Winged

Chapter 22

Timothee was furiously marching down the familiar road. The chilly weather was creeping through his skin, making him curse internally at the fact that he didn't even get a jacket as he left. But he could not think of that. Not at the moment.

He was so, so mad. He was mad at his mother, who had too many secrets. Mad because she was keeping things from him, thinking that she was protecting him when she was actually just trying to cover them up, pretending they did not exist. Mad at his father, that had messed his mother up with his absence. Mad at himself. Most of all he was mad at himself. Because whatever she was hiding from him, he had no right to demand to know. He had no business to tell her the things he did. And he was disgusted at himself because the worst part was that he believed the things he had said. He did. And there were no excuses to that.

Soon enough he was crossing the familiar garden, going towards the clean, flower-decorated patio, with the white bench and the cute pots with flowers. Oh, he knew this house all the very well. He had spent hours and hours in this house when he was a little boy. It was his first house after all. He liked it. No, he loved it. He was living somewhere else now, though. He and his mother had moved out several years ago, when his mum got her Psychology degree, and they went to another house. One his mother had made him choose. And he liked that one too. But the one with the flowers and white pillars would always be his first home. It still held this special place in his heart, it was where he could escape when his anger was not letting him think clearly and he needed a place where he could hide from himself.

He walked up the four marble steps, and found himself in the white door, ringing the bell.

"One moment, please!" A woman's voice was heard from the inside, familiar to Timothee. Within some seconds the door was swung open and Timothee was met with one of his favorite persons in the whole world. Despite the anger that was boiling inside of him a smile grew to his lips, mirroring the one that the woman in front of him wore. With a quick move she pulled him into a tight hug, Timothee wrapping his arms around her. She was old. And Timothee knew she was not who she used to be sixteen years ago, but he could still feel her embrace just as safe and reassuring as it had been all those years before. She was getting older by every time Timothee saw her. But even though her appearance was changing her soul was still the same.

"Timothee! Oh my god! When did you come here?!" She exclaimed, holding him some meters away to inspect him. She hadn't seen him in a while, and he was so grown up by now. He looked more manly. His features were sharper than the last time she saw him, and he was much taller, but still scrawny.

"Hey, Calliope." Timothee breathed out with this great smile still decorating his features. He had missed her. A good deal he had. She was changed now. She was getting old. When he was a little boy he had never noticed that she was old. But now she looked old. But still beautiful. The flesh reflecting the beauty within it.

"Oh, how are you doing my beautiful boy? Oh I missed you so, so much. Come in!" She pulled him in, not giving Timothee any time to answer her question, the familiar warmth of the house overtaking him at once. It felt like home in there. It was his home after all. He had grew up there. He had memories there. A good deal of ones, too.

"I'm good actually, thank you." Timothee smiled as he helped himself to the living room, sitting down at the comfortable couch. Calliope, the old woman, went towards the kitchen, talking as she did, asking Timothee a million questions per second, as always.

"Oh, Timmy. You've grown so, so much. You are a man, Jesus! Do you still take your tea as always? Oh, and Jane? Where is my little girl? Isn't she with you?" Calliope was talking and talking, and Timothee knew that this was what she normally did. And he liked it but right now he just wanted to do the talking, for once in his life.