shadowChild

Chapter Twenty Three - Growing Pangs

Timile sat alone in the dark. He liked the dark. It was always peaceful in the dark. It used not to be that way, however, but he had since made his peace with that. He had spent so much of his life in the shadows that the absence of light was never an issue with him.

He lay on the floor with only a white towel wrapped around his waist. His arms were spread out and his bare feet pointed outwards as he rested on the ground. Looking up at the little he could see of his roof, he dozed occasionally, passing in and out of awareness. At times he was actually aware that he was asleep, but there were times when he wasn't sure. He slipped in and out of consciousness and often his dreams merged with his memories. Sometimes the two became intertwined and his dreams became memories while his memories became dreams.

He scratched at a scar on the outside of his left thigh. It was a deep scar and ran a good twelve centimeters. He knew exactly how long it was. He had measured it often enough. He ran his fingers over it without moving the rest of his body and returned his arm to the spread-eagle position that it had been in before. With his other hand he ran his fingers over the ribs on the left side of his body. These had been broken more than once and it had always been a wonder that they had never punctured his lungs and killed him.

His right arm had healed with only a slight twist in it which indicated that it had been set slightly wrong. He had worn the plaster of Paris for eight weeks. Bathing had been a nightmare during that period and keeping it dry had been hard. He had managed, however, and his recovery had been complete. It was a pity that he had had to wear it for another eight weeks when the same arm was broken again hardly three months into its healing.

He touched the puncture wound in his left shoulder. That one had also taken a white to heal. It had been deep and had almost gone clear through his body. Luckily no major arteries or muscles had been damaged and he had been right as rain within a few weeks. Just in time for the scar at the back of his head to become a permanent part of his scar collection.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Kuda.

She was never far from his thoughts. Every time he breathed he thought of her. It was as though she was sewn into the very fabric of his being. A second never went by that he didn't think about her. It wasn't even about being obsessed. It was almost as though the very thought of her was what was keeping him alive. She, however, did not seem to believe that he needed to be an integral part of her life. She constantly spurned him and no matter what he did, she rejected him at every turn. She refused to let him into her life and no matter what he did she turned her nose up at him at every opportunity .

He moaned. It was a sad, lonely sound that sat deep in his throat. His fingers curled and he balled his hands into fists. He felt his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms and he knew that he would draw blood. He always did. He couldn't seem to stop himself, however, and he felt the warm fluid flow slowly over his hands. He finally uncurled his fingers, the only movement that he made.

His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he felt his eyelids flutter. He moaned again as he thought about Kuda. In his mind's eye he saw her brown eyes and her beautiful lips. Her flawless skin was soft and he often wished he could run his hand over the curve of her cheek and down her neck. She never smiled at him and each time she saw him it seemed as though her lips curled with disgust, like he was something that had been dropped from the rear end of an animal and landed on her tabletop. In her dessert.

All he wanted was to be a part of her life; to be someone that she could smile at and engage in meaningful conversation with. Someone who she could hug and share private jokes with. Someone whom she could hold close and tell that everything was going to be alright. He wanted so much. So very much.