Lots have changed since Ronald and I first got here, to the Haven. Back then, we didn't call it that. I had called it our "safehouse" or just the place that we sleep, I think. Some of my memories seem to be wiped, or maybe just blurred, since my head keeps getting stuffed with more and more - so much happens each day, I feel like I might suffocate under all the action. It seems like years since we last had a day where we could truly relax. Sometimes I remember those days when I would sit outside on the swings with Timmy, or just try to teach Lullaby (or Dollmaker? I don't know.) how to play Checkers. I summon up those images of the first days I lived here with my Ladies, and how ice creams were my first meal choice. I admit it now, that I was kind of stupid, and more than kind of sheltered. I couldn't handle a gun back then, nor did I ever fight back. I would always tell myself I would, but it never happened when those times came.
The day that Ron died was the day things started to shift for me. Days grew longer, and I grew distant. I mean, it mattered to me that Timothy was there, although part of me still believed it wasn't really true. It's a lot to take in, I guess, when the boy you almost killed four years ago comes back and actually forgives you. And on top of that, the only true family you've ever known gives his life for you, and you could do nothing but watch. I suppose in a way I feel like I've sort of made it up to him, but I know there's a lot more I still owe my Brother. Giving up his life to save mine wasn't the only thing he did for me. He was also my Father. I'm almost certain now that he really did remember those years, which are still unclear for me...those years with my Mom and Dad, and our other Siblings that I couldn't ever conjure from my mind. He knew what they looked like, our Parents, because I think I remember him saying something about it once...Or maybe that's just my mind filling in the gaps.
Before we arrived...I don't even think I clearly remember those days much either. It's Probably just that I don't want to remember those days. They were so distant...Although...I read a few of my first posts on this Blog, and the dates show that I wasn't too long ago at all. Just months, I think. I don't feel like checking back now, maybe I will later. But those moments, in that Cage, are about as faded as the days Tim and I spent as children. Of course, I still know a few, like the times we sat by the pond sharing Butterfingers, or when me and him first met...I think that was the day we met, anyway. I was so little. I went to school, though, and I was probably in Kindergarten. Timmy would've been in first grade, right? I was playing alone with a ball...it rolled across the pavement and hit a little boy's leg. He had dark auburn-colored hair and bright eyes, which were narrowed at me when he stooped over to pick of the ball. There were a few more boys, who seemed giant, towering over me - little me, who smiled at the beautiful boy, as if hoping he wanted to play too. But instead he started shouting. No, not shouting, just scolding. In a sharp, harsh voice. So I started to cry...I ran away again, and didn't go back for the ball. Instead, I stayed hidden around a corner near the fire escapes and cried until my entire face was red and my eyes were puffy.
Maybe the next day, maybe a week from then, I was playing outside again. Alone, again. Without a ball this time, just kicking a bit at the ground and pushing strands of blond hair from my face. Someone must have tapped my shoulder, I think. No one was there at first, or at least I thought, until I looked up and saw the boy again. He was holding the ball, but I wanted to run again and go cry by the fire escapes. But I also wanted the ball. The boy with the shaggy hair smiled and gave me the ball. Said something nice, maybe apologized. He had a Butterfingers in his hand, and he gave me a piece. I smiled, too.
It's hard to think that little boy with the shaggy auburn hair, and the bright eyes, and the red ball could be this boy - sleeping right next to me, with a Butterfingers bar on the little desk next to his head. That happened more than fours years ago, and yet it's the most vivid memory of us I have. I don't think of it often, but when I do, I get a weird feeling when I look at Tim. Is it because his hair is white now? Probably not, but I know it's something. Sometimes I think about it, maybe too much, trying to find the reasons why I can't seem to see that little boy in him now. But wait...I think I get it now. That little boy on the playground...who got angry when the ball bounced too far...How could he have searched four years? A simple piece of a Butterfinger or a shy apology couldn't have changed that - could it? I don't remember falling in love with that boy from the first grade. Maybe I was just too young to realize what love was. But if it is him...I'm certainly glad that ball slipped from my hands, and landed at his feet.
Lately, I've heard Jubilee singing, further down through the trees, where I don't bother to go. She hasn't come to the garden, or even come close enough for me to distinguish her petite figure. Just close enough so that I can hear the sound of her flute, or the strumming of a lute, or her childlike voice carried through the soft breeze that ruffles my hair - which has grown at least a few centimeters (maybe an inch) longer since Shady and Mystery cut it short. When Ron and I lived in Father's building, they never gave us hair cuts. Still, some of the Siblings' hair was short and choppy, but maybe that was just how long it had grown, or maybe, since they were a higher status than me, they got hair cuts. Sort of like a luxury, I guess.
I suppose I don't mind the MASC men so much now. They did bother me, though, when they treated my family the way they did, and how they tried to hurt Dollmaker's (Lullaby's?) child. They seemed so narrow-minded, but they don't really bother me. At least some of them welcomed me back (and by some I mean two), but mostly they are silent to me and Tim, mainly talking to one another with hushed voices, or just stand around...doing whatever it is they do. I don't mind it much anymore. I prefer to talk to my returned Prince, and guard him, because who knows what's coming next for us? For all I know, Candle could return tomorrow for revenge, but probably not, since that would be a stupid move. I mean, Kobold is dumb, but Candle doesn't seem too ignorant himself.
Usually after an attack, most people would post their own perspective on how the whole event happened, but Candle already posted about it, so I figured I might as well just link him, and save my writing for something else. Reflecting, I guess. On not only how things have changed, but also...What am I reflecting on? My feelings? What I think about this fucked up life we all live, here in this forest, with a bunch of men with guns and talking dogs and psychic women and children who grew up in cages? I tell myself in times like these, "How hard can it be to process your own thoughts?" And to tell you the truth, I don't even have an answer. When I say it like that, I truly start to believe it. How can it be so hard to understand myself when I'm me? But it just is. There's no other way to say it, or at least, no way I can think of how to make it make sense. To me, or anyway. To be truthful, I'm not organized with my thoughts, or even my own feelings. I don't understand myself. I don't understand why I sometimes used to spend what seemed like forever out back by Ron's burial place, or why I killed my family, or why I'm so sensitive to myself and others. I make friends so often, and sometimes I think it's because I trust people too easily. I mean, so far, it hasn't gotten me into trouble, but what about Ronald? What about the trust my Ladies put in him, and after all this, he tried to kill them? What if that happens to me?
Sometimes I just can't think properly without crying, like now. I'm glad Timmy isn't awake, or he'd be worried. He's kind of like me in that way. He worries too often, although I know I would be too if I saw him crying, or one of my Ladies or Lords were crying. But I know they wouldn't - not in front of me. They want to be strong for me. For us. The children. When I'm older, I'll be strong for them. For my niece, Lullaby, because she'll be child then, too, won't she? I'll be the grownup, who won't cry because I've got to be tough for her, for the little girl who looks up to me. I'll be her Lady, and I'll help protect her, alongside her Mommy and Daddy and the rest of her Aunts and Uncles. And if I make it far enough...If I have my own children, I know my family here at the Haven would do the same. Because that's what best friends do, right?
And one more thing. I had my first kiss today.