Part 8: A REAL Relationship.

The day was uneventful and dark; not even Timothy came around to visit, which left an empty feeling in my chest. Mr Rowley didn’t even bother to come around to bother me, neither did Mrs Rowley. I just laid on my bed and thought; I thought about everything and anything, until I began to feel the chill of the night set in.

I listened for something, anything that would give a hint as to whether or not Timothy was going to give me the honour of his presence. I heard a bush shake, and waited a few moments for Timothy to enter.

But he never did. Nobody did.

I was alone; an eerie feeling of this loneliness set broadly upon my chest made it hard to breathe, as I struggled to take in a breathe. I didn’t even realize that I was crying until I felt the tears begin to settle on my cheeks, gathering the cold with them. I curled myself into a tight ball, and shut my eyes, images left from the past burning a bright fire in my mind’s eye. It was hard, almost impossible, to not laugh as I recalled all the moments that had filled my childhood, and made me who I was.

But who was I? I thought quietly to myself, intrigued by this new thought. Was I not anything more than somewhat of a slave? One who was put up for show, and used for special events? I was a doll, one whose name was better known amongst the darker, quiet streets of a once greatly inhabited town. Nobody knew me here, nor would it be an overly great achievement to be known; the spotlight was never the place for me, even amongst friends. I was the dark player in the game f shadows, and boy was I good at my job.

“Emily, hey Emily,” a persistent voice whispered, knocking all thoughts from my head, smashing into millions of unsalvageable shards of broken glass. I uncurled my hands, and looked over into the darkness towards the voice. It was that huskey voice I had grown so well to recognize as Timothy. He sounded different tonight; as if his voice were coming from a different dimension in time and space. He wasn’t distant sounding, just slightly bitter and cold.

“Hey, I wondered if you had forgotten me...” My voice shook with the cold, as I heard him haul his figure through the small window, his feet crashing into the side of my poor excuse of a bed, and taking a seat on the edge. He had well known of where I stood when it came to keeping me warm and saving the whole “privacy” thing for another, less dramatic, time. “I would never forget you Emily,” he rested his hand on the top of my head, his smile visible through the cloudy night light. I removed his hand from my head, and held it for a moment, warming my hand in his, before moving over for him to join me. He accepted, as he shivered.

“And I thought I was the cold one...” I murmured behind him, as the warms radiated off of him in waves. He chuckled, moving the bed with him, a smile spreading across his face. “You are the cold one; you’re freezing!” I blushed, as I wrapped my hands around his sturdy frame, burying my face between his shoulder blades. “You’re the warmest thing I have. Once I find something to keep me warm 24/7, I’ll tell you.” I felt him turn to look at me, his eyes burning in the dark light that shined between us. He smiled and kissed my forehead, embracing me in a hug, pulling me in tighter. “I hope that day never comes.”

What I neglected to tell Timothy was, his wish was most likely going to come true. I would never get out of here, nor would my social standing in the community change anymore than an adopted daughter suddenly becomes flesh and blood. I would never be a part of the family, knowledge of which I had known for many years now, but the chance at a real relationship, a friendship, was something too hard to pass up. I sometimes spent my days wandering around, wondering if Timothy was as alone as I was. But in his arms, in the grasp of someone who naturally cared for my well being, made me feel just that much more accepted, and overall loved.