Verbena | Part Three
chapter two, part one, 5.6k words
Lavender
I woke up with Layla’s diary open on my chest, her handwriting leaving something of a bruise. I only made it two entries before falling asleep with her. I felt even more confused about her, thirsting to know more about the life she lived behind closed journals. The curtains began blowing as the skies grew more grey. A storm was coming, and I knew I wanted to run into town before I got soaked. I slipped off the bed, did my morning routine, and got dressed. I threw Layla’s journal in my bag along with the keys, putting the rest back in the box and under the bed.
As I walked across the pavement of the main street, I didn’t know if what I was about to do was a good idea or not. I passed a town map that caught my attention, I read over all the places I had yet to explore, and the one I was on my way to. The diner was across the street, and I could see patrons inside eating burgers and fries. I walked inside and was met with a receptionist sitting at a cluttered desk. She looked up at me, and I felt embarrassed as I spoke, “Hi, I was wondering if I would be able to talk to the sheriff. It’s not an emergency, I just have a few questions about something.”
She smiled at me as she got off her chair and pointed, “He is down this hallway. He should be available right now. I can take you down if you need?”
I shook my head, “No, that’s alright, thank you though.”
My feet dragged against the floor as I began walking down to his office. I still couldn’t figure out if this was a good idea or not. I knocked on the door and heard a muffled, “Come on in.”
I walked through the door, and he stood up to greet me, throwing his hand across his desk for me to shake. He looked nice enough that I wasn’t worried about what I was about to do. He smiled at me before he spoke, “So you’re Mariella… it is true, you do look like ya’ aunt.”
I laughed as my ass hit the cushion of the chair in front of his desk, “Yeah, I keep hearing that.”
He clicked his tongue before he spoke again, “Well, what can I help you with? Did something happen?”
Shaking my head, “No, no, nothing happened. But I am trying to get some more information about my cousin’s death. I found some things in her room that I am staying in and am just trying to piece it all together.”
He adjusted himself in his chair, sitting upright with his arms on the desk, “Hm, okay. Her case is still open, so there isn’t that much I can tell you.”
I nodded, sighing softly, “I understand, but… is there anything you can tell me?”
I watched as he opened the bottom drawer on his desk, pulling out a large file. It flopped open, and I could see a picture of her before she died pinned to the side. He read it over before closing it within seconds. He shrugged his shoulders, “This case is unlike anything I have ever seen. I mean, we haven’t had a mysterious death in this town since I was in high school with ya’ aunt and mom. He cleared his throat, “If any of what I am ‘bout to tell you is too much, just let m’know..”
“I understand,” I replied, my brows furrowed as he leaned back in his chair.
“She was found in the woods that lined the town, near the Grahams’ mini mansion. They have acres of woods at the back.” He let out a puff of air before continuing,
“I’m sure you’ve seen it, their house looks over the town. Anyway, the coroner said she died of blunt force trauma to the head and face. She had traces of cocaine in her system, along with the possibility that she was moved around a lot. We ruled it a homicide for obvious reasons… but also because of some odd postmortem hoo-ha involving a prayer card and burn marks.”
I hummed, letting him know I could handle it. He shook his head sofly as he spoke, “One of the most damming things I ever seen. The whole thing is quite horrific.”
“Was she wearing a gold necklace?”
His expression turned puzzled as he opened up the file again, flipping through the pages looking for an answer. “I don’t think she was, all she had for jewelry was a single earrin’. We never found the second one.”
He sighed, sitting up to meet my eyes, “I understand none of this gives ‘ya any closure, her case still being unsolved bothers me every day. We never had any suspects, and quite a lot of the kids her age didn’t help. Nothing makes sense with it.”
I nodded, “No, I appreciate you even telling me any of this. I wasn’t told a lot of details about her death, so it’s helpful to know. Thank you.”
He gave me a pitiful smile as I gathered my bag off the floor in preparation to leave. I hadn’t expected such openness from him; his answers only made me more confused about her and why someone would do that to her. As I stood up, he opened his mouth to speak again, “If you have any more questions, please feel free to come back. I’ll do my best to answer them.”
“Thank you, have a nice day.”
I gave him a smile before making my way out the door. I could hear a soft sigh leave his lips as he put her file back in his desk. As I made my way down the hallway, my mind started picturing what she looked like when they found her. I couldn’t stop wondering if she looked peaceful or horrified. Maybe both. Maybe she finally felt free.
As I neared the receptionist desk to leave the station, I saw Lucy Graham entering through the door with furrowed brows. The receptionist shook her head as soon as she met the smell of Lucy’s body wash. “What happened now, Lucy?”
Lucy’s face grew into a big smile as she danced up to the reception desk, “That mean fucker at the grocery store said I was being a nuisance because I was flirting with his son. Kicked me out when all I wanted were some chips.”
I didn’t want it to seem like I was eavesdropping, so I began making my way to the door. I could hear the receptionist sighing as Lucy spoke again, “His son is cute too, can’t I file a report against him?”
She turned her head towards me, and a small gasp left her lips. “You’re Mariellaaaa, right?”
“Yeah, you’re Lucy?”
She smiled at me and began skipping her way over, “You really do look like Sharon. Does that mean Lay looks like your mom?”
“Yeah, I have been getting that since I got here. And they kinda have a similar nose.”
I ended my reply with a chuckle, trying to ease any awkwardness I feared. Lucy was so striking upclose, her eyes carried a sad sparkle, her hair was perfectly disheveled, and her lips were bitten and swollen. I didn’t want to push anything, but I was dying to have a conversation with her. She enchanted me, impressed me, but I also wanted to know more about Layla; she was her bestfriend.
She spoke, “We should hang out, you seem like my kind of girl. Are you busy right now?”
I puffed out my lips a tad, “No, not at all.”
“Good.” She exclaimed, grabbing me lightly and pushing me out the door.
She paused halfway out of the door, yelling back to the receptionist, “I’ll be back later!”
As we made it out onto the pavement, she kept her hand wrapped around my arm. She was jolly, but in an easily digestible way. But, I could tell from her eyes she didn’t feel that way inside. She was wearing a denim mini skirt, a brown belt, and a severely bleached black t-shirt that smelled like cigarettes, Fuji apple, and jasmine. Her face was covered in freckles that must have come from the summer sun. She was guiding me to a small park at the end of the main street. You could see it faintly behind the fountain, with a church to the right of it.
“I am excited I ran into you. Lay told me a lot about you. And the town has been buzzing since you got here yesterday. I heard you met my brother. Piece of shit.”
He was a piece of shit. I wonder how they even coexist in the same house together. But from what it seems like, Lucy was out with Layla a lot. What could Layla have even told her about me? We hadn’t seen each other in so long; I imagine I am different from how she remembered me as a kid. Or maybe I haven’t changed at all, but Layla sure did.
I smiled softly, “Yeah, I was hoping I would run into you too… and he was at the diner yesterday. Exactly what I was anticipating.”
She chuckled, “You were prepared?”
“Yeah, My Aunt Sharon gave me a warning.”
“Ugh! I love her. She is so glamorous. People talk shit on her, but I wanna be her. Has she ever told you any of her stories from Europe?”
“I’ve heard a little, but I know she amazes me, too.”
Lucy’s adoration for my Aunt was surprising. I can’t imagine they interacted much, but I guess she’s heard enough over the years from Layla and the townsfolk. Aunt Sharon’s views on Elise, Lucy’s mom, told me enough about how much interaction she has with the Graham family.
The sun was completely behind the clouds as we sat down on the park grass, and kids were still playing nearby, trying to wait out the incoming summer storm. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket and placed one between her damp lips. She raised her eyebrow at me as she took a drag, and I shook my head no in response.
She let out the smoke before speaking, “I know you wanna know about Lay, and I wanna tell you everything you need and want to know,” she paused. “She was so much more than people in this town thought. She had many secrets, and I think they got her killed.”
Her face was filled with energy as she spoke, like she was glad to finally have someone to talk to about Layla. I wish I knew her the way Lucy did, or at least had some communication with her over these past few years — maybe I could’ve helped her, maybe she could’ve helped me during everything with ballet last year. Lucy and Layla seem to understand the complexities of life that my other friends do not.
She paused and took another drag, and I kept my eyes on her, signaling I was listening, “I don’t even know where to begin with her. She was my best friend, secretly, of course. My brother thought she was a freak, so we didn’t say anything to avoid hearing shit from him.”
I watched her rip grass from the ground and throw it in the air, the pre-storm breeze taking it. “Lay thought she was cursed; she never told me why, but I don’t think she was wrong. There was this… thing about her. I don’t even know how to explain it, but it was like this pungent, beautiful hole. I don’t know.” She shook her head, taking another drag.
I have a hard time picturing the Layla she knew; she must’ve been so different from the one I remember: awkward, silly, yet fearless.
“She thought I didn’t know everything, but I did,” She hesitated, “Did you find the stuff in her closet yet? I don’t know how to get into it, but she put some stuff in there the day she died. I was with her that day, ya’ know.”
I sucked in a breath, uneasiness filling my being. I felt like I was performing on stage again. The weight of her final day is paralyzing me — a pirouette of mystery.
“I didn’t know,” I paused, calming my tone, “and I haven’t found it yet, just a box under her bed with some journals and stuff.”
The humidity began to rise as soft droplets of rain hit our skin. The kids around us began screaming and running to their bikes to get home. She put out her cigarette before looking at me, speaking softly, “Do you wanna come over? This rain is going to ruin my cigarettes.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think your mother likes me, though.”
She scoffed, “She doesn’t like anyone…”
We both stood up, brushing the dirt and grass off our asses.
“Plus, she’s rarely home.”
A few minutes of walking and we arrived at her house. The summer storm only grazing us by the time we made it to her front door. The house was huge and updated, perched high on the hill with a detailed view of the entire town below. If you had binoculars or a telescope, you could probably see into anyone’s house.
I’d noticed it the night before, looking out from Layla’s window. Straight across the street were neighboring houses, and beyond them the farm fields. But a slight look to the right, and there was the mini mansion, perched on the hill from her sill.
We made our way up to her room, which was big and messy but in a way that was endearing. She had light pink walls, likely from when she was a kid. Her lamps were warm, her furniture was white, and her clothes were strewn about. It smelled like apples and cigarettes, her bed was plush with a canopy, and she had casement windows on either side of her vanity. The one on the right side was clearly her smoking spot. Her room was at the front of the house with a picturesque view of the town, and an ashtray sat on the sill. I could only imagine the secrets she’s seen from up here.
She had an attached bathroom that was cluttered with beauty products and fragile undergarments hung out to dry. Her room looked just like her, sweet, restless, and charming. She ran into the bathroom, grabbing two hand towels for us to dry our damp arms and legs from the summer storm. She sat down on the velvet bench that was at the foot of her bed.
“You can sit down, by the way.” She exclaimed with a smile, tossing the towel on the floor before unzipping her boots.
I took off my shoes and made my way to the bench to sit next to her; it was big enough that our legs didn’t even touch. She began telling me how she and Layla met. Lucy was nineteen then; Layla was seventeen. They met one random night when neither of them were trying to go home. Layla was walking the streets by herself, crying, chainsmoking. Lucy heard her sniffles and ran over, worried in a way that a mother does. She couldn’t understand how there was a girl just like her — a girl who didn’t want to go home. They sat and talked until the sun came up, bidding goodbye to head home and get some sleep.
“I always wanted a little sister,” Lucy spoke, solemnly. “Some kind of fated connection,”
Lucy paused and looked up at the ceiling, “I loved that girl.”
I sat and talked with Lucy until the summer sun fully set. She told me the memories she adored the most with Layla. But I could feel like there was a lot she wasn’t telling me. I contemplated confronting her, but secrets were their thing, and I didn’t want to overstep already. I questioned her a lot about the guy Layla wrote about in her journal, but she didn’t know as much as I was expecting.
“All I know is he lives in the town like twenty-five-fucking minutes away. His name is Cole, he smokes menthols, and he loved her more than she loved him,” She paused, then added, “Oh! And he bought her that gold necklace.”
I gasped, and she furrowed her brows. “What?”
Layla’s necklace stayed hidden under my shirt all day. I hooked my finger around the chain and brought it forward. “I found it in the shower drain this morning.”
Lucy slid off her bed and dragged her vanity chair to the windowsill. The rain was pittering against her open windows. She brought a cigarette to her lips, confusion radiating off her.
“What are you thinking?” I questioned, shifting on the bench.
“Well… on the day she died, she hung out with him.” She exhaled slowly. “Lay and I were together from like eleven to three, I think. She showed me these letters she’d been getting, religious bullshit, but threatening.”
She blew smoke out of the window and turned toward me; regret sitting pretty on her face. I figured she blamed herself for not doing something about the letters. The strain of telling me this caused her to take two drags back to back before she spoke again.
“The letters are in the closet. She hid them there with me, in case anything happened. But I was never able to go back.” Her voice dipped. “I didn’t know how to tell her mom that we were friends, or what had been going on. The letters started the weekend of the Fourth of July and bled into her blog. It was creepy. I just remember sitting in her bed, trying to comfort her, until he called.”
She put out her cigarette and stared out at the town, bored by the lack of foot traffic due to the storm.
“I left shortly after,” she said quietly, “And I don’t know what happened after that.”
I couldn’t believe how much was going on the day she died and the months prior. Lucy’s decision not to come forward plagued me, but on the other hand, I understood her hesitation. It would have opened wounds I don’t think Aunt Sharon or this town could handle. Layla’s secrets deserved some semblance of respect, but they damned her nonetheless. Lucy walked back over to her bed and plopped down on the mattress, stomach first. I could feel her pain filling the room just as I caught her eyes, both of us not knowing the right thing to say.
After a couple of minutes of silence, I spoke softly, “Do you think we could figure it out together?”
She looked at me, her head resting on her knuckles, as I continued.
“We both loved her.”
“Yeah,” she said. “We did.” Sadness spilled from her lips.
I wanted her help. I wanted to figure it all out. I had the access, and she knew Layla inside and out — how hard could it be?
Lucy’s face softened as she lifted her head.
“But we need a key to get to the letters in the closet.”
I smiled, slipping off the bench to grab my purse from the floor. I pulled out the set of keys I found the night before, dangling them in front of her.
“Got ‘em right here, Lu.”
“Oh my, Mari,” she laughed, her eyes darting from the keys to me. “For an unplanned run-in, you came very prepared.”
Lucy and I bid farewell as the clock hit ten, the rain was picking up, and I had to walk home. She offered to let me stay over, but I didn’t want to worry Aunt Sharon — I didn’t want to not come home like Layla. Lucy and I planned our next meet-up to delve into the letters, so we could begin piecing things together. As I left her house, I could see her already sitting at her windowsill smoking again. She gave me a tiny wave as I walked down the hill in the pouring rain. I didn’t have the town figured out yet; even though it’s small, it’s different at night, ominous, aside from the lights of the main street.
I got lost after a turn that I thought would’ve taken me back to Aunt Sharon’s house, and I ended up in a different neighborhood. The streetlamps were the only thing guiding me in the darkness. After the Layla-talk all night, I began to feel frightened. I had no idea where I was, and all the houses on the street were dim. Lit-up televisions were the only thing lining the streets as I ended up in a cul-de-sac. “Fuck.” I spewed softly, turning myself around to go back down the street.
Halfway down the block, I saw someone walking up the street. I could tell it was a man, but I had no idea who he was. He lifted his head once he heard my footsteps hit the puddled ground. I wanted to keep walking, but I froze once he yelled my name. I waited a minute, deciding whether or not to reply, until he shouted my name again.
“Yes?” I screamed back, my voice a little shaky.
I heard a faint chuckle from him; he was still too far away for me to make out who it was. He began jogging to get closer to me, shouting again, “It’s Trevor, don’t be scared.”
I let out a sigh of relief and began walking faster to meet up with him. He was soaked just as I was, droplets hitting his eyes as he looked at me.
He spoke through a breath, “What the fuck are you doing out here?”
“I… I got lost,” I laughed, “I can’t find my way back to Aunt Sharon’s.” My lips moved into a theatrical pout, and his turned into a smile.
His hand landed softly on my shoulder as he leaned down to make sure I was okay. His cuteness from yesterday had turned into something sexier — his eyes full of instinct. He smelled good, his cologne fighting the trace of diner food clinging to him. He made me nervous, and I kept trying to control the size of my smile, the one he was causing.
“Well, you made it into my neighborhood. You made the left turn instead of the right, right?” he spoke sweetly, must be all that pancake syrup from the diner.
I nodded, “Yeah, everything looks so different in the dark. I kinda just guessed.”
A soft chuckle left his lips before he spoke. “You aren’t that far from Sharon’s.” He glanced toward the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. “I live right there. Last house.”
I followed his gaze, registering how the promise dry land was near.
“And you’re soaked, “ his voice dipped, “You can come in for a minute to dry off, or I can just walk you back. Whatever would make you feel okay.”
He said it so smoothly I almost didn’t notice how nervous he was. I studied his face for a second; I could tell he was worried he’d overstepped.
“Just for a minute, maybe,” I said softly, “To dry off.”
He nodded, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Yeah. Of course, knee socks.”
I laughed at this new nickname, my second one of the night. His hands met my shoulders, gentle, as he turned me towards his house. He met my left side as we began walking in the pouring rain. His nervous energy now melting with my own.
We got to his front door within a minute, though it felt longer. We didn’t speak; I don’t think either of us knew what to say. His house was a rancher with a front porch, and a soft yellow porch light fell across him as he fumbled with his keys. He unlocked the door and opened it, letting me in first. It smelled like laundry detergent, coffee, and wood. He ran past me to turn on the lamp sitting on a table next to the sectional. His house was lived in, yet tidied up enough that it was comforting.
“Sorry, it might be a little messy. It’s just my dad and me here, and he’s away a lot. Truck driver, so I try to keep it together when I have time.” He spoke fast, nervously. I could tell he was trying to distract me from whatever mess he thought I’d zone in on.
“It’s okay, don’t stress. I don’t think it’s messy at all. It’s comfy.” I said with a smile.
He nodded, letting a breath, “Lemme get you a towel.”
I watched him turn down a hallway, and I stepped further into his house just as the sound of a closet door opened. His kitchen had light wood cabinets, a few dishes in the sink that told me he didn’t have time to clean up after breakfast.
He returned a few seconds later, handing me a dark bath towel.
I smiled at him, “Thanks.”
“Of course,” he said, low and deliberate, the sound of his voice making my heart flutter.
I started drying myself off, trying desperately to keep my gaze off of him, though I felt his eyes on me now and then. Glancing down the hallway, I noticed his bedroom at the end. It looked cozy, quieter almost. He threw off his hat and kicked off his shoes, leaving them by the chairs at the kitchen island. I was drowning in him, a feeling I hadn’t had in a while.
“Do you… want a change of clothes?” he asked, a tiny huff of nerves following. “I mean, it’s okay if not, I just figured because I need one, so you must.”
I giggled softly, “I suppose that wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
He grabbed both damp towels and motioned for me to follow him. I could feel the air shift, our shared nervousness melting into something softer, more comfortable. We made it into his bedroom, and he immediately tried to tidy up his bed. The walls were dark blue, the carpet beige. Lamps glowed on either side of his bed, posters adorned the walls, and a desk sat across from the bed; it didn’t look like he sat at it much.
He moved to the dresser that sat by the door and started picking out clothes for himself. But then he paused, brows furrowing. “I… don’t know what you wanna wear.”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me, whatever you’ve got is good.”
He replied with a nod and grabbed me a shirt and some basketball shorts that looked new. He handed them to me and pointed out into the hallway, “Bathroom’s right down there.”
I stepped into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me. The faint scent of his cologne still lingered in the air. Peeling off my damp clothes, I watched myself in the mirror — god I look like a mess. My hair was starting to dry into frizzy waves, and my face was washed out from the rain. I slipped into the basketball shorts and shirt, which smelled like him. I tied the shorts as best as I could so they wouldn’t fall. The softness of him made me feel safe.
I came out a few seconds later, putting my hair behind my ears as I leaned against the doorframe of his room. He sat on the edge of the bed, tossing a stray pillow onto the bed. The creak of the floor caught his attention. He looked up at me, his eyes softened, and I thought I’d feel self-conscious, but instead I felt at ease.
“You’re… good?” he asked, his voice a little hesitant, but carrying the same warmth from earlier. His eyes ran down my body, but he quickly returned them to my face. His hair was pushed back, and his shirt was fitting just right. I was trying to keep it together, but my entire body was fluttering inside.
I nodded, “Yeah, all good.”
He gave me a slow, careful smile that made my heart race. “You look… cozy,” he said slowly, and I could see his face begin to blush like he didn’t mean to say that outloud. I watched him shake his head in embarassment which garnered a soft laugh from me.
“Well, you do have comfy clothes.”
The air went quiet, long enough for both of us to feel it turn into something more. He shifted slightly, running his hand through his hair. I started observing more of his room. I walked around with my arms crossed against my chest.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Just… observing your room. People’s rooms tend to say a lot about them.”
“Oh, really? What does mine say about me then?” He said with a smirk, one you could see a town away.
I hummed, pacing around his room and leaning down to look at the trinkets on his shelves and dresser. He had three pairs of hockey sticks in the corner that was to the left of his desk. He had a plethora of magazines on his desk, and pairs of worn-in Converse sat on the carpet. I walked around to the left side of his bed, and he moved across it, settling on the edge to watch me. My eyes ran over his bedside table that held a radio and a stack of CDs.
“Which one’s your favorite?” I asked, picking up one of the CDs.
He hummed softly, and I turned my head to meet his eyes, “Well… they all are, but I listen to the Bruce Springsteen ones the most.”
“Ah,” I smiled, easing my way down next to him. “Classic choice for a small-town boy.”
He met my eyes as he spoke, “So… what does my room say about me?”
I glanced around once more, buying myself a moment so I didn’t give away how drawn I was to him.
“That you’re sentimental,” I admitted. “And you like Dr Pepper, and probably have a hard time waking up in the morning since your breakfast is still in the kitchen.”
A soft chuckle left his lips, and I went on.
“You play a lot of hockey,” I added, “which confuses me since there isn’t even a rink here.”
He dropped his head and smiled.
“And…” I hesitated, then spoke softly, “you’re warm. Easy to be around.”
He lifted his head, and our eyes met, a smile sitting on his lips. My gaze lingered on his face as he swallowed, getting ready to reply. But, as he opened his mouth our knees brushed, and my heart fluttered again. He made me nervous — it felt like this was my first interaction with a guy.
“There is a rink about forty minutes away that I play at,” he said with a smile, before continuing, “and yes, Dr Pepper is my drink of choice. You’re right about this morning, too. I listen to the radio in the mornings, so I can sometimes lose track of time.”
Our knees were still touching as we made eye contact again. We held it for a second before he spoke again. His voice low, “I feel like you know so much about me already.” He paused. “I barely know anything about you.”
I swallowed, tilting my head slightly to the side. “What do you wanna know?”
“Did you like your pancakes the other day?” he asked, a soft smirk on his face.
“I did,” I laughed softly.
“I’m glad.”
The rain outside had eased, and we both noticed — the pinging of drops no longer background noise in his room. He glanced towards the window. “Think the rain finally stopped.”
I hummed in response and watched him slide off the bed. He walked over to his desk chair and grabbed his hoodie that was thrown across it. I didn’t want to leave. Something about him, about his house, made me feel at home. The town outside didn’t infiltrate this space. Layla didn’t infiltrate this space.
He came back to me and held his hand out. “I’ll walk you home, knee socks.”
I smiled and took it. My feet hit the floor, and for a moment we couldn’t take our eyes off each other.
He handed me his hoodie. “In case it’s cold out.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, and followed him out of his room.
We made it to the bottom of Aunt Sharon’s porch steps, unscathed by rain but filled with thunder. Faint music drifted from the house, signaling that Aunt Sharon was still up in her office. The humidity had dropped, leaving the air cool and breezy.
He had his hands in his pockets, and I moved from his side to face him.
“Thank you for everything tonight,” I admitted. “You kinda saved my life.”
He smiled. “The least I could do for the girl who watched me eat seven hot dogs when I was twelve.”
I gasped softly, my open mouth turning into a smile. “How do you even remember that?”
“I remember a lot of things about you, Mariella.”
He leaned forward a tad, hands still in his pockets as I struggled to find the words.
“I didn’t know I made that much of an impression,” I replied softly.
He leaned in even closer to me. “Night, knee socks.”
He turned and walked away with a smile, and I stood there — nervous and hungry.
note…
thank you for reading!! this part is long but i had a lot i wanted to include! i hope it is edited right, i did many passes but was also too excited to get it posted. part two will be out sometime soon! also should i post the moodboards? jared padalecki is trevor.
- sister honey <3