FELICITY

XVIII

Song - Ellie Goulding, All I Want-- by Kodaline.

It was not a dream. I have been trying to convince myself that it was, but it was not. He is really gone, my Timothy is really gone, not regular gone, forever gone. It makes absolutely no sense to me.

After questioning, I was taken in by an orphanage. I am at a nice, big but simple house now, there are other people my age here. They have tried to be friendly with me but I am too wounded to let anyone in. Madam was taken to a hospital and when she recovers she will be arrested. I heard a black officer whisper to his colleague, "pretty blonde lady like her will get a life sentence but will end up getting releases early," he scoffed. That infuriated me so much.

When they said Madam was alive, I was furious. I did not understand how she could survive while Timothy died. Now, I am glad that she is alive. I want her to live for a really long time, I want her to live in suffering, pain, and regret. I want her to suffer for taking light and life from me, and for taking my Timothy away from me. I want her to feel the pain she inflicted upon me. I want her to be locked up in prison, in a dark room where she will eventually forget what the sky looks like, or that birds fly through it. I want her to forget what rain feel like, and the only liquid that drops on her skin will be the one that comes out of her eyes every night when she cries in pain.

I hate the fact that from now on, I can only talk about Timothy in the past tense, 'is' now becomes 'was'. Timothy was everything to me, was . . . was, was. I wish I can say is. I wish I can speak of him in the present, I wish I can talk to him and not only think or dream about him. All I have of him now are memories, I cannot hug or kiss my memories, I cannot look at them, I cannot stare into the eyes of my memories. That charming artist I loved so much has now been swept into some space in my head, I do not want to store him in the same place I store Madam, in the same place I store all the pain I have been through. I need a special place for him, a beautiful, pure place. A place that can only be his.

It is no surprise to me that his mother threatened to make my insides visible if I showed up at Timothy's funeral. It is the least I owe him, to be there, but in a way, I am glad I was not allowed to go. I cannot stand and cry when it is my fault that he is dead, it is almost hypocritical. I sucked him into my dark web, and slowly I poisoned him with my love, all he did was try to cleanse me, but I ended up stinging him to death.

I stand by a tree where Timothy was buried yesterday, one of the people assigned to me is closely watching me. They are all scared that I am crazy like my mother, they think I will harm myself. Timothy told me not to harm myself, but that is all that I want to do. I want to but I will not because I know that like Timothy told me, I will be happy. I know that no matter how bad life gets, no matter how hopeless it might seem, suicide is never an option. I know that I have not been suffering for no reason, I know that even if it takes a thousand years, someday I will be happy. Maybe in my next life, or the life after that.

I am holding a bouquet of flowers in my hands, I do not even know what type they are. I slowly kneel on the ground. I can hardly think straight, seeing his name engraved there weakens me. I delicately trace my hands over his name. Timothy. My hands are too weak to support the flowers, and so they fall to the ground. There are also a bunch of other flowers neatly placed in front of his gravestone.

"I hate you," I croak. "I hate you for loving me and leaving me. I hate you for coming into my life, I hate you for," my lips start to quiver. I bite hard on them. "You said I will be happy, do you not know that I can only be happy with you? Why did you leave me? They say the world is big, they say there are billions of people, but I do not see anyone, I do not hear anyone. To me there was only you and I, now that you are gone, you have left me alone," I cry and then I let my body fall on the ground as I cry harder. I imagine him beside me, calling me love, calling me Cinderella. I loved it when he called me Cinderella. It made me feel special. I cry into the sandy ground, I dig my hands into the sand and pack a handful and forcefully, I toss it to the side. I keep on digging, waiting for him to come out. Maybe I am running mad after all, just like Madam.

"Hello, love," is the first thing he ever said to me. I should have crawled back into the basement when I heard that enchanting voice, he would have still been alive. He did not need me, he had a future, a wonderful life ahead of him.

His parents were right about me.

I received a visit from his parents, if not for his father holding her back, Timothy's mother would have ripped me apart. She resolved to throwing harsh words at me. I did not even flinch. I stayed there and listened to everything she had to say, I wanted her to say more. I knew I deserved it, I wanted her to tear me apart with her insults, I wanted her to wound me with her words. I do not blame her, I do not blame anyone for hating me. Even I hate myself.

Sometimes, I console myself by saying maybe Timothy was an Angel sent to save me, I tell myself that it was his mission from above. I think I will keep telling myself that, I will keep making myself believe that it was planned this way, that he was sent down to rescue me from bondage. He was the first person to open up my eyes. Through him, through his art, I saw myself for the first time. I felt alive for the first time because of him. He gifted me freedom.

I caress the locket around my neck, I place a kiss on it. I am glad he gave this to me, I know I will always have a piece of him, he gave me his heart to keep and I will forever hold it close to mine. I know he is watching me now, I know he will always be by my side. I just wish I could see him and not only feel his presence. Timothy, my Angel, my peace, my joy, my laughter. He saved me and I destroyed him, I wish I could save him, I wish I could do for him what he did for me, instead, I did the opposite.

He was my Angel and I, his demon.