too.
In the end, it was just a house, nothing more. Houses were built and torn down all the time. Burning it wouldn’t do anything to the good memories he had. [say]”So let’s do that then. Let’s pack up everything we can now. We can borrow a cart and pick it all up to bring back. How does that sound for a plan?”[/say] she asked, hoping that was what he wanted to hear and would get him on a path of moving forward.
Phoebe laid out what they would do (for which he was immensely grateful, feeling like everything was too hard to pull out into a line right now) and Emmett nodded, setting about to do it. He started in the kitchen, taking pots and pans he had a particular memory of (which were still usable, not drenched in blood), his mother's recipe book. He ran his fingers over the notches on the back door used to mark each child's growing height - there was no saving it.
He took cushions and toys, throws and wall hangings. The things that gave his home personality and made it more than just walls. From the upstairs he took his own bedding (which smelt...interesting, at the moment) and some of his own clothes, which had been laying untouched in the chaos of the last weeks. Drawings from his siblings, his older brother's coat, his father's razor.
When he had finished he had a cart of an odd assortment of items and the house was in many spots bare; but all that he had chosen mostly fit in the vegetable cart. The front half was to keep, the back to sell or destroy. Looking down at it, he thought it felt so odd to be making such a judgement about something that had been a regular part of life not long ago. He could almost hear his siblings yelling: 'But that's mine!'
He gave the house one last look, then turned to Phoebe with a weak smile. [say]"Thanks, Bee. I'll...come back and sort out the burnin' later."[/say] It seemed somehow cruel to do both the taking and burning at once, as if too much at once would hurt his no longer there family.
Walking away, he took the handkerchief he'd offered to Phoebe from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes, tears threatening to blur the way to his new home.
