Disclaimer: You know, these things are really starting to bug me...I don't own it! Jesus f-ing Christ...
Chapter Four: Don't Tell Me Everything is Wonderful Now
The rain started early, Timmy noted with a scowl. In fact, it poured down in sheets over the humid city of Dimmsdale, rendering any hope of visibility a near miracle. He could scarcely see out his window, obscured by the heavy rainfall. It wasn't as though there was anything to see, however, but the bleakness in the room matched that within himself.
Although he'd hardly been a fan of the rain before, now he welcomed it. Where was there to go, anyway? Who was waiting out there for him, the lowly, lonely orphaned Timmy Turner?
Yes, orphaned, just like Tootie and Sophie, only, his situation seemed the most hopeless. He'd actually been within a hairline of receiving his parents again only to lose them. Goddamn Lorenzo! Goddamn him to Hell for putting him through this!
No, that wasn't fair. Sophie too had lost her parents…but he hardly knew the girl and he couldn't empathize properly. Depression had run him ragged, stolen his feeling from him. All he knew and cared about was dead inside.
That wasn't true, either. Tootie was still alive somewhere, wherever. He still loved her, still cared about her with all his heart, soul, and mind. Yet every moment apart ran into another and then yet another.
Long ago, his friends had given up all hope of reaching him. They tried, desperately, to force him to return a phone call, an instant message, anything, but he merely shrugged and shut off the phone and computer. What good were friends? They didn't tell you anything you truly wanted to hear.
Besides, what on earth could he tell them of his troubles? How much of that would they believe? Why would they be interested in hearing the trials and tribulations of a whiny brat?
He was no one to them, nothing more than a phantom in Dimmsdale Junior High. There was more amiss about Lorenzo's disappearance than Timmy's suicide attempt and depression, according to his friends. Then again, they hadn't really known about the last two, so he couldn't really blame them.
Still, they had an annoying habit of remaining around to ask him how everything was. They were never satisfied when he nodded and then shut the door in their face. Didn't they know they were better off not knowing? What good could they possibly do him?
Did any of them know what it was like to be brutally abused by someone they trusted? Or have that same person be of their creation, their own damn stupid creation? Did they know what it was like to live day in and day out with the guilt of causing everyone such pain?
He was alone, in both this and the fact that his maladies were magic related. Sure, he could tell them much about Lorenzo without mentioning how he came to be and who exactly Cosmo and Wanda were, but that required more energy than he had these days. All he wanted to do was sleep, not work on telling his friends how much pain he was in.
Why should they know, anyway? What were they going to say? Were they going to be there for him? How on earth was he supposed to know?
Of course, he supposed the logical answer would be to ask them, but why? Why should he open himself up? Being closed suited him just fine. After all, it'd gotten him through the agonizing months without Tootie and everyone else perfectly.
No one needed to know just how badly he felt right now, how the scars all on his body were no longer just from Lorenzo. How he wanted to cut right now, just to feel the adrenaline rush and the sense that, yes, he had control over something in his life. No, he couldn't bring Tootie back, or the ones that Lorenzo had killed, he couldn't end the pain from his rape, but he could hurt himself. And that within itself was wonderful.
Where were the razors, though? He only vaguely recalled a few in the bathroom, but, when he remembered them, it was with a haze, as though someone had magically wiped his mind. Could Wanda have found them? School wasn't in session, he couldn't steal anymore.
Still, there were kitchen knives and butcher knives. He'd have to be extremely careful there, since he didn't want to kill himself…and risk being caught. Then again, if the knife happened to just slip, who was to fault him?
Timmy dreamed of the day when he would finally lose the finesse over the blade and it slid deep into his veins. The pain would be downright magical, the blood pouring like champagne. As he lay dying, then they'd care. But then, it'd be too late. And he'd be back with his parents finally.
No more lies, no more betrayers, no more leaving him. The people who adored him would remain there forever. Sure, he wouldn't have Cosmo and Wanda or Tootie, but he would be happy. Happy…
For now, the pain would have to suffice. The beautiful, gorgeous pain that enveloped him with its tantalizing venom and made him feel. Yes, he was alive because his skin hummed with blood.
Not like the way he felt around Tootie, not at all. She meant him feel like it was worth it, not to hurt himself, not to wish he were dead every single day. But it'd been so long…too long. He couldn't remember what it was like to hold her in his arms, only in his dreams…
She'd been so soft, he remembered that. She'd leaned into him and he'd felt a surge of bliss. Bliss, jubilation, words only associated with cutting now. At least he could see the razor every day.
Tootie hadn't known he was cutting when she left nor during the brief time she returned. She hadn't known he'd attempted suicide only to be thwarted by Cosmo. She hadn't known he still attempted suicide, only, at the last moment, he recoiled, considering how Wanda would react.
It wouldn't be that she'd be cross with him, no. It was just that Cosmo had never told her he cut himself until he saw the bones on his wrist (once). (He'd blamed that particular one on an accident in the kitchen. No one had been the wiser). She'd realize he wasn't the perfect godchild she left and that he really did need her…but she needed him more.
The person he truly needed was Tootie, wherever the hell she was. With her, he wouldn't have to worry about anything. In an instant, she'd wrap her arms around him and kiss him until the pain ebbed away.
Heh, bet she was having the time of her life wherever she was. It fit, didn't it? Everyone should go and abandon him, because he was indirectly responsible for ruining their lives.
Timmy Turner, the world's worst godchild. The one even Jorgen forsook, after pretending that he'd liked them the best. Lorenzo had caused far too much damage for him to give a damn.
How often had he screamed he was sorry to Cosmo and Wanda? How often had he cried himself to sleep? And yet, no apology could reverse the past. Nothing could save them.
What he'd do for absolution, to feel as though the rain could wash away his sins, wash away the blood on his scars. Perhaps, in the rain, no one would notice the tears striking his face. The rain, blood, and tears would all mix in and he'd be whole again.
Sighing heavily, he watched the rain fall, striking his window with pangs that reminded him of his heart. It was often said that, when it rained, God cried, but Timmy, who had never given much thought to God, didn't truly care. How could there be a god if all these terrible things happened?
So what if he was responsible for them partly? So what if he'd make that stupid wish again, if he could? So what if he wasn't sorry for everything he'd done?
The realization took his breath away. He wasn't as sorry as he thought he was…In a way, he'd wanted it, hadn't he? Hadn't he wanted to hurt people? That was where Lorenzo came from, wasn't it? There was a part of him that wanted to hurt, kill…rape…
This was why he'd agreed with him to revive his parents, wasn't it? It wasn't just that he wanted his parents back, he wanted to kill…He was a monster…
No, he was worse than a monster, for he'd created a monster. He spawned something born out of his innate fears, hatreds, and hostilities. Lorenzo was something he'd never recognized as being part of him, other than the title of his anti fairy.
Never…until just now. Didn't it make sense? He wasn't satisfied with his death for two fold reasons- he wanted him to hurt as much as he did and, for the pain to be so intense, it'd make him forget why he wanted to hurt him. It wasn't just that he'd raped him, but that he'd taught him something about himself he didn't want to know.
Hatred for Vicky was more than just hatred…it went deeper than he could ever guess. If he used Lorenzo's actions to represent the way he'd felt when he was ten (since most of his feelings were born when Lorenzo was), then the way he felt about Vicky, Tootie, everyone else, it was all there. No, that couldn't be it. Why would he hate his godparents?
Sure, he'd resented them that night, but enough to hate them? Not only that, but enough to wish them ill? To wish them dead?
Cosmo and Wanda were his only true parents, all things considered. They tucked him in at night while his parents gallivanted around, they held him while he cried, and they were there for him. In many ways, he considered them to be his only protection against the world…
No more, of course. The world was cruel, cold, and, when you were least expecting, it slammed you in the back. That was why it was him against the world, alone. Who else would understand the gashes on his chest, the scars on his thighs? Not Cosmo and Wanda.
Had he hated everyone, then? Had he hated the godparents who had been the only ones to show him true affection? Had he wished to end their trivial lives?
Cosmo…Wanda…I'm so sorry…
Shutting his eyes and trembling badly, he sought to remember his emotions that fateful day. Everything came back to it, didn't it? How the hell could one stupid day ruin so much?
All he could recall was resentment, deep seated resentment. Why should something that came so easily to them be so difficult for him? Why should they get all the breaks that he didn't get? Why was it, when they switched places, that they had a better day than him? It wasn't fair!
Then, a flash and he fell, unconscious for five seconds. Lorenzo's birth…he'd been born in a moment when he'd detested Cosmo and Wanda. Although the emotions were only temporary, they'd been present and constructed the mold for his anti fairy. To think what would have happened if he were only in a slightly different state of mind…
Did that explain The Other's hatred for Tootie? Well, when he was ten, he found her creepy. That didn't mean he wanted to kill her or anything like that, but she was annoying. (Just when she'd crossed the line from annoying into someone he dreamed about was unclear to him). Could that have been the base for Lorenzo's feelings?
Then there was Vicky…although the less said about that area, the better. Where had his hatred crossed the line? Would he really have done that, if he could?
The obvious answer, at least, the answer clamoring to be spoken was "no!". But was that true anymore? Would he have done it if he could? Was Lorenzo an indication of what he might become?
He didn't want to, of course. Then again, with a sinking heart, he realized he didn't want to treat Tootie like he did, but, whenever he saw her, the wrong words came out. It was like she started a chain reaction in him.
If I'm doomed to repeat Lorenzo, then I'm doomed to shove Tootie away…He thought bleakly. I'm doomed to hate her because I'm just like him…
Closing his eyes, he retraced a scar on his chest. He was just like him…He would find a person that admired him and steal his happiness away from him. Then, would he be happy? Was there such a thing as happiness? Or was happiness just a moment devoid of sorrow?
Do I love Tootie? Or is it just that I don't hate her?
However, he didn't know the answer to this.
>>>
Tootie spat out a bit of filthy water, although, with all the rain coming down, it was almost impossible to discern the cars from anything else. Gary walked beside her, offering his jacket (inconceivable, to ruin his own 'coolness' for her, yet here he was). She didn't take it, simply because she wanted none of his pity.
Water drenched their mouths whenever they opened them, so conversation was thankfully short. However, that didn't mean Gary was going to give up so soon. He knew something was bothering her and he was going to get the story out if it killed him.
Even though they both resembled drowned rats, he remained attracted to her. In the rain, it was impossible to tell if the liquid sliding down her cheeks came from the sky or from her inner trauma. However, judging by the amount of times she sniffled, he guessed the latter.
Damn Timmy for ruining her life like that. Why the hell had he chased her away before? Why couldn't he see he had a good thing?
Very carefully, realizing he was playing with fire, he grabbed her hand. She gazed back at him in astonishment, but he merely shrugged. Besides, he enjoyed this too much to give up now.
She opened her mouth to shout some sort of threat, but the water drowned her out. Instead, she shook her head. When they were some place that wasn't here, she'd tell him off.
Still, she had to admit that it did feel nice to have someone, anyone, hold her hand. That didn't mean she wasn't going to kick him in the balls and slam it down later against the wall, but the affection was appreciated. Especially now, when she didn't feel wonderful and she had to rely on him to find their way 'home'.
His breath was on her neck and she at first melted. Before the recent memory of Katrina and the alternate Trixie struck, she relished his closeness. As much as she hated it, she yearned for affection.
Even if Gary would pay for it later, she'd let him hold her hand now. For now, she had too many thoughts surfacing, too much strife, to properly concentrate on any particular feeling.
Speaking of feelings, why was she getting such odd feelings from their link? Why did she feel, well, suicidal? No, wait, this wasn't her…it was Timmy.
Alarm struck her and she grabbed Gary's hand, yanking him across the road and nearly into ongoing traffic. Agonizing pain, pain she knew had to be unconsciously transmitted from him, pain she could not bear, she had to find its source. Suddenly, there wasn't enough time in the day, their legs couldn't travel far enough fast enough.
She thought, in the back of her mind, she heard Gary yell at her to slow down, but she no longer heard him. Nothing could she hear except the pounding in her head and then their feet smacking the pavement. Nothing mattered save their arrival.
"Toot!" He protested, about to be swung into ongoing traffic. There was no response.
"Look, if this is about my holdin' you while you were asleep, I'm sorry!" He called out, but, again, there was no answer. The hand holding his grew tight, as if threatening to hurt him should he speak anymore. Although she wasn't speaking, that particular action came out crystal clear.
Just wait…oh, Timmy…Tootie thought, tears cascading down her face. Why did she have to deal with this first thing when she got home?
>>>
Coolness pervaded the room, but the occupant, a skeletal boy with an absurd fixture upon his head, ignored it. Odd though it was that a summer thunderstorm would bring a chill upon the room, this was not important. The time was close at hand and he'd best grasp it before it evaded him.
Within the medicine cabinets, stowed there for safekeeping, was an accumulation he could be proud of. All of them were stolen from school, only a few were missed. They all had varying degrees of jaggedness, all sliced differently. In their own way, any of them, with the exception of the extremely dull ones, could efficiently do their job.
However, there was but one choice in his mind as to the right one and this he sought, relishing the sight of these instruments. Some glittered in the fluorescent lights, some had the slightest remnant of blood, and some were perfectly hewed, the razors of the gods themselves. It was these, among the elite, he desired his perfection and here he found it. Here, the teacher's razor, with its incredible acuity and pinpoint accuracy, the one razor he was certain could efficiently do the task at hand.
When he'd stolen the item from school, he'd made haste to quickly hide it, lest another discover its whereabouts or its potential. Before now, he'd not dared to use it, for the blade was too sharp, too powerful. One slip and he could commit this act before it was time.
Lovingly, he traced the other scars along his body, the delicate reminders there was something more to life than a dull ache. These were his wounds, these he could control, and, with a sweet slide of the knife, what he could use to measure himself. All of the gashes were his punishments, for he was the epidemic. Only he could stop himself.
One particular scar ran close to his heart, a failed attempt. He'd gotten so close, and then stopped himself. Or was it another interfered? He could not recall.
However, details were insignificant now, in this final hour. Everything else was in place, with the exception of the one item proven to be his downfall previously. No, he would not be foolhardy enough to give any an indication of his actions, this was for certain. Lorenzo may have seen him write it before, but, with no one watching him, no one to gage actions, he could taste death's kiss freely.
Cosmo, downstairs, sat watching some atrocious movie about forsaken lovers. A bitter smile arose- no one in the house should really view that, considering their state of affairs. After all, either they were missing their beloved or otherwise estranged. Nonetheless, he sat, eyes fixed upon the maudlin feature.
Wanda busied herself about the house and utilized the human way to clean and prepare meals. Her argument was if anyone came over the house, unfamiliar with their magical nature, she had to make it look believable. The fact remained no one came over the house that didn't know this, but she was covering up desperately. Anything to occupy a vast majority of her time would do quite nicely.
Sophie, as usual, poured over the books in her possession. Timmy hardly gave her a second thought, seeing as no one else did, for one, and, two, he barely knew her. Besides, the amount she would be saddened by his death was minimal.
Vicky sat outside, regardless of the pouring rain. Whatever her agenda was, he didn't deign to ask. In a few minutes, it would no longer matter to him, anyway.
Mark, also on the step, pleaded with her to return inside, for the safety of herself and her unborn child. So far, he'd had absolutely no luck and there he stood, with a fat lip and a black eye. Apparently, Vicky was not averse to smacking her husband around in addition to everyone else.
A bitter smile rose on his face and he recognized it as jealousy. Of all the star-crossed lovers in this house, at least these two were together, in a matter of speaking. There was no accounting for Vicky's temper, of course, but she still had who she wanted.
Cosmo and Wanda had each other; only, it was more that they saw each other than they actually had something. A glance was about all they shared and, were they anything else, Timmy wasn't privy to it. Nonetheless, he sincerely doubted it, observing Wanda's reactions to anything Cosmo tried.
Perhaps things would change with his death. At least then, she would not be reluctant to have him hold her and comfort her. Besides, he'd caused her problem, hadn't he? He'd been responsible for all the pain in this house, which was why it was best he eliminate the source of the problem.
She might cry at his death, perchance be shocked at how it occurred, but, in the end, things would turn out better. Tootie wouldn't have to return to be burdened by him, Wanda wouldn't have to worry about him, and everything else would just fall into place. Sometimes, he reasoned, a sacrifice was needed.
Gingerly, he removed the blade from its pristine glass case. Yes, he'd stolen this from school as well, but, the main point was it protected the blade from damage or unworthy eyes. There, it looked just as perfect as it had the day he'd stolen it.
Before he placed it upon his wrist, he set it down on the counter and glanced it over. There were many places to produce a wound, but, where was the best? Which would kill him the quickest? When he'd tried the first time, he'd been far too emotional. But, after planning for months, he could afford to be cool and methodical about this.
Running water kept the wound flowing, did it not? In that instance, perhaps he'd best lie down in the water and let its soothing nature take him quicker. When the pool was sufficient, he could drown himself and leave this world far behind.
Discarding of his clothing, he knelt by the faucet and turned it, mixing hot with cold to induce warm. This would also do nicely. He would lie in the water first, wait for his muscles to relax, and then start.
Timmy cast a contemptuous look at his pink hat before lowering himself into the bath. For years, he'd worn this spectacle, and, only recently had it become an object of derision. Well, no more. Let another don the 'gay' cap for once, he was through with it.
However, a thought nagged at him. His parents had given him that pink hat; it was all that was truly left of them. Perhaps he ought to take it with him, as a vestige of the only period of happiness he had ever known.
Shaking his head, he left it where it lay and, gazing at the tub, observed it was wholly filled. Excellent, then, in about thirty minutes, he would no longer know this place. Whatever lay ahead had to be better than this.
Lowering himself into the bath, he at once seized upon the razor, handle first, and gazed openly at it. Its beauty was unmatched by any other he'd stolen, its sharpness enough to pierce even the toughest material. When he used it, it would slice through him like a dragon fang pierced through human armor.
A serene smile lit up his features, finally, at peace. Before he began, he shut his eyes and imagined Tootie, one last time. Perhaps she wasn't returning, so his death wouldn't impact her. He had no idea how this telepathy thing worked, but, according to the What-If Spell, she would feel him slip from her mind. Well, be that as it may, it hardly impacted his choice.
Still, he would like to think he had one last conversation or attempted it before he died. True, he couldn't hold her, kiss her, or do anything else he wanted with her, but to hear her voice one last time would be divine. It was the last seal…
>>Tootie?>> He sent, caressing the blade with his right thumb and slowly sliding it across his left wrist. A thin incision was all that showed, but he could tell from the pain surging up his body the depth of the gash. Perhaps he'd cut close to the bone, he had no way of telling.
Although he could not withhold the sting from her, he wished her to know it didn't truly hurt him as much as she might believe. He was at peace with himself, at peace with the pain required to commit the final act. When he could feel himself fall further from life, he'd tell her more.
A gasp, and then, with a burst of alarm, he felt her in his mind. These were her emotions now, her raw reaction. If only he could tell her not to worry, oh, wait, he could. Still, it was best to let her speak freely.
Tenderly, as one would treat a fragile piece of pottery, his arm pierced the water's surface and the blood began to mix with the water. Soon, after he sliced his chest open, his head would lie beneath the surface as well, either by his own choosing or by the lack of neck support from his death. Perhaps floating in a pool of blood and water was overkill, but it would get the job done.
>>Timmy!>> She called, her panic reaching him and, for a second, stunning him. She sounded fairly close by, maybe within a few blocks of the house. Pain was in her telepathy as well, only, this was because, innately, she picked up his plan of action.
>>You're back and just in time,>> He sent, realizing his coolness reminded him of Lorenzo. Well, in a way, it helped to be objective about this. This was how he had been trained to kill Cosmo and Wanda.
>>In time for what?>> She replied, her concern sliding into his mind and overlapping his own emotions. For a second, he knew what it was to feel again.
>>You'll see when you get home. I loved you, Tootie.>> With that, he shut down the link and, even though he could feel her tug at it desperately, he refused to open it up again. Echoes of her cries reached him, but he ignored them. He'd done what he'd wanted to.
Then, like someone ripping a hole into his mind, he felt her tear into the telepathy bond. Pain seared through him and he smiled. Everything was clearer when you were in pain.
That reminded him, he had yet to slice into his chest. Since the razor was still in his right hand, he moved it over his chest and, slowly, began his descent to the razor's final destination, right above his heart. Blood thundered in his ears and pooled around his body. This was it…
>>Timmy Turner!>> Tootie screamed and he froze, unable to move for the sheer amount of emotion she flung at him. So the What-If Spell was right…she could feel him dying…
>>Timmy…please…oh, God…>> Tears entered the link and he realized, suddenly, that she was sobbing brokenly on the other side. Unable to move, since her emotions pinned him to the spot, he was forced to listen.
Or perhaps he didn't have to be…Again, he tugged at the link and, again, he shut it down. This time, however, he placed a mental barrier in front. Unfortunately, now, his concentration was broken and tears streamed down his face. Her emotions were now his.
>>Goodbye, Tootie.>> With that, his right hand reached a few inches before his heart, but, this time, froze again. Only, it had a more magical reason behind it than an emotional overload.
Floating over him, her eyes shut but tears streaming down her face as well, was Wanda. Her spell paralyzed him, the knife fixated right above his heart. At the moment, she couldn't speak save for the sobs that wracked her body.
Fortunately, however, he could. His eyes narrowed at her- he had power over everything above his neck, and cold anger seized him. Twice, now, he'd been thwarted. Gods, and he hadn't even been stupid enough to leave a note!
Not trusting herself to speak, she waved her wand again and the razor disappeared from his hand. Wherever it went, neither was entirely certain of, but it could no longer harm him. In all likelihood, it had returned to its owner, who, hopefully, would not notice the bloodstains.
Another wave of her wand and the blood/water vanished from the tub. Orange marks stained it, but her eyes were not on those. They were fixed on him, taking in the scars, gashes, and bruises he'd endeavored to place upon himself.
A gasp escaped her, within her crying fit, and she finally fell out of midair, landing on a nearby hamper. He regarded her furiously, but didn't say a word. For the moment, he was so angry, he couldn't.
Leaning against the wall, she braced herself. Her wand was held tightly in one hand, her other hand over her heart. Hmm, he hadn't thought about it, but she had to be fairly old. Then again, he had given her the shock of her life, so any sort of affect like that had to be expected.
"In all my years…" She whispered, not speaking to anyone in particular. All the color had drained from her face and her wings, as well as the rest of her frame, trembled. Now more than ever, she wished she hadn't shoved Cosmo away.
He merely gazed at her, someone who had the gall to stop him. Didn't she know she was better off without him? Everyone was better off without him.
Perhaps she could read this in his expression, for she turned to him. Although she was still crying, she found she was calm enough to say something. Or, rather, do something.
Floating over him, her flight unsteady at best, she slapped him as hard as she could. Her hand left marks, but, before he could concentrate on that, she started screaming at him.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" She shrieked, profanity uncharacteristically sliding into her speech. Her hair turned to flames, and, briefly, her attire turned completely black. He'd awakened the dark fairy in her.
"Why would you do something so stupid! What the hell is wrong with you!" Waving her wand again, she healed his cuts. Apparently, the thought hadn't occurred to her until just now to do so.
"Didn't Cosmo tell you? I'm suicidal," Timmy replied, an insane smile crossing his face. There were more blades in the cabinet. There were always more blades.
For a second, she gazed at him in shock. It seemed Cosmo hadn't told her anything about him. All she knew was what she'd known before the whole mess occurred, nothing more.
"You-you…" She stammered, then, in a bellow he caught the slightest hint of, she screamed for him in telepathy. That must have been how she'd known to come here. Tootie had screamed his name so loud, half of the astral field had to have heard it.
>>COSMO!>> She screamed, ringing in both his head and hers. No matter how much of a fool he was, he'd be either a complete lackwit or insane to ignore that. And, although Cosmo was quite strongly close to the first, he didn't dare ignore her.
With a green poof, he entered the room and quailed under Wanda's glower. He cowered behind a towel, but, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Timmy, covered in scars from his chest to below, where he couldn't see. Every inch of his body had been slashed at some time or another.
"You knew about this?" She said dangerously. "You knew Timmy had razors in here and was planning to kill himself?"
Drawing back her hand, she prepared to strike when Timmy interrupted her. Again, his coolness shocked her. She wished his tears would reflect his emotions, but at least she knew their culprit. He must have contacted Tootie.
"He only knew that I tried it once and he caught me. Cosmo has no idea that I have razors in here and that I've been cutting for months after I came home. He has no idea that I was trying to commit suicide."
He said it so plainly, so monotonous, another chill coursed down her spine. He didn't see anything wrong with this. To him, it was as routine as breathing.
Cosmo, meanwhile, had latched onto her, his fear of her forgotten in light of Timmy's confession. Yes, he was indeed holding onto her quite tightly, but, right now, she welcomed his embrace. Although he was crushing a wing back, she didn't care. He cared and he could feel her pain. That was all that mattered right now.
"Where are the other razors?" She said, voice trembling. He did not answer her. Instead, his eyes slid over them and onto the ceiling. Why should he tell them?
"Where are the other razors?" Wanda screamed and Cosmo, continuing to cling to her, began to cry. She had no idea whether he was crying over her anger or Timmy's suicide attempt, but, at the moment, she really didn't have time for this.
"Why should I tell you?" Timmy replied, his tone sounding almost bored.
Silence reigned for an instant before she waved her wand again, nearly smacking Cosmo in the face, and razors of every time flew out of the cabinets and into a basin she conjured up. With this amount, he could equip a small army. Somehow, though, she didn't think it was all there.
Waving her wand again, the door opened and a few more razors landed neatly on the pile. This had to be it, since the spell couldn't locate any others. However, there had to be at least fifty here.
"Fifty seven to be exact," Timmy murmured and Wanda turned her attention from the razors (Cosmo gulped fearfully) to him. If it was possible, more blood drained from her face and she resembled the walking dead.
"Where-where'd you get all of 'em?" Cosmo gulped, eyeing them warily, all the while clutching his wife like a life preserver. His head rested on her shoulders, but his arms snaked around her waist.
"We were cutting linoleum in art class when I accidentally cut myself…I liked it, so I stole the razor. After I grabbed that one, I just started taking them…" He trailed off, eyeing the razors with a look akin a thirsty man to a bottle of cold, refreshing water. It gave both of them the creeps.
Well, that solves the question of where he got them…and how he found them in the first place, Wanda thought, shuddering.
"That doesn't make it right!" She retorted, trying to put her hands on her hips but finding it difficult because of the grip Cosmo held on her. C'mon, boy, let go.
"Why the hell did you stop me!" Timmy screamed back at her and, stunned for a moment, she sought Cosmo's hand and squeezed it. Surprised, he took her in before squeezing it back and gently blowing on her wings. Her wings tingled pleasantly.
"You want to commit suicide?" Cosmo gasped and she mentally slapped a hand to her forehead. Of course he wanted to commit suicide. Wasn't that painfully obvious to everyone in the room? Then again, probably not to him.
"I'm just a burden to both of you! I caused Juandissimo to take Wanda-" He began, but, upon hearing his name, Wanda uttered a soft gasp and clung to the arms wrapped tightly about her.
"If it wasn't for me and that stupid wish, he never would have hurt her-" Timmy began, but a sharp cry broke him off.
"That isn't true!" She protested weakly, feeling as though someone heavy sat upon her chest. Breaths now came in short gasps and her hands shook so badly, she dropped her wand.
"Oh, isn't it? I'm responsible for everything here, aren't I? If it wasn't for me, everyone would be happy!" He snapped back.
"Number one, you had no idea that your wish would have such mass repercussions and two, killing yourself will not change the past. You cannot change the past, you can only live in the present. I'm sorry if no one ever told you this, but living in the what-ifs, the could haves, the would haves, won't help you.
"I know you hurt because of what Lorenzo did to you, I know you think you're responsible for everything that's happened, but that isn't true. You're no more responsible for Lorenzo's actions than Cosmo is for Anti Cosmo or I am for Anti Wanda. Just because Lorenzo did far worse things than Anti Cosmo did doesn't mean you're to blame for them.
"There are people here who care about you and can't stand to see a hair on your head harmed, much less this…" Here she swallowed hard before continuing. Cosmo pressed against her felt so nice…
"And you have to open up to them. I know it's painful, but if you don't say anything, it'll just get worse."
Unable to find a reply, Timmy stared up at the ceiling. She just wished she knew if her words fell on deaf ears.
Timmy…we really do love you…
She realized abruptly Cosmo had had his arms wrapped around her waist for over twenty minutes and she hadn't shoved him away or otherwise rejected him. In fact, she found she couldn't think of Juandissimo at all when Cosmo was clinging to her.
And if he could hold her around the waist, that meant he could possibly do more…
However, now was not the time for those thoughts. Something had to be done about Timmy, to keep from getting to his supply and hurting himself again. She'd failed him as a godmother by not noticing how serious his problems were in light of her own.
And now, she'd thought of how nice it was to have Cosmo wrapped around her, instead of how badly Timmy needed her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she swallowed hard, trying to shove all her doubts aside for the moment. In private, perhaps, she could think about this more, but, not now.
"I'm not taking that spell of you, not until I'm sure I have someone to watch you after I remove it. I'll dress you, of course, but, otherwise, perhaps you'd better ask Sophie to read to you."
Very gently, she waved Cosmo's wand, as hers was out of reach and she didn't want to ask him to release her in order to retrieve it, and he was poofed into clothing and into his room. No more questions, she would talk to him later. For now, she had to talk to Cosmo.
Waving his wand again, she poofed them into the treehouse.
>>>
"Why are we here?" He asked, his arms still firmly about her waist. Instead of answering him directly, she removed his arms. Er, rather, she tried, but his grip on her was damn near impossible to break.
"I'm not lettin' go!" He protested, kissing her neck. Instead of screaming at him, either mentally or aloud, she turned around (a mean feat considering his hold was like an iron grip) and kissed him passionately on the lips.
Needless to say, he was a little shocked. However, the shock wore off quickly enough and he kissed her back, sliding his hands through her soft pink hair. He pushed her back onto the bed and continued.
>>Cosmo, I love you…>> She sent, sliding her hands up and down his wings. Well, she'd originally planned on talking…but it seemed her body had other ideas…
Then, with a telepathic whisper, she sent, >>Take me…>>
Beneath the treehouse, the being formerly known as Remy Buxaplenty began to laugh; high, cold laughter that echoed.
>>>
Author's Note: The chapter got away from me…and I'm sorry if what happened with Cos and Wan seemed abrupt. They really had meant to talk, but she's in a distressed emotion state herself and she couldn't help herself. Besides, you know what they say. Talk is cheap.
Replies to the two reviews that I got! Two bloody reviews…it's the worst I've had in months.
Yeah Loi- All of the TOS chapters are long…get used to it. And yeah, Timmy's just fucked up…
Ahhelga- Well, you'll find out more about Sophie in the next chapter because I wanted to end it here…Timmy got the most attention again…
Yeah, and with everyone else, they'll be in later…
Here, have a Lorenzo killing Cal plushie, complete with bloodstains…