<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Time capsule turned post-apocalyptic rubble. Floors that wept underneath the pressure of Volk's hurried steps. Smoky mirrors that mocked him and his confused double-takes at each shut-off room. Faded and frayed wallpaper that caught under his nails as he dragged them along their surfaces. Cabinets that squeaked when he tore them open, only to offer him half-empty bottles of cinnamon whiskey. Mom's bedroom, solemn, mattress and frame standing stagnant but the sheets long ripped off, puncturing his lungs and stealing his breath. All the trinkets- colored glass ornaments that reflected sunlight in the window, lampshades ornate with fringe, brocade lanterns, ceramic figurines, the vanity tray that, if you were lying in the right position on the bed, blinded you with its glare -Volk knew about it, he had to- all gone, trash or fuel for the Salvation Army at the edge of town. <br/>
<br/>
The first real semblance of genuine emotion finally appeared in Volk's face. Reno couldn't quite decipher it, but the contortion in his features was enough to suggest something other than condescension. She waited, knowingly, in the foyer as he frantically scrambled, room to room, shouldering open every fucking door as if something different would be beyond it. Even the furniture that remained seemed alien- the couches were naked of their yarn blankets, dad's desk was bare of tinkering projects, the china cabinet was unfilled, the kitchen table was free of the fake floral centerpiece and the kitschy placemats, mom's dresser was empty of her work clothes and the lacy negligees that she saved for eight o'clock. <br/>
<br/>
What the fuck did he expect? Did he seriously think Reno would become full-time maid, dusting every damn shelf, every clock that kept a different time, every decorative plate with some godawful tacky art on it, every family portrait that had been strategically kept out of view of mom's bed? Did he seriously think Reno would go out of her way to save the garden gargoyles from weathering? Did he seriously think Reno would change the linens on the mattresses that no one slept on, or fucked on, anymore? Did he seriously think Reno would dedicate her life to preserving Volk's memory of home-sweet-fucking-home, his memory of dad being a respectable mechanic with a heart of gold, his memory of mom being <i>his </i>to do whatever <i>he </i>wanted with? What about Reno? What about the memory of her? He didn't miss that- he wasn't looking for her beloved model cars, or toy horses, or refrigerator-worthy grades, or the purple cat printed backpack and metal-sided lunchbox she carried to school every day. He wasn't interested in what was left of Reno. <br/>
<br/>
Good thing, too. There wasn't anything worthwhile left of her, either.<br/>
<br/>
Even in this giant, gaping hole, this massive house, there was no room for Volk. There was no room for Reno. It was brimming with that guttural feeling of decay. Reno's makeover of the place was enough to scare away even the childhood shades that she used to see out of the corners of her eyes. Young Reno and young Volk, trampling over the loveseats, nearly slipping on the kitchen tile, chasing one another through the backdoor into the yard. Those ghosts were gone, now, and the house was left in a miserable silence. <br/>
<br/>
When his disappointing tour of their collective casket had finished, he returned to Reno. For answers? For someone to blame? She wasn't an inhabitant here, not really. Some say houses are alive- but this one was dead, it had been for a long time, and she was the parasite feeding off its corpse.<br/>
<br/>
The mourning in her dissipated instantly at his biting words. His wolf snarl was not so terrifying when his own brow furrowed with ache, when his own looming figure trembled with the nostalgia- or lack of it. <br/>
<br/>
"<i>What?</i>" She wasn't sure she had heard him right. Only complete fucking ignorance or a repulsively inflated ego would make him even consider that this was her fault. <br/>
<br/>
"I- <i>I </i>was supposed to take care of it? I'm not mom, Volk, I don't exist just to fix dinner and clean the house and do the laundry and suck your dick," sparks shimmered in his irises, flames engulfed her face, she had gotten a taste of her blood and it was making her see red, "Why would I keep it alive? Why would I bother? Just for you?"<br/>
<br/>
Baby bird, baby bird, had grown wings and was sick of the nest. <br/>
<br/>
"You want me to preserve something that <i>you </i>ruined, that <i>you </i>destroyed, just so <i>you</i> could get off?" She had never been good at being angry, the tears were coming again, again, again. <br/>
<br/>
Red little Reno, didn't take long for her to be blue again. Knees buckled, sobs gagged her. She had nowhere to run- Volk was standing in the way of her sanctuary, the only place she could bleed out and not be bothered. <br/>
<br/>
"Do you- do you ever think about anyone but yourself?" She dragged her arms across her face, skin collecting black paint and tears. "Yeah, okay, fine, the house is fucking dead but I'm dying with it."<br/>
<br/>
Reno, pure little Reno, the swears sounded strange coming off of her tongue, words she was never allowed to say now quick to form in her throat.<br/>
<br/>
"<i>You </i>were supposed to take care of <i>me</i>." <br/>
<br/>
She couldn't look at him anymore. "And- and- you-" The sentence disappeared into cries. It didn't matter. He knew what she was going to say even before she said it.</span>