There's A Place For Us

Chapter 9:Hugo

I wanted to say more than ‘thank you’ but I still didn’t know. I could have lied and read the diary but I wasn’t that kind of person. I lay next to him all night listening to his breathing and watching the rise and fall of his chest. I felt secure, warm and safe next to him. There was no way Seth could find or know about Timothy. I wasn’t going back to the university, I’d stick around here even if it was hard with the no-loitering policies. This kind of reminded me of the sleepovers I used to have as a kid, except my parents would bring us food and we’d play childish games like truth or dare or something.

I wondered what they would think about my sexuality, they’d never expressed any opinion about gay people or at least not in front of me. I’d barely learned what s*x was before they passed away never mind that there were people who liked different things and people. I’d never talked to anyone about it.

It’s hard to talk to anyone when you have no reason to trust them and you move around so much. I moved constantly, every few months, the longest I stayed in one place was six months. I’d hoped they were considering keeping me but, in the end, I moved again as younger children came through and got adopted out. I watched them all. Sometimes I’d wish on stars that I’d get adopted. I think it’s what every foster kid wishes for. To be loved and adopted and like everyone, I also wished I could be normal but everybody wishes for that at some point.

I wanted to be held by Timothy again. To be close, to feel his heartbeat against my shoulder. I thought about reaching out to touch Timothy, but if I did, how would he respond? I didn’t want to lose what I had gained all because of my feelings. There were more important things than my feelings, survival was one of them.

Being in love could wait, it may not be with Timothy, but one day, someday, I’d find someone, who’d love me, heart and soul. We’d get married and have kids.

I held onto that, my idea of a future where I was happy and things were good, not perfect because nobody and nothing is perfect. I would fight with the person I loved just as I had fought with Timothy, it was natural. People would have differences. We aren’t all hard-wired the same. We are all lost in the beginning, finding our way home. Or to the place that was for us. Where we belonged, felt safe and were at home and happy as a family.

Some days, that seemed so far away but with Timothy, they seemed possible at least. I finally had to drag myself away from the bed before I did something I would regret. I went and lay on the couch and turned the TV on. My sleep deprivation made my eyelids heavy and my mind blurry. I wasn’t completely sure what I was watching or even interested much.

I heard Timothy wake up in the early hours of the morning, he got up dragging the blanket on his bed around his shoulders out to the doorway. He looked at me, he seemed lost. His phone binged with a message and he sighed stepping back inside the room. I heard something, (maybe the phone?) hit a wall and he came back out and sat on the couch opposite me. He looked angry, like a child who wasn’t getting what he wanted.

“What’s your excuse for being up?” he asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I answer. “Did you just throw your phone at a wall?”

“My Mom wants to come talk to me. I didn’t want to worry them, but I don’t want to go to classes, either. She told me not to quit. But why continue something I hate?” he answers.

“You shouldn’t but she probably wants what’s best for you. Parents often do,” I reply.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I’m complaining about my insignificant problems over here that are technically opportunities and not problems and you just saw your r****t again,” he asks leaning forward.

Seth was a r****t, wasn’t he? I don’t know if I’d ever thought of myself as a victim and him as the culprit. I had just been trying to survive since, and not in the mental impact way.

“It’s part of me, it always will be. It just can’t be who I am. I am more than what Seth did, believing it is the hard part. Believing it alone is harder,” I replied quietly.

“You’re not alone, I believe you. You know that right?” he continues.

“I do know. It’s nice not to hold it all inside but you can’t make them believe who needs to believe in order to make things happen or better any more than I can,” I answer.

“His parents don’t need to believe, it’s the authorities that do. Did you ever go to them? They can investigate,” he adds.

“The evidence is gone. It’s been two years. The case wouldn’t hold up in court. I’d be put back in the foster care system if I came forward, too,” I reasoned.

He looked sad and disappointed by my response.

“He could be doing it to other people. People who like you were too afraid to report it. if that’s true, it will keep happening. He will hurt other people,” Timothy explains.

“Not now Timothy, you have your own issues stop worrying about mine,” I exclaim wanting him to stop.

I also wanted him to worry. In my dreams, before I left last Tuesday we kissed. That was all I saw now, his blue eyes centimetres from my face, his pale skin against mine, my arms around his shoulders or running through his blond hair. I broke my stare away from him before he noticed. Usually, when I saw a cute guy on the street this didn’t happen because I didn’t know him and wasn’t going to see him again. But Timothy was a constant in my life now. I kept seeing him and my mind kept wandering further off the path.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Timothy suggested.

“Don’t you have class in like six hours? Shouldn’t you get some more sleep?” I ask.

“Come on,” Timothy urges getting up and coming to stand over me.

His bright eyes look darker as he blocks the light in the room with his height.

“Okay, okay,” I replied getting up before he can come much closer and entice a reaction I’ll regret.

He goes back into his bedroom with the blanket and closes the door to change his clothes. I switch shirts and pull my sweater back on. Timothy came back out of the room in jeans and his fall jacket which is a dark navy. I leave the majority of my things in Timothy’s apartment and just bring the change I have. He grabs his wallet and keys. We walk out of the apartment building into the still-dark streets. The street lights are on and casting yellow pools of light on the sidewalks and streets. The air is cool and it flushes our skin red. We walk down the block for a bit, Timothy falls behind slightly before a cold snowball gets rubbed into my head.

He laughs as I try to shake off the snow and the water soaks into my hair. I pick up some snow and chase after him. He sprints away through snow-covered side roads. With no luck in catching him, I just throw it after him, hitting him in the back. We end up in a park shrouded in the darkness of night. I tackle him to the ground and we end up rolling in the snow. Soon our hair is dusted with snow and our clothes are damp. Timothy is on top holding me down smiling. I return the smile, he rolls off me so he’s lying in the snow beside me looking up at the sky. Snow is falling around us. I feel the heat of Timothy’s hand next to mine, I don’t move though. I feel his hand move beside me.

“This is beautiful and freeing. I haven’t felt free in years,” Timothy starts moving his arms up and down as if he’s making a snow angel.

“Me, too. For different reasons,” I answer quietly.

“I think you’re right,” he continues.

“About what?” I ask.

“I need to find out what I want. Taking the classes I hate and am failing isn’t going to help with that. It will be scary but I need to do it,” he replies.

I fall silent, no one had ever listened to me never mind taken my advice.

“Thank you,” Timothy breathes pausing with his arms extended out. If I reached out I could touch his hand.

“You’re welcome,” I replied wanting to say more again.

I wanted to say so much more but my fear of rejection kept my mouth in check. We got up eventually trying to escape the cold and dampness of the snow underneath us and falling from the sky. We went and sat side by side on the swings, Timothy swung back and forth, and I watched him staying stationary. He jumped off eventually, his boots sinking a few inches into the snow when he landed firmly.

He looked free when he jumped. Flying through the air for a moment before landing, like a bird gliding through the air. I had freed him. Now if only I could free myself.

“I’m kind of cold, should we go back?” I ask.

I didn’t want to be the one to end his fun but my fingers were going numb and I didn’t like staying in wet, cold clothing for longer than necessary.

“Okay, sure,” he replied looking away from the moon that was fading into the early sunrise. I got off the swing and we walked the blocks back to the apartment. Timothy had a smile on his face until we entered the hall his apartment was in. Then, it melted at the sight of a middle-aged woman who was standing at his door. Timothy urged me back towards the staircase.

“Timothy Jones Winter, where do you think you’re going?” the woman accuses noticing him.

“Hi, Aunt Sam,” Timothy sighed turning back.

I followed him back down the hall hesitantly.

“Who’s your friend?” she asks glancing at me with her menacing brown eyes.

“I’m Hugo,” I answer nervously.

“Haven’t heard about you before,” she replies sizing me up. “Melissa said you hung up on her.”

Melissa?

“My mother was being inconsiderate,” Timothy stated.

“Inconsiderate? She was concerned about your test mark,” she continues.

“I told her I was having a hard time and she said this was nothing. That I didn’t have kids or bills to worry about so this is easy. Well, I don’t find it easy. I also hate my classes,” he explained.

“Ah, well she didn’t mention that part. It’s two semesters, Timothy. You’ll find something you like and you’ll want to study it forever. Trust me, you’ll find something,” she continued.

“What if I don’t?” Timothy accuses.

“We should go inside the apartment so we don’t disturb the neighbours. Doesn’t your friend have classes to get to or a home to go to?” Aunt Sam asks.

“He’s living with me,” Timothy replies quickly.

I was ready to split for a few hours if he needed me to but I guess he wouldn’t be able to explain away my stuff.

His Aunt looked at me. I think she saw past whatever façade I had going on when I was around Timothy. I looked away quickly worried she’d tell him right then and there. She didn’t though. I was relieved. As much as I wanted Timothy to know it wouldn’t benefit me if it went wrong. We went inside the apartment together.

“So, what’s going on?” she asked.

Timothy didn’t answer her.

“Do you know what’s going on?” she asked accusing me as if I was the problem.

I looked at Timothy to see what he wanted. He shook his head sadly. I didn’t know what it meant but I kept silent.

“Timothy, talk to me,” she exclaimed approaching Timothy again.

Timothy held his ground.

Sam signed, “Fine, can you at least text your mother so she isn’t losing her mind?”

“Timothy, if you ever do want to talk just call, okay?” she reminded him. “I’ll go now.”

She left without another word, the entire experience was odd.

Timothy went into his room and came back with his phone, I guess he was answering his mother. Was it not normal for someone who hung up on you not to answer you back? Had Timothy didn’t seem to have much breathing space despite his parents wanting him to be independent. He was dealing with his issues on his own or trying to despite seeming lost. That might have had to do with their overbearing nature, he didn’t know how to make his own path when someone else had always made it for him.

He threw the phone back onto his bed when he was done with it from the doorway still clearly annoyed. I had done this. He would have never thought about it if he hadn’t met me. He would have kept trying even if he hated it.

I sat on the couch and he joined me. He turned on the TV, I think as a distraction. I wish he talked to me as a distraction but I knew he had to feel comfortable to do that. Maybe he wasn’t there, yet. I wanted him to trust me so I’d offered up a piece of myself: the reason I was kicked out of my foster home. I hope he realized that, too, and in turn, would do the same. it wasn’t good to bottle things up, even though I did it since no one wanted to listen to the homeless kid or the foster kid.

Tiredness caught up with me and I fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t know for how long but when I awoke I was in Timothy’s bed. He had moved me. I smiled, he was so considerate and generous. I hoped he found someone who would appreciate that as much as I did right now.

I closed my eyes and attempted to go back to sleep because I was still tired. I heard Timothy come into the room. I listened to his steps, I felt him adjust the blanket and I felt him touch my cheek. I kept still and took even breaths. I wanted to know what was going to happen.

“I wish I knew,” Timothy mumbled.

I felt him move away.

I wish I knew what? How I felt? He touched my cheek, that wasn’t something you did to someone you just met who was supposed to be a friend. I was scared, I didn’t want to ask and be wrong. He left the room, I heard the door shut and I opened my eyes. I wanted to know what he meant but I wasn’t even supposed to be awake. I wasn’t supposed to have heard that even though I did. He’d done it because he wasn’t ready to ask me or he was scared to. I was scared to tell or ask him, too. Now I was more unsure if I ever should, especially if I was wrong.