freedom taste like you

Chapter 13

I stirred a little, groaning as a beam of sunlight hit my face like a spotlight I hadn’t asked for. “Ugh… someone should close the darn windows for crying out loud,” I muttered, throwing my hand over my eyes. My head throbbed slightly from sleep, and my body still felt heavy, weighed down by yesterday’s emotions.

“Did I disturb your sleep?” a voice said suddenly.

I froze. It wasn’t Emma’s voice. It was deeper, a bit rough around the edges.

My breath caught. “Timothy?” I whispered.

“That’s me,” he replied, and I could hear the smirk in his tone.

Slowly, I lowered my hand, squinting at the light until my eyes adjusted. And there he was — standing near my bed, arms crossed, looking at me like he had every right to be in my room.

He wasn’t glaring like yesterday. In fact, he almost looked… relaxed. There was a faint curve on his lips — not quite a smile, but not his usual cold expression either.

“Hi there, sleeping beauty,” he said, and for a second, I wondered if I was still dreaming.

“Uh… good morning?” I managed, my voice small.

He chuckled softly. “Afternoon,” he corrected. “It’s afternoon.”

My eyes widened. “Afternoon?!”

“Yes, afternoon,” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. “You really did sleep that long.”

Oh God. I wanted to sink into my bed and disappear.

I fiddled with my fingers nervously, avoiding his eyes. I didn’t know what to say, and the silence stretched until it started to feel awkward. But before I could open my mouth, he spoke again — his voice quieter this time.

“I’m sorry.”

I blinked. What?

“What?” I asked, convinced I’d heard wrong.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I said I’m sorry, okay?”

I just stared at him. Timothy — the same guy who called me a liar, who told me to stay away from his mum — was now standing in my room, apologizing.

“For… what exactly?” I asked carefully, still not trusting my ears.

“For what I said yesterday,” he said, finally sitting down on the edge of my bed. He looked uncomfortable, his eyes flickering toward the window as if searching for an escape.

Yesterday. Right. The harsh words, the warning, the humiliation — and then Emma’s arms around me, her warmth, her promise to make things right.

So she did talk to him.

I was about to say something when he beat me to it again. “And before you think this is about my mum,” he added quickly, “it’s not. I’m not apologizing because she told me to.”

His tone was defensive, but there was something softer beneath it — something almost nervous.

“Oh. Okay,” I said, glancing down. Despite his insistence, I could tell Emma had something to do with this. But still… an apology was an apology.

“Anyway,” he said after a moment, standing up. “That’s all I came to say.”

He turned slightly, as if he was about to leave, but then — out of nowhere — he bent down and wrapped his arms around me.

For a second, I froze. His embrace was warm, solid, and so unexpected that it almost felt unreal. No one had hugged me like that in years. My body tensed at first, memories of rough hands and shouted words flashing in my mind — but Timothy’s hold wasn’t rough. It was careful. Gentle.

“Let’s learn to live with each other,” he whispered, his voice soft against my ear. “I don’t want to feel like I’m stopping you from having fun.”

I was about to lift my arms, to hug him back, to tell him thank you — but he pulled away too soon. The warmth vanished as quickly as it came, leaving me feeling strangely empty.

He smiled, just a little, and stepped toward the door. “Get dressed, would you? I’ll be waiting downstairs. Let’s… get to know each other better.”

For once, the smile that crept onto my face wasn’t fake. “Okay,” I said, my voice lighter than it had been in days.

He nodded, a ghost of a grin on his lips, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

I sat there for a few seconds, blinking at the closed door. My heart was pounding, but not in fear this time — in disbelief. I lay back on the bed, a giggle escaping before I could stop it. My cheeks actually hurt from smiling.

“I can’t believe she did it,” I whispered to myself. “She actually talked to him.”

Emma had kept her promise. Somehow, she’d softened him — maybe not completely, but enough for this. Enough to make him see me differently.

The room felt brighter now. Even the sunlight didn’t bother me as much. I stood up and walked to the mirror, still smiling. My reflection looked almost like someone else — someone alive.

“You look like a dork,” I told my reflection with a laugh, but I didn’t care.

Grabbing a towel, I stepped into the bathroom. The cool water against my skin felt refreshing, washing away the heaviness that had followed me for days. I took my time — humming softly, feeling lighter than I had in years.

When I came out, I wrapped the towel around me and looked through the small wardrobe Emma had given me. I picked a pale blue top and dark jeans — simple, but they made me feel like me. Not the scared girl I used to be, not the broken one hiding behind makeup and fear.

As I brushed my hair, my thoughts drifted back to Timothy. The way he’d hesitated, the nervous scratch on his neck, the brief smile before he left. He wasn’t just apologizing — he was trying. And maybe that meant something.

Still, a small part of me whispered to be careful. Old habits die hard.

By the time I was ready, the house smelled faintly of food — eggs and toast, maybe. My stomach growled, and I laughed at myself quietly.

I glanced at the mirror one last time. My eyes were brighter, my smile softer. Not perfect — but real.

Taking a deep breath, I reached for the doorknob.

Today felt like the first day of something new. Not freedom exactly — not yet — but maybe something close. Something like the first taste of it.

“Alright, Amber,” I whispered to myself, straightening my shirt. “Let’s do this.”

And for the first time, walking downstairs didn’t feel like walking into danger. It felt like walking toward possibility.