He's late, that much just placed me into a yelling mood enough for when he got home from school. I doubt he was spending time at his friends, he got none now. Or at least I think he doesn't have any, I haven't those two twerps that follow King twerp around for a while now. I'm getting side tracked from my mood, I gotta let it stew for the tongue lashing when he gets home.
In the kitchen I guess I was feeling a little hungry, which I can have the Twerp whip up something. But for now my dinner is a can of imported beer. It was Mr. Turner's but I guess I can blame this on Timmy when they come home, if they come home.
Taking a seat on the couch and watch some stupid tv sitcom my mind happen to wonder a bit, it has been a while since I've seen the dopes (Alias Mr. and Mrs. Turner) for a week now, maybe two.
They haven't been around much, even less when I first began to babysit Timmy in the first place. They came around to check on us, once in a while I would be given a break and was sent home only to be called in the next two-three days while they take some trip somewhere. One time I asked them why are they in such a hurry and they said, "there's a damn dog in the house."
That was a surprise. I never heard a Turner curse even once, under any condition. Looking through the house I found the house was empty, except for a moping twerp.
I didn't think much of it then when just silently did all of the choirs I gave him but it was later on when I started to live here more and more that they had practically called their own son a dog, a damned one at that.
That was cold, even by my standards.
Since then things have been getting colder and colder between them, when ever they showed up in the same household it felt like I had just walked up the north pole. Mr. Turner stopped calling him slugger and Timmy stopped calling them "mom" and "dad", now it's father and mother.
I finished off this can, I just sat there instead of getting another. When drunk I get stupidly happy, trying to be buddy-buddy with everyone and I need to be angry right now. Ten to one he has been fighting, even after spending a whole month in juvie two years ago on his thirteenth birthday I STILL can't believe he gets into fist fights, the twerp doesn't seem to have it in him. And I have never seen anyone get into so many fights and not come home without a single mark on them.
The door open, Timmy stepped in without saying a single word as he hung up the red Bomber jacket. Getting to my feet I just gave him my standard Icky Vicky face while getting enough air into my lungs to yell, "you're late! Go make dinner, I want some good and none of that instant crap."
"Yeah, whatever." He just shrugged it off as he blew past me, he wasn't making this fun anymore. He did choirs without many complaints anymore, he just glared once in a while then finish up the job. Even if I thought up a new job he would just grumble before going off to do it, before long there was nothing left and it got boring.
Timmy acted like he just didn't care any, he was silent nearly all of the time and just mutter something under his breath. And just when I about to write him as some lonely teen that was just slowly slip away into some kind of troubled, angst-ridden loser he goes off to some karaoke bar in the downtown area and starts to sing every queen song they had. Laughing at the most strangest times, smiling when he look just about to bomb out.
Timmy Turner, professional psychopath.
I went to get another beer, Timmy was currently frying something up. How he learn to cook basic stuff I guess I don't know, in the past I did all of the cooking because he had a habit of poisoning everyone with some bizarre concoction.
He turned to me, smiling a bit while holding a spatula. "Like fried rice?"
"Yeah, kind of... where did you learn to make fried rice?" I was nursing the beer while I sat at the table.
"Internet," he said while going back to cooking, that's one question answered. Until he started severing up the food the kitchen was kind of silent except for the cooking sounds. Taking his respective seat after slipping a plate over while both dug in. It was a bit bland but a major improvement over his past dishes.
"You're like a mother to me."
I choked, he was acting like it wasn't some big deal as I just felt like I have been mentally gut punch. "What was that twerp!" My voice cracked as it went into a unusual pitch, this was messed up.
He just looked at me, his eyes were cool and emotions were pretty much in check. "I told you that you're like a mother to me, probably more then she is."
"You're messed up," and it was true. The way he said "she" was so cold, it was like the devil had taken over just to say that one word. "You're really messed up, Timmy Turner."
He shrugged. Going about eating his dinner as if I wasn't slightly panicking over here, like I'm okay with this. Which I'm not, I'm six years his senior, I'm his babysitter, I'm his tormentor all of his life, I'm the enemy. And he sees me as a mother figure?
"I've been a mess for a very long time," he said. "My parents leave me with babysitter after babysitter, when we do go somewhere together or they are home more then a few hours something derange happens. You're the only one that was here, no matter how much you tormented me and no matter how much I hated you, you stayed. It was like you were the punishment side of a missing mother."
I just stared, he didn't say another word. He started these little gears in my head, I hadn't noticed how much I had influenced him until he had told me this shocking statement. The way he glares through his bangs when really angry, his short temper and the fights.
Did that come from me? Why couldn't just develop a crush on me, that would be so much simpler. "Why, why me?"
He took on a somber expression, it was kind of scaring me. "Because, everyone else has left."
"Left?" I just sat there staring at him, he smiled a bit while shrugging. Pushing away from the table he walked out of the room, "hey wait!"
He stopped at the stairs, looking over his shoulder at me. Waiting for a response, "you stayed when everyone else had given up hope for me. That's why I respect you as a mother figure, now if you excuse me I going to bed."
"You stayed when everyone else had given up hope for me", those words struck really deep in my little black and twisted heart. He mopes more then a tragic pretty boy in a Japanese anime, he fights all the time, laughing at the rain and listens to Queen nearly all the time. Why would anyone lose any hope for a kid like that? My parents didn't even lost hope for me, so what makes him different?
The phone rang, I couldn't linger on my thoughts as I picked it up.
"Hello, is Vicky there?" it was Mrs. Turner.
"I'm here."
"There is something very important I need you to do," she sounded nervous. This couldn't be good. "Mr. Turner and I have manage to find better paying jobs, but it's in witty valley. Can you please watch the house for us, you can think of it as an apartment you get payed to stay in."
"Yeah, sure." I smiled, a whole house to myself. This washes away any of that crap the twerp sprung on me, "and when will you get Timmy?"
There was silence, unnerving silence. "Timmy? About him, I have talked to a psychiatrist and he said that moving him during this state will upset him. Can you please take care of him?"
"Yeah, sure." I just stood there shocked as Mrs. Turner hung up. She lied, I can tell when someone is lying and she out and out lied about the psychiatrist. Lowering the phone I wonder what happen to Timmy to make his own parents despise him, how did two such dopey people that loved their kid just run off leaving him with his tormentor without a ounce of felling.
He's messed up, and I want to know why.