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(Finally another chapter. Sorry it took me so long to update all. Life has been hectic. Well anyways, here is chapter 4! Made it a bit longer and the next chapter promises to be even longer. It should be done soon! Also a huge thanks to Burst for the editing!)

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fairly Odd Parents in any way, shape, or form! Story is my idea!

One story below, Vicky quietly twiddled her thumbs, debating whether or not she wanted to make another scene. She took in a deep breath and slumped into the Turner's couch. Why should she bother? She'd already ruined this bright day for Timmy, and she felt she just didn't have the heart for it. "I can't wait 'til tonight is over," she mumbled to herself. "I just want to go home." She'd become very lonely over the years. Speaking out loud had become a habit of sorts; it made the loneliness just that more bearable.

Vicky had always felt lonely. She really didn't have any friends, in or out of school. No one took the time to understand her, so she had chosen to have nothing to do with friends all together. She also could stand neither parents nor her sister, especially her sister; she wanted nothing to do with that monster. Seemingly the only person Vicky spent any amount of time with was Timmy, watching over him almost every day of the week, but it wasn't as if she was complaining.

A lack of friends and a nonexistent family had next to no effect on Vicky anymore. That wasn't it at all; it was more like love, or her lack thereof. Yet it wasn't so much just love, it was about who she loved. It was impossible. "He'll never love me," she moped. "Eve- even if he did, it'd never work out, we could never be together." She picked up her feet and curled her knees in tight. A knot formed in her stomach. "He deserves better... I'm sorry, Timmy." With clenched fists, Vicky bit her lip, holding back tears.

She had hidden it deep inside for so long, for almost two years now. She'd buried it away with all her other emotions: her true feelings for him. It was the right thing to do. He was ten, six full years younger than she was. In two years she'd be considered a pedophile. It was wrong, and she knew it, but at the same time, she couldn't help it. Over all of the time she'd spent with Timmy, Vicky had grown inexplicably fond of him and his childish ways. Why, she'd never know. She couldn't deny it; she'd fallen in love with him.

She had no idea why she found Timmy to be so attractive. It certainly wasn't his looks. Even though she was in love with him, it wasn't his 'ripped body' that drew her near. It was more of just the way he saw her and the people around him. Vicky's disposition was far from pleasant, and she made sure her actions reflected this. Yet Timmy still always seemed to have a soft spot for her. No matter how harsh she was or how cruel she could be, Timmy would always give Vicky the help she needed, which was more than anyone else had ever done for her.

It wasn't just her. She'd witnessed Timmy's acts of kindness time and time again. He was just an all-around nice guy, showing more compassion and reasoning than most ten-year-olds could even begin to grasp, always lending a hand to help a friend, his family, even an enemy. "Or a nasty babysitter," Vicky sighed, rubbing her face in her arms. Her bright red hair scattered everywhere. "I'm such a lousy person," she muttered. "Why do I have to have such a strong attraction to someone far beyond kindness and caring?"

Along with their age gap and personality differences, Vicky had a tremendous lack of self-esteem, which had only caused her to suppress her feelings for him even further. Rather than love and affection, all Timmy ever got from her was anger and vitriol. It was simple. Vicky could release her built up anger and easily maintain an emotional distance from Timmy. It might have made things easier for Vicky, an easy means of avoiding her issues, but it came at a heavy cost. It made her bitter, a self-loathing misanthrope. She hated herself. Instead of expressing her emotions openly, Vicky would vent them out on the only person she loved.

Ever since she was a child, Vicky had been told and made to feel as if she was a nobody. Worthless, a waste. The great majority of these insults came from her babysitter, Brent, but he wasn't the only cause for her jaded personality. Tootie, on the other hand... "Her…" she bellowed, a surge of hatred coursing through her. Tootie, the wonderful little cause of all of her pain, of all the torment and despondency she had received as a child, it was all because of her.

Vicky had been six when her mother and father had told her about Vicky's soon-to-be baby sister. She was ecstatic, thrilled at the prospects of a new baby sister, but that was all before her mom began having complications. Before she knew it, her mother was being whisked to the hospital, day after day, until it seemed as if she was never home at all. "Tootie was causing problems even before she was born," Vicky thought, clenching her fists tight with rage.

With her father at work all day long and her mother hospitalized or bed ridden, Vicky had been left all alone. At least until Brent came along, which was when everything went from bad to worse. Vicky's quaint little life was thrown irretrievably out of whack. Her loving parents barely passed her a sideways glance anymore. No, now it was just her, her and her babysitter.

Brent stole her childhood. There was no nicer way of putting it. He took what little love and self-esteem Vicky had and crushed it before her eyes. With every moment they spent together, with every abusive day, a shard of Vicky would die. She had been beaten and torn down. Slowly she became more and more hollow inside. Because of Brent's conniving ways, Vicky's parents lost all respect for her. He'd lie to them, make them believe their daughter was a delinquent, a miscreant. He'd conjure up elaborate stories of how their daughter was acting out of line, demolishing their belongings, and chucking all regards for authority out the door, all to cover his own demented hide.

Naturally, instead of coming to her and asking what might have been wrong, they had just brushed it under the carpet. They'd dismissed it as a common, expected hatred for her new younger sibling. It no longer mattered what they thought of Vicky anymore. In just a few months, Tootie was born, her parents were enthralled, and Vicky was forgotten.

Rather than finding a healthy, useful way to let out all this frustration and sorrow, Vicky had let it build up inside of her, until she had become the spiteful, foul-tempered person she was today. She carried around so much animosity for herself, and for everyone around her. Well, not entirely everyone. Timmy was the only person for whom she had ever shared any shred of compassion. When she'd thought she could no longer feel anything but grief, he had come into her life and changed everything.

"But why him?" she mused. That was always a reoccurring question which haunted Vicky. She'd tried dating other men, but things had never quite worked for one reason or another. It was the same every time, exciting and adventurous for the first few dates, but it wasn't long before the novelty drained out and the relationship fell off. It always seemed to come back to Timmy Turner. Why him? He was just a ten-year-old, and one who hated her, among other things. Whatever, she was sick of all of these thoughts. She already felt like a nobody, there was no reason to rub in that she was a creepy, sick person too.

Without a sound, Vicky stood, grabbed the remote, and turned on the television. Sweet background noise filled the room. Now it'd be easier to drown out her thoughts and put her mind at ease. No thinking meant no detestable thoughts, no questions ebbing on the edge of her mind. They were silenced, if even for just a short moment.

"Hey Vicky. Can I... ugh... talk to you?" Timmy's voice made Vicky nearly jump out of her seat. She'd been far too lost in her thoughts to hear Timmy approaching from the stairway. At first, she was too stunned to reply, her heart beating almost to bursting. Though caught off guard, it didn't take long before her senses returned to her and she was able to reassemble her default malevolent state and her usual prevaricated indignation.

"What is it, twerp? What could I possibly want to say to you?" It was so aggravating, attacking him like this. Many times Vicky wondered if she was harming Timmy as much as Brent had harmed her. It was a horrendous feeling being the one dealing the blows. Yet when Timmy failed to respond, she felt she had no choice but to continue. "Well? If you've got something to say to me, let's hear it!" She shuddered; it'd never occurred to her just how often she yelled at him.

It was obvious that she'd frightened Timmy, but some reason, he seemed more terrified than he'd ever been. Whatever was up, it must be a serious matter, she thought. Instead of punishing him further, Vicky decided to hold her tongue and wait this one out instead of pushing him even further.

"I wanted to, um, ask you about your past." This sentence blew her away. What? Why on Earth would he want to know anything about her, especially about her past? Wasn't he supposed to hate her? She could've sworn he hated her. Also, something about his question was uncannily on-topic, and she wasn't sure if she liked that.

"What? What could you possibly want to know about MY past?" Vicky had been completely caught off guard again, and she was wondering whether or not her feelings were becoming painfully obvious. With all she had, Vicky tried to summon the rest of her wits and stay alert, leery of betraying any more feelings.

"Just… I know you're not the angry person you pretend to be," Timmy began. "You-you must have had a hard childhood, or something." Clearly, he was choosing his words carefully. "You might feel better if you, well, if you talked about it."

Vicky was legitimately stunned. 'Why? What? How-how could he know about my past? He couldn't. It's impossible.' Her thoughts were thrown into disarray, and she was beginning to lose her cool. "How could you possibly know anything about my past?" she gasped, a bit of a frantic quiver in her voice. Fear took a tight grip on her reason.

"I… Well, I don't. I just assumed," Timmy stated. "But still, I know you can't possibly be all bad. And I definitely know you weren't born evil." Vicky found humor in his comment, but under that humor she sensed what she suspected to be worry. Did Timmy actually care about her? Until this very moment, Vicky had always assumed that

Timmy hated her. No matter how depressed this had made her, she had always thought it to be true.

"Well, twerp, I hate to burst your bubble," she stated with renewed confidence, "but the me you see is the me I've always been." Good, she thought, she'd regained the higher ground.

"Vicky," Timmy began again, "You know that's not true. I may be young but I'm not an idiot. If it wasn't for yo-er, the, um, bullies in my life, I'd be carefree and happier. But I wasn't happy. I was always depressed, grouchy, angry at the world. At least, until I found my new friends. You wouldn't even be able to comprehend the wonders they've done for me. And you know, I thought that maybe, well, maybe I could be your friend, and… maybe do wonders for you?"

Nothing. There was nothing Vicky could say in response. She couldn't even begin to fathom how to reply. She didn't even know where to begin. In just a few short moments, Vicky's perception of her and Timmy's relationship had been turned utterly upside down. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. She could feel her ridged, sharp façade crumbling. The floor had been ripped out from under her.

"It's okay, Vicky, I'm here to listen to you," Timmy said, hesitantly placing his hand on the couch near hers. Peering up to her with a worried yet hopeful smile, his newfound appreciation for her was overwhelming. The sensation reached deep inside of her, making the last layers of her misanthropic shell shatter into pieces.

Her façade destroyed, Vicky gave in, letting out all of her repressed, belated pain. There was no reason to hold back anymore, she thought, letting her freed emotions consume her. For the first time since she was a child, Vicky finally allowed herself to cry.

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