Freaks

14 • cole

❝i used to build dreams about you❞
ｆ．ｓｃｏｔｔ ｆｉｔｚｇｅｒａｌｄ

___

ＥＶＥＲＹＯＮＥ had that friend.

The one who despite all previous attempts of all the adults in your life, was your first true friend. The one who you told your everything to, your darkest thoughts and your deepest secrets — simply because they trusted you with all theirs. The one who you still sometimes thought about in the back of your mind even though you were no longer in contact, because just knowing them for a short while had had a long term effect on who you grew up to be.

When I was younger, I used to have a friend like that.

His name was Nicolas. To everyone else, he was Nico; but to me, he would always be Cole. Just Cole.

Up until a week ago, I'd forgotten Cole even actually existed.

I'd forgotten that he wasn't just 'Nico, the kid from my first month at the daycare', he was 'Cole, the best friend for the first third of my existence'. The one who brought about the habit of calling me Emma, that even I adopted it. The one who also had a habit of appearing out of the blue, even when I didn't want him to. The one who'd been there the night my parents died.

As this thought occurs to me, I freeze. I stop what I am doing and think.

I didn't know where that last part came from, but the more I thought over it, the more confident I was that it was true. He was involved in all this mess too. Somehow.

I sigh. How did my life get this complicated?

But rifling through a box of old photos, it dawns on me, When was it not?

As I pull out a familiar looking image from an older, dustier stash of photographs, Aunt Victoria suddenly appears, the quick pitter-patter of her feet up the attic stairs giving away her arrival long before she peers through the doorway to speak.

"You coming down, Em?" She asks me. "Ted and I were hoping to put up the tree today. The box has just been lying around the place for a couple days now, and I'm afraid Cleo's finally going to get her wish and somehow swipe that mini-dove ornament she's been eyeing all week."

Like a grey, feline Voldemort, Cleo appears at the sound of her name, twisting herself around Aunt Vic's feet with a leisurely mewl.

In my absence, my uncle and aunt had acquired a cat. Cleo was a grey kitten with haunting yellow eyes that seemed to analyse your every move, and a small pink nose that always seemed upturned, as if she was silently assessing your worth to her.

Though touched by their apparent need to fill the empty space I'd left in their lives, I didn't know how to feel about being replaced by a cat.

"Yeah, of course. I'll be down in a minute," I assure Aunt Vic.

She nods. "Also, we've got some lasagne in the oven right now. Should be ready by the time we're done setting up the tree."

My eyes gleamed, "Well in that case," I joke, "I'll come down right away."

Aunt Vic laughs while I promptly begin to pack away the photographs, carefully selecting one and tucking it into the back pocket of my jeans before following her down the attic stairs into the kitchen two floors down.