hrrnnggghh I might not update everyday anymore thanks to bloody school. ;c I won't forget, though. Chapter ten!
also, I just read through this and realised I repeat words so damn much. ;C I suck lolol.
They had known each other ever since they were ten. The first time they met was in Ipswich, when Jim's mother and father had decided to take a holiday because of Jim's brother's acceptance to a specific university. Jim was sitting outside on a bench that was perched right outside the house they were occupying at that time, swinging his legs cheerfully and observing the surroundings. It was a sunny and beautiful day, and he could even hear the birds chirping from up above in the trees.
A young, pretty looking girl was walking past, and when she spotted Jim she moved towards him with caution, uncertain of what his intentions were.
"Hello," she said.
"Hi." Jim tilted his head to one side, scrutinizing what the girl wore and her general attitude. She seemed quite shy and quiet on the outside, and her long, pale blonde hair was tied back into one long pony tail. Those eyes were large, dark and sweet looking – it was one of the first things he noticed. "Who are you?"
"Mary," she said confidently, as if her name was special and something to be proud of. "Mary Moran, but everybody calls me Molly. What's your name?"
"James Moriarty." Jim stopped for a second, because he hadn't told anybody that was his actual name, and quickly added, "But call me Jim."
"I haven't seen you around before." Molly narrowed her eyes, taking her turn to observe Jim. He was small, dark haired and dark eyed, and from his accent she could easy say he was Irish. There was something about his face that was different, however, something that wasn't quite normal. It would stand out from a crowd if he was placed in one.
"I'm on holiday," he said. "Do you live here?"
She paused for a moment, hesitant to reply. "Sort of," she said, and sat down beside him. "Do you come from Ireland?"
Jim nodded. "How can you sort of live somewhere?"
Molly's cheeks turned a little red, as if she were embarrassed to tell him what she meant. "They told me my parents were gone and I have to live with other people who I don't know properly. There are lots of other children there too, and it's fun sometimes." She paused. "They're coming back, though, my parents, and we'll live like we used to."
Jim frowned. "Oh."
"Do you have a brother, Jim? I have one. When they said my parents were gone they told me he went with them. I never knew him because he was still in my mummy's tummy but he sounded like a very nice person. I can't wait to meet him when Mummy and Daddy come to pick me up."
Jim was starting to doubt what Molly was saying to him; as if there was a deeper meaning to the words she spoke. She seemed a little clueless and naïve, but he didn't question her, scared he was going to hurt Molly's feelings.
"I have an older brother," Jim said instead. "I don't like him very much, though."
Molly sounded shocked. "Why not?"
He shrugged. "He's a bit annoying. Like, he pokes me a lot." He demonstrated by giving the girl a poke in the arm, in which she squealed and gave him a light punch back. They got into a small play fight which ended in Jim tickling Molly until she couldn't breathe. He grinned as he pulled away from her.
"I had better go," Molly said, waving as she walked away. "See you later, Jim!"
The second time they met was the second week of which Jim had moved to London, two years later. He had started his new school – and positively hated it already – and was walking home on a chilly November evening when he bumped straight into the innocent little girl he had met one summer's afternoon.
"I know you…" the tone in her voice indicated she had grown up from when they last met – she was just a little more mature, even if she looked pretty much the same save for the chubbiness having been outgrown. "You're Jim! That guy I met two years ago in Ipswich!"
It was all of a sudden tears were welling up in her eyes.
"Whoa, hold up. What's wrong?" The concern in his voice came naturally, considering he had never met a person who had burst into tears at the sight of him.
"They're dead," she said. "I'm so stupid; I thought they were gone, like they were on freaking holiday or something, who was I kidding? My mum was pregnant with my brother when they had died, and I was so upset about it all I just ran away from that damned children's home, oh lord, sorry…" she wiped the tears from her eyes furiously, and Jim didn't know what to do. He wasn't used to these situations.
"Where are you living?"
Molly shrugged hopelessly. "Everywhere. Nowhere. I dunno. I nicked some money off a few people but I used most of it up for the train journey and food. I can't afford a hotel room."
He had no idea why he had said it, but Jim offered, "You can stay with me, if you want."
As soon as it blurted out of his mouth a million doubts flew straight into his mind. What are you doing, Jim? Your parents won't let you have anybody over for any period of time, let alone maybe a couple of weeks. Especially a girl.
"Seriously?" Her face suddenly lit up with the same happiness he saw those two years ago. "Do you mind? I mean I'm a bit strange when it comes to habits and things, but will your parents care or not?"
He shrugged. "I don't think my parents will approve of it. But I suppose you can live in the attic; nobody ever goes up there."
Molly's arms flung round Jim's neck in a hug and it only made Jim feel even more uncomfortable. They'd only met once yet she was already hugging him – not to mention Jim wasn't exactly the biggest fan of the term hugging either.
"What are you doing in London anyway?" She asked. "You said you lived in Ireland."
Jim raised his eyebrows as they both pulled away from the embrace. "Apparently parents like to ruin your life by making you move to shit places like here."
Molly giggled, but when Jim had said the word parents he could tell that it broke her heart. She was fragile and even after that one meeting they had in Ipswich he didn't want her to face the pain of when she actually found out the truth. It was something nobody wanted to see somebody suffer with – especially not Molly Moran.
"No, no, you're doing it wrong." Jim snatched the pen off Molly and crossed out her little tank, drawing another one beside it. "The one you drew looked like a dalek."
She huffed, folding her arms. "Oh, thanks. It's not like yours is any better."
"Who are you kidding? Mine is brilliant." He then wrote Jim's army above the setting they had just created with a marker pen. It was Molly's turn to snatch the pen away from Jim, in which she added and Molly's above Jim's name.
"There we go," she said. When she glanced at Jim's expression, which clearly read as noMolly raised an eyebrow. "I did draw the continents and the big circle quite well."
"I drew all the people and the majority of the tanks and the explosions," he said. "Basically the majority of the thing."
"Fine," Molly spat, underlining Jim's name harshly, annoyed at his arrogance and general behaviour. Sure, she still adored him in the sense that he was funny and imaginative, and was kind enough to let her live here despite the fact that his parents would never let him. But then there were times when he was so egotistical and stupid and infuriating that it drove Molly round the bend…
"I was just kidding, Mols," he teased, poking her in the arm lightly. "You know I love you really."
I wonder if you actually do, she thought bitterly.
One day Molly Moran left without a warning. She left a note upon the small camp bed she slept in, and Jim picked it up with a frown on his face.
I love you, and I don't care if you don't love me back, but I do. You're annoying as hell sometimes, but when you're nice I just freaking love you. I can't thank you enough for giving me a place to live, because when I arrived in London I was seriously regretting having run away from where I was safe. You just gave me hope again. It was fun, playing games with you, pondering about the world with you and just generally being with you. Because you're amazing and I love you, but I have to leave. It won't be the last time I'll see you, oh no. I'll see you again, James Moriarty. Just you wait.