I'm ALIVE. I know, amazing. I thought the writers block was going to kill me.

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Elena's POV:

I got out of the car and stood there in shock. No, it wasn't a mansion or some palace. I stood in front of a medium-sized house, and it was cute, with baby blue shutters and butterfly yellow walls. But that wasn't the reason I was shocked. It was, my house.

I hadn't seen it in forever. How??? Tears pricked my eyes. I stumbled up the walkway, in an almost dreamlike state. Memories danced around me tauntingly. I remember skating down that driveway and scraping my knees, falling on the pavement. I could practically feel the grit digging into my legs. 

Eyes glazed over, I watched like a spectator as my mother came out, her long black hair up in a messy bun, an orange apron tied at her waist. I caught my breath. I had never realized how beautiful she was. She brought her hand up to her lips, and came running towards younger me. Cradling younger me in her arms, she whispered comfortingly in my ear. She smelled like banana bread and perfume, a combination that couldn't be found anywhere else and still smell amazing. 

She picked younger me up and and carried younger me inside. 

"Mamá..." I whispered desperately. It's been tearing me apart for so long- the fact I can't even remember my dead mother's name.

Someone put their hand on my shoulder, jerking me back into reality. I discovered that the grit digging into my legs was real; I had fallen to my knees in tears. I looked up- it was Alec. He gave me a sad smile, saying all that needed to be said in one look: "I'm sorry."

I had heard that phrase so many times; my elderly neighbor who had found me crying by my mother's body, the police woman with the cold eyes at the station, the numerous social workers and therapists over the years, the adults at the foster home. But out of all of them, this one seemed the most genuine. It almost broke my heart, and I could feel the tears coming faster, burning and clinging to my cheeks.

I smiled back at Alec through the tears. He must think I'm crazy, or bipolar. Falling down and crying at the sight of a house. Maybe I am crazy. But I think that after everything I've been through, I deserve to be a little bit loco.

Taking his outstretched hand, I stood up, took a deep steadying breath and walked up the brick steps.

 It had been a long time. Vines heavy with bursting orange flowers crawled up the drainpipes, thick carpets of green moss ran between cracks in the steps. The lawn was overgrown and wild, and the porch swing had a fine layer of fuzz. It was strangely beautiful. 

I opened the door, following the halls from my childhood, into my home. The memories coated the wood almost as thickly as the the dust, seeping in between the boards until the whole house seemed to shake with the saturation.  

I paused as I passed the kitchen, but shook my head and kept walking, not daring to look inside. I'm a coward, I know. I'd rather run from my fears than face them. So what? Stepping into the living room, I saw the last person I'd ever expect to see in this place again. It was like deja vu.

"Uncle Louis?!"

Sorry it took me so long to update. Thank you for sticking with this story. I will try to update again, I got out of this writer's block in the midst of my homework, and immediately stopped everything and grabbed my laptop. Also, a quote I came up with:

 A broken heart does not make you a weak person; it makes you a warrior.