As the weeks progressed, Timmy began to notice changes in both Vicky and himself.
At first Vicky had mostly stayed out of his way. If he was cleaning in the living room, she would stay in the kitchen. If he went to clean the kitchen, she would go into the living room.
But gradually, she began to stay closer to him. She might eat a sandwich on the kitchen while he was cleaning dishes, or play video games while he vacuumed the carpet.
They even began to speak to each other.
At first it was only on occasion. Timmy would ask her to lift her feet so he could vacuum, or she would tell him he missed a spot, and so-on.
But gradually they began to have full conversations.
Vicky often told him about all the kids she tortured, often in creative ways. Timmy was somewhat put-off by her colorful descriptions, but had to admit that it was pretty interesting that she was so passionate about it. It was even kind of funny to hear about some of the tortures she created for the kids she hated the most. He even laughed sometimes.
Whenever she made him laugh, her face would brighten and she would smile. But she always caught herself and would quickly go back to frowning or scowling. Timmy found it amusing how she tried to stay grumpy and vicious all the time.
Timmy would tell her about all his eccentric teachers and hardships of living with two idiots for parents. He felt sort of bad for unloading all of his frustrations and complaints on Vicky, but she seemed strangely understanding and actually listened. That was more than could be said for his parents, who hardly ever gave him a second glance. He was grateful to Vicky for letting him let go of his woes, simple though they may have been.
Timmy noticed another thing that changed about Vicky; her apparel.
When he had just started his job, Vicky had worn her black pants and long sleeve green shirt. As time went on, her attire became more and more revealing.
She became more comfortable with Timmy in the house, and she didn't seem to care what he saw her in. At times she wore very low-cut shorts. Other times she wore shirts that left not much to the imagination.
She had even answered the door in nothing but black panties and a t-shirt at one point.
That had been pretty shocking, to say the least.
She didn't conserve herself, either. If anything, she seemed to flaunt herself in front of him. If he didn't know any better, he would think that she was looking for his approval in the way she dressed.
The only thing about Vicky that was having trouble changing was her attitude.
Now, Timmy knew that Vicky was naturally not a nice person. She loved others misery, reveled when people got hurt, and celebrated the bearing of bad news. He new that was never going to change.
But still, he couldn't help but feel that he was the closest thing to a real friend that Vicky had. He doubted that any of the children in the daycare liked to be around her. He also doubted that she was friendly with her neighbors.
So couldn't she just be a little bit more gentle around him?
At times it seemed that she was really warming up to him. She'd smile at him, or generally seem happy. But she always seemed to stop herself, scowl, and say something mean before walking away. It was like she was trying to remind herself to not be too nice to him. This frustrated him.
He certainly wouldn't mind being her friend. He had none of his own, and she was definitely not as bad as he had once thought. Yet she always kept them on the verge of being friends and not being friends.
Something always seemed to hold her back.
It often surprised Timmy at how dedicated he was to becoming closer to Vicky. If his ten year old self could see him now he would probably begin foaming at the mouth and faint.
Timmy noticed other changes in himself as well. Sometimes subtle changes, sometimes big changes.
For one, he began to worry about his appearance before he went into Vicky's apartment. He would nervously comb his hair, or adjust his hat, or other things like that.
He also noticed that he was constantly trying to impress Vicky. He might try to seem more mature in conversations, and would often try to make her laugh. If he succeeded he would feel monumentally proud of himself.
Timmy also noticed that he almost enjoyed the mess she made while he was away. It gave him a reason to come back.
But then again, was the mess the reason he kept coming back? It certainly wasn't the money, because by now he had plenty of that.
So what was it? Was it loyalty? Friendship?
Or...was it something more?
Timmy simply decided to stop thinking about it. It was easier to figure that he needed a job and that Vicky was a good employer as any.
So he buried his feelings and continued working.
It had been four weeks since Timmy had taken the job of cleaning Vicky's apartment, and during that time everything had been fine.
But as Timmy neared her apartment door, he felt like something was off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was definitely wrong.
When he got to her door, he did his usual three knock greeting. Normally, it took about ten seconds for Vicky to stop whatever she was doing and answer the door.
But she didn't come. He didn't even hear anything stir behind the door.
Growing nervous, he knocked again. Still nothing.
What was going on? He was certain that she wasn't working at this time, was she out doing errands? And if so, why was she doing them now?
Trying the door, he surprisingly found it unlocked. He wondered if maybe he should just leave and come back tomorrow. Perhaps she simply didn't want to be disturbed.
But then again, what if she was injured and couldn't call out to him?
Deciding to be brave and go inside, he opened the door.
Now he new that something was really wrong.
The apartment was spotless. Completely undisturbed from his last cleaning. That was not good.
Had something happened to Vicky? He began to panic when he suddenly heard a noise from behind her bedroom door. It had sounded like glass breaking.
Running over to the door, he hesitated. It was the one room in the apartment he was forbidden from entering, and what might happen if he broke her rule?
Well, if Vicky was in trouble, he supposed he could bear her punishment after he helped her.
He opened it and ran inside, almost having his head taken off by a flying bottle.
Luckily he managed to duck in time and the bottle broke on the wall behind him. Shocked, he turned towards the bed, where Vicky was laughing and jumping up and down.
Her face was bright red and she was surrounded by bear bottles, as she guffawed in a slurred voice. Her shirt was covered in beer stains, and her hair was untied and askew. Timmy carefully got up and walked over to her.
"um, Vicky? Are you alright?" he said gently to her. She snapped her head to look at him, seemingly noticing him just then. She broke out in a goofy grin.
"Timmy! Hey! How cum yur zo short?" she asked while laughing again and taking a sip of beer.
Timmy ignored her question and asked his own.
"Vicky, just how much have you had to drink?"
She looked at the bottle in her hand and pondered his question.
"I dunno, maybe like onety seven?" she as she tried counting on her fingers.
"Vicky, I think we should get you into bed."
She got a pouting look on her face and stomped her foot
"But I don wanna go ta bed!" she argued like a stubborn child. Timmy ignored her and started dragging her over to her bed, brushing off the bottles. At first she struggled, but eventually just let Timmy put her on the bed.
"There, now aren't you more comfortable?" he said.
Vicky didn't say anything, but began to slowly cry. Timmy got scared and desperately wiped the tears from her face.
"Vicky? What's wrong? Why are you crying?"
She looked at him with watery eyes.
"Yur zo nice to me Timmy... how cum yur so nice ta me aftur all that awful stuff I did to yoo az a kid?" she said sobbing. "Don't yoo hate me?"
Timmy soothingly combed her hair through his fingers.
"No Vicky, I don't hate you"
"Yez you doo." she said bitterly. " Ereebody hatez me, cause I'm ugly, an stupid, an mean!"
"Vicky, I don't think you're any of those things. And I forgive you for being mean to me when I was a kid."
She stopped crying and stared at him.
"Yoo really meen it? You don think im terribil?" she grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
"Yes, I really mean it." he said giving her a smile.
Vicky seemed relieved to hear this and she collapsed on her pillow with a drunken grin on her face. Timmy got up to leave, but before he could Vicky's hand shot out and grabbed his.
He turned around to see she had a blush on her face.
"Zo... iff you don't hate me, then yoo like me, right?" she said.
A similar blush appeared on Timmy's face. He struggled to find the right words.
"U-umm..."
"Cause I really, really. Really, like yoo." she interrupted, nervously looking away and rubbing his hand with her thumb. "A lot."
Timmy stuttered as his blush deepened.
"W-well, I really like you too, Vicky."
This did not seem good enough for her.
"No, but wha I mean iz, do you luv me?"
Timmy gulped and considered lying to her. But he didn't want to hurt her feelings, and he figured that he should just be honest with himself. All he could hope for was that she would forget this whole ordeal when she woke up tomorrow morning.
"Yes, I do."
Her eyes widened and she gave out a squeal of delight before releasing his hand. She wiggled on the bed gleefully and Timmy carefully pulled the covers over her.
"Alright, Vicky, you should probably go to sleep now."
She looked at him with adoring eyes as he turned off the light.
"Gud night, Timmy." she said as she drifted off to sleep. He looked at her peaceful form for a bit before leaving her bedroom.
He walked out of her apartment and stood with his hand on the doorknob.
"Goodnight, Vicky." he said as he shut the door.