Sincerely

Chapter 5

~

Overwhelming adrenaline pumped in Timothy Wellmore's veins, as unwelcome nausea swirled in his stomach in a distressing way. He could feel his painfully bruised wrist ache in protest as he raced forward continually, panting heavily and shamefully blinking away the bitter prickle of tears. He staggered drunkenly from left to right in exhaustion before finally stumbling against the cool wall weakly.

He slumped his head backwards, closing his emerald eyes wearily. He feebly allowed his bemused mind to rest in a peaceful panic as he caught his breath warily and stilled his aching hand. He could feel the slight spill of his own blood from his reopened scabs on his palms and knees. 

Tim sighed, irritated. 

Tag, you're it. Tag, you're it. Tag, you're it... What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

At least he now knew that Edward Alby was a complete and utter lunatic. He'd elude him unconditionally, especially with his poor wrist at stake. 

Already, he had deciphered the unwelcoming being well enough. Edward was the type to play Russian roulette with one in a five chance of living. He was the sort of person to feed on others despair with deceptive smiles. He was the cracking in a so urgently desired mask of perfection. 

As much as Tim loathed to admit it, Edward could very easily be his entire undoing. 

From insane physical strength to misleadingly beautiful appearance and that hysterical laugh, Timothy was at awe at how anyone like him could exist. 

He huffed, already weary. 

And to think he'd started out looking for a way around the endless, shadowy corridors. 

Tim staggered tiredly off the wooden, old walls, wiping his wavy brown hair out of his pale face with a bloody hand. He felt a crooked smile creep on his face as he chuckled shortly at his ludicrous misfortunes of the mere past two days. Just two damn days. He felt his feet move of their own accord down the mysterious, sickening corridors.

His knees ached continually as he wandered silently forwards. What was he doing now? Shouldn't he be going home? What was he even looking for now? 

Like he knew. 

He was left all alone... in a empty, voluntary solitude. Even though he was surrounded by so many, envying people, he couldn't help but feel utterly alone. It was only in this moment he truly realised the pure extent of it. He could be smiling pretty in portrait yet feel himself stuck between the glass; the ominous cage of his own selfish creation. 

Maybe it was for the better. 

Maybe it was for the worst. 

Whatever the answer to such an uncomfortable question, Timothy knew one thing. 

His only desire was to be that smiling portrait.

~

After a few minutes of clueless meandering, a strange whisper of a sound could just about be heard, if strained. Timothy Wellmore tensed immediately, evidently going straight to thinking of Edward anxiously. 

Just barely, he faintly heard a quiet sob echo in the old corridors. With a fearful grimace, he race walked forwards, extremely on edge. Finally, he could securely perceive the thick weeping of an all too familiar voice. 

"And I- I couldn't even tell Mum, tha- that I got dog food inst- instead of cat food! And the laundry! I did- didn't do the laundry!" 

A cold voice filled with drawling sarcasm piped up wearily.