There's A Place For Us

Chapter 11:Hugo

I was grateful Timothy had gone with me to the police. I don’t think I would have been able to do it on my own. I was also grateful he’d been comforting and understanding and didn’t push me to tell the truth. The thing that made it harder was that Officer Wallace looked so much like Seth’s foster mother, Maggie Hunt. Bright, orangey-red hair and dark brown eyes. I told myself over and over again, she’s not Maggie, she’s not like Maggie, she’ll believe me. Breathe, just tell them what happened. You’ll feel better. Timothy wants to help you, he wouldn’t do it for any other reason.

I kept seeing the memories in flashes and remembering the pain. I started crying. Timothy filled in some details, the officers were patient and it was easier once the other officer asked Officer Wallace to leave. I felt bad, I knew she only wanted to help, but I also knew it wasn’t my fault that Maggie, Colton, and Seth’s memory made me react this way.

When they asked why I’d waited to report Seth, it made me feel responsible, like I’d done something to deserve it. I told them the truth, how surviving was more important than reporting Seth at the time. It was always hard because since the people I was supposed to trust the most didn’t believe and if they didn’t believe me, who would? So, I delayed it and put it off and attempted to move on by locking the pain away. In retrospect, it wasn’t a good solution but I lived, didn’t I? And I met Timothy. If I hadn’t met him, the truth would be locked away in one of four minds, mine, Seth’s, Maggie and Colton’s and not more. I don’t know if I’d advocated for myself sooner if I wouldn’t have had to endure the two years on the street that I did but those years were part of me now and I didn’t regret them.

“Are you hungry?” Timothy asked about a block from his apartment.

“I like you,” I mumbled.

I could barely hear myself. I doubted Timothy could hear me.

“What?” he asked seeming interested and surprised.

“No, I’m not hungry,” this time I responded louder.

He looked at me with a sad smile.

“Come on,” he said gently leading me inside the apartment building like he had the room in the police station.

I was sad but also glad that if he had heard me he didn’t push me to explain. I wanted him to have heard so he knew but I also wanted him to stay in the dark so I didn’t ruin whatever it was we had already. There seem to be no point in telling him if I was going to be separated from him soon. I knew it didn’t mean we couldn’t stay friends but Timothy needed to figure out what he was doing and I needed to adapt to whatever family I was going to be placed in, I’d have school to catch up on, and recover from the damage Seth had done. Our lives were both so crowded it was hard to establish a time for ourselves let alone each other. Timothy made himself something to eat and I went into the bedroom to rest. He laid down beside me, I took his hand and held it, and he watched me silently. He didn’t object or seem to find it weird.

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

“Yeah, I do,” I murmur staring down at his hand.

“That’s good,” he replied.

“I wish I could stay with you,” I continued quietly.

“Me, too,” he replied. “You need to have a family though. We’ll always…be friends, okay?”

“Right,” I answered sadly.

“You’ll be able to go back to school, and have your own room and clothes,” he reminds me.

I didn’t want any of that right now, I wanted to stay here, with Timothy.

I shifted closer to him. I rested my head on his chest and he ran a hand through my hair. One of my hands rested on his stomach. I listened to his heartbeat again. That and playing with my hair was calming. I lifted my head and looked into Timothy’s bright blue eyes. We watched each other as if time had frozen and we were waiting for the world to press play again. I took my chance then, I leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

His hands lifted gently and ran through my hair. He was so much gentler than Seth was. I paused and stared at him momentarily again. He lifted himself so his lips met mine again. He kissed me a few more times before pulling away, he stared at me, holding my face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to, I should have asked.”

I smiled at him.

“I kissed you,” I replied quietly. “I started it. I wanted it. I would have said stop if I wanted you to stop.”

He smiled at me sadly again before whispering, “I like you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. I like you, too. I was scared though, that you wouldn’t like me,” I respond. “Or that if you were against it, that’d I’d lose the place I had to stay.”

“That would have been an even worse reason to kick you out than getting angry at you. You can’t control your feelings for me even if I didn’t feel the same. It’s not like I didn’t act interested either,” he continues.

“I didn’t know I liked guys till I met you. I’d never had a crush before you,” I thought out loud quietly.

“I didn’t know till I was fifteen, I didn’t tell anybody till I left for university. My parents and I haven’t really talked about it. Except for Aunt Sam, who knew when I was sixteen. I always trusted her and she kept my secret. I should talk to her. I need to figure out what I’m doing because I can’t continue down the path I’m on. I know the outcome might be good but what will I have to do to get there? Will I be myself by the end of it? Would I be happy by then?” Timothy wondered exponentially.

“Do you want to go talk to her now?” I asked.

“I have to find out where she’s staying first,” he replied reaching over to retrieve his phone from the bedside table.

“Just remember, this is your life, as much as they want what’s best for you, only you know what you can handle and want to come out of this,” I remind him.

He smiles genuinely this time, “I know.”

He texts Aunt Sam well moving the fingers of his left hand through my hair still. I close my eyes and just embrace the gentleness and calmness of it. I don’t think anyone had held me like this since the night I found out my parents were dead.

One of the doctors had sat with me well I cried and waited to meet the social worker to come and get me. I don’t think I’d been hugged or touched affectionately till I met Timothy. I’d built the wall that kept experiences like that out, too, though. You learn to be tough quickly in the foster care system or you lose things or get blamed for things.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a photo of my birth parents. The only thing I had of them left. The other photos I’d had had been torn by the other foster kids in the homes who had nothing to remember their parents by and who wanted me to feel like they did, alone. All my toys had been worn down and thrown out as I outgrew them as well as all my clothes. This photo was all I had left of the life that used to be.

“Those your parents?” Timothy asked looking up from his phone.

In the photo, I was seven. I looked so small. Full of life and unhurt and undamaged by the world. Full of hope. I was in my place. I was happy.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“You’re adorable,” he laughs.

I smile.

“She got a hotel for the next few days,” Timothy continued looking back at the phone.

“Are we going?” I ask cautiously.

He placed the phone on the bedside table and hugged me. Our place was here now, together, until the officer called him with new foster parents and home. This wasn’t his home, what if his parents wanted him to come home if he wasn’t going to school? I had no idea how far from here he really lived.

It made me wonder why the universe brought him here, was it fate? Were we meant to meet and help each other? The world worked in mysterious ways.

“Give me your number,” I said quickly.

It felt embarrassing to ask even though if we’d met under any other circumstance and I had a phone I would probably already have his number.

“We don’t know when they’ll call and I don’t want to forget and be unable to contact you,” I continue.

He smiled again, “Even if that happens, I’d go looking for you. I’d find you.”

He took a photo of my parents and me.

“I’ll put it on here, then you won’t lose it,” he continues picking up a pen also on his bedside table. I watch him write the ten-digit number. Now, no matter what, I could contact him. I started repeating the ten-digit number over and over in my head, trying to memorize it.

“We should go meet up with Aunt Sam,” he murmured.

I put the photo in my pocket and lifted myself off him slowly. He sat up and we were face to face. I leaned in and kissed him one last time before we got out of bed and threw on our coats and made the walk to Aunt Sam’s hotel.