08: Nitty, Gritty Emotions
His ears strained to hear the door to the silo close before he even dared speaking. He wanted to talk in absolute secrecy for what he had yet to say, and when he did hear the silo door close, he noticed that his doll let out the breath she was holding. She still wouldn't, he also noted, look him in the eye or even in his general direction since the last time. But that didn't matter, yet. Robbie still had to finish his tale.
"There's more to the story that I couldn't tell with your friend here."
Violet remained silent. He wondered, strangely, if she forgot how to speak.
"I'm an only child, but not one of those who was doted on because of that. Both my parents worked, my mother was a nurse, and she worked for the betterment of those in her care, while my father was a technician of many fields. He was on call most of the day, but I always seemed to get taken care of by my grandmother. The home we lived in was owned by her, we were just really, more or less, permanent guests. But my grandmother had my father later in life than some women, and she was much older than my peer's grandparents were.
"By the time I no longer needed caring for, I had long been caring for my grandmother. She was the most wonderful person, taught me more about life and manners, right and wrong, than my parents. Whenever I tried talking to them, they would tell me how I should think, and if I didn't agree, I would be ignored. They seemed to think that I willing gave into their wishes of who I was. My mother was even so controlling as to tell me that I wasn't sick when I was. At least, in those instances, my grandmother was there to take care of me like I needed, or the best she could.
"My grandmother was the reason I became an inventor. I wasn't strong enough to do some things for her, and whenever she was sleeping, I would go out back and invent things to help me take care of her. We had a lot of old, run down cars in our yard because my grandmother was kind enough and took in these things when other people couldn't afford to keep them on their property. So I had plenty of things to work with. By the age of eleven, I had already sold an invention or two and was secretly receiving money into an account under both my grandmother's and my name.
"My parents never questioned where I would get some of the things I bought myself sometimes, even though it was very rare that I would. They always assumed it was grandmother who bought me the items. And when they did question, like a gift-giving holiday, grandmother would tell them the lie they so easily believed on their own. That kind of thing happens when your grandmother was a millionaire and her investments were still gaining interest and she was still receiving money from them.
"But when I was 13, she died. I was with her when it happened too. I was putting her to bed, helping and tucking her in, and she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, and then closed her eyes. She even said goodbye. She knew it was time. And then, she never woke up again." He stopped, tears evident in his eyes. The doll, taking pity on him, leaned over and wiped the drops away. Caressing his cheek a bit too long and allowing him to pull her to him, lying her beside him, he put his arms possessively around her middle. At first, she tensed, but upon seeing the desperate look in his eyes, a look that conveyed his feelings to her, she relaxed and held onto him in return.
"After that, things just went downhill. I still received money from the companies who had bought inventions, but now I had to make sure my parents didn't see anything I might have bought myself for fear that they would question it. And I had to pretend with the bank that my grandmother was still living to be able to still have my bank account. At least I knew how to hide things well by that time.
"And with my parents not around often, it was even easier than it seemed to be sneaky about things. Although I kept the house clean and cooked for them, did laundry and made sure they had their bed sheets changed once a week, I was the top of my class through all of this. I was the house-boy, an honour student, and an inventor. Yet they never noticed. I was always called on little things, like a bit of dust that followed them into the house or a stray hair I missed on the floor. They were never really happy with what I did for them, yet I was the one with the problems. Apparently I was doing it all on purpose, making their 'job' harder, or didn't listen, argued with them, even if I was agreeing." He paused for quite a bit of time, looking away from the doll and breathing slowly, trying to control himself.
"They never really knew what they did to me. The hurt they caused me. I was never told with absolute certainty, in a way that I knew they were truly honest, that they loved me. They would say it at the end of an argument, or after telling me off for doing something wrong, but never just because. They never said it to say it, and it never felt like they meant it they did say it. That hurts you on many levels, not being told you're loved. I sure was never shown I was loved, only that I was convenient or inconvenient. No matter how hard I tried, they never seemed to be happy. I graduated valedictorian of my high school and college, of which my parents never knew I paid for myself, and yet it wasn't good enough.
"I never was one to date, but for the girls I did, I was never content. They were either too superficial, or in it for my money or the money I would make with my obvious genius. My parents wanted me wed, but I only think that they wanted it so that they could possibly have a child, of sorts, that they approved of. Many of the girls that I rejected, they would always tell me were the one.
"And then, in the mist of my college graduation, my father had the audacity to ask me if there was an honour higher, and then when I said it was the highest, he said that I didn't receive enough awards with it. That being the top of the class, and having been declared a genius in all my fields of study, wasn't enough. And I graduated with four Bachelor degrees in the same time that many of my peers got one. But once again, I wasn't good enough for them. It was moments like that, that I desperately missed my grandmother." Robbie paused again, letting the tears run freely and not allowing Violet to brush them away.
"Once I was done with everything, once I no longer needed them for anything any more, I left. I took the most secluded place I could find. This bunker just happened to be it. But, when I first moved here, I also took out a loan on a studio in the city. I spent more time there than I did here, in the beginning. This was the place I would come to when I needed to invent something, as space was plentiful and the studio wasn't built for one to make massive or possibly explosive devices in.
"Eventually I gave up the loan on the studio. The city life wasn't for me. I decided that I wanted to do nothing but my work and laze about the rest of the time. I had spent enough time taking care of things, that now it was time for me to do my work only, so I couldn't very well live without having money to pay bills. That's when I started sleeping in my orange shag chair, and on the occasion that I wished to go into the city, I built myself a machine that could dress me. As of late, however, I have been using it for disguises, but it works for either purpose.
"It was awhile after I moved here permanently, working on an invention that had been commissioned, that I met the infamous Number Nine. He was the Town Hero who was here before Sportacus came, and I absolutely hated him. He reminded me of my parents, telling me how careful I should be and the like. So the invention exploded, at least I had safety gear and a place to hide, and I wasn't hurt. Being in an underground bunker also has the advantage that you can't accidentally cause harm to anyone you're living near, and yet he still tried getting the Mayor to get me to stop my work.
"'For my safety,' he said, ignoring my protests and proof that I was taking precautions. So I plugged up the mail chute and prayed that he would leave. I don't know everything that happened, but I do know that he left town. Until your friend came to visit her uncle, and needed help to get the other kids to play with her, there was no Town Hero. Then she took the stopper out and sent the letter into the air. I was actually quite surprised that it was received by anyone. When he arrived, I reeled back, praying that this one would be different. But I treated him like her was the same as Nine, and never really gave him much of a chance. It took a couple of years to see, but I have eventually came to terms that Sportacus Ten is nothing like Number Nine. Thankfully."
He took a deep breath, and said very slowly, "Do you have any questions?"
Instead of answering, she sat herself up, sitting her back against the headboard. With all her strength, she pulled him over to her, laying him on her outstretched legs and bringing his head to rest against her chest. His arms, instinctively, went around her waist. She seemed to take no notice of this, and began softly and slowly running her fingers up and down his back.
"I have such responsibility to my life then, don't i?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to echo off the walls.
"Why do you say that?" His voice sounded muffled, his face cuddling her body closely.
"Because I was made to fill a hole in your heart. And I was made with that bit of your heart you're missing. It seems to explain why I know so much about you, why I feel so connected to you."
Robbie didn't respond, just laid there holding her and letting her caress him. When he was almost asleep, something jolted him back awake. He never knew what, but in the jolting, he startled Violet enough that they both almost fell off the bed. As he helped her back into a sitting position on the bed, he took a moment to looking into her eyes—and it gave him another jolt. An image flashed before his eyes, and caused him to started crying uncontrollably.
"Robbie! what's wrong? Please, tell me…" Violet didn't know what to do, he was curling up, and the crying didn't seem like it was going to stop any time soon. In desperation, she grabbed his face and kissed him.
At least that shut him up. His arms snaked their way around her, pulling her down to him, the kiss intensifying. Then, suddenly, he pushed her away, got off the bed, and went to the other side of the room. By the off-limit, unlocked door.
"Have you wondered at all why I asked you to not open this door, even though it is unlocked and perfectly available?"
"No, I've not wondered why, but I've wondered what was behind that door."
"Would you like to know?" He took her by the hand, and lead her to said door.
"Why? it's okay if you keep secrets…"
"Because I need know—would you like to know what is behind this door?"
She thought for a long moment before saying, softly, "Yes."
With that, he opened the door. Inside, it was like a closet, only smaller, and there was a table. In the centre was a picture atop a box, a small metal plaque on it, and silk flowers of poppies around it. The picture was of an elderly woman who looked no more than sixty, or somewhere in there, holding a little pale boy, a look of happiness on both faces, laughter evident. The boy appeared to be trying to get out of the elderly woman's arms while she was trying to tickle him, his hands batting her own playfully.
The plaque on the box read Poppy Rotten.
"This is the reason you know me so well."
"What do you mean Robbie? This just looks like a beautiful way of remembering your grandmother."
"The box has her ashes in it."
"That means what?"
"The only way I could make you human, in any way, was to give you something human. So I used some of my grandmother's ashes. She knew me better than anyone, which is why you now do."
"You mean I'm partially made of someone else?"
"I didn't know any other way to make you human! And I also thought it might make it easier for you to love me…"
"Could this be why I felt wrong about loving you?"
"I don't know. Why, exactly, did you? Other than my involvement in your life."
"Because you're the only one I've really known, it kind of felt like I didn't know enough of life to choose." He turned away from her, and the tribute.
"You do have a choice though. You can not love me if you want, or you can love me. It is up to you."
They stood there for a moment, neither moving. Finally, slowly she moved around to his front, hugging him in the process.
"Then I choose to love you. I choose you because you made me, and you are my responsibility."
"You shouldn't—" She placed a finger on his lips, effectively stopping his speech.
"I am the missing piece of your heart. I get it now. When your grandmother died, a piece of your heart died with her. And now that you've used her remains, you've recreated that missing piece. I'm right where I belong," and she pulled his head down and kissed him.
