Caius (OLD VERSION)

Chapter Three

Hey Everyone! Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has joined the journey of my story, Caius. Hope you have enjoyed reading it! If you have any ideas of cast members for this story please message me or leave your ideas in the comments :) This chapter is unedited, feedback is welcomed :) And here's the next chapter! Enjoy Lovelies!  

Previously:

"Thank you for walking me home." I breathed.

"You're very welcome Clara." Caius spoke in a hushed tone, his body angled towards mine. "I'll see you soon, sweet pea." He placed a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth before letting the wind carry him away into the darkness.

CHAPTER THREE

Silence. The old house was an ice block of silence. My footsteps were amplified as I pressed my foot up the stairs. Darkness. Everything was pitched black; I ran my hand along the wall to guide me. Darkness loomed over me, just like it loomed over Caius. Despite the eventful evening I had with him, I couldn't shake the feeling that crawled up my back like spiders up a wall. He was a handsome devil. Reflecting back on the night I just had, I came to the conclusion that I didn't know much about him. Yes, I know his favourite colour was red, but I didn't know why he was running, who those men were and what their accusation was.

"It's better if you didn't know." He had said. What did that mean? Why was it better? I shook my head as I creaked open the door to Emilia's room. Glancing inside, I saw her little body curled up under her duvet. Her messy brown curls popped out of the end of the bed. Leaning down, I kissed her cherub forehead before shutting the door after me. Making my down the hall, I paused and glanced at my father's door. Walking up to it, I placed my ear to the door and waited.

After a couple of seconds I poked my head around the door, I saw the crumpled blankets which rested on my father's unkempt bed. He was nowhere to be seen. Retreating to my bed room, I shrugged off my coat and fell onto by bed before drifting off.

**********************************************

The next few days were quiet. The coffee shop consumed most days. I came home every day smelling of burnt coffee and cigarette smoke. Winter was bitter. Snow had fallen in thick sheets; soon we forgot what the pavement actually looked like.

The morning was cold. When I went to wake Emilia up, I found her huddled, still in her pyjamas in a cocoon of plush quilts. My apron was tied neatly around my waist, the threads carefully manipulated into a knot which rested on my tail bone. I gently bent down and tucked a stray curl behind her ear as she woke up. Her little eyes fluttered open.

"Good morning sweetie." I whispered. Gathering her up in my arms, I walked towards the bathroom. She stifled a yawn, her head buried into my shoulder. After brushing through her curls and dressing her for the day, I took her hand in mine and we left the house, making our way through the country side to town. Walking along the sidewalk, the snow was thick. I could feel like sinking into my shoes, dampening my socks. I clutched Emilia's hand in mine. Our fingers we interlocked, her little pink woollen gloves contrasting with my black leather gloves. The trees were bare, looming over us like claws in the early morning light. The sun was low in the sky, still creeping towards the horizon. Our footsteps echoed against the pavement, our beat up laced shoes showing signs of our many travels into town. I didn't have a driving license, nor did I feel the need to get one. I liked walking. I remember when my father asked me why I didn't get off my lazy ass and get one. My reply was simple: "Walking's good for the lungs." I remember him looking at me like I was stupid, before flipping on a sport channel on T.V.

Walking reminded me of the small luxuries in our short lives. It reminded me of the feeling of wind in our hair, the moulds of our feet imprinted in the snow; the feel of snowflakes on our eyelashes. I noticed Emilia growing fussy as she tugged slightly at my arm. A small whine escaped her lips. Glancing ahead, I see the town becoming clear in the distance, its small sign visible by a couple hundred metres in front of us. Looking down at Emilia, I could tell her feet were hurting. A small limp had found a home in her walk, her small fingers gripping my hand as though she depended on me to walk. She walked as though without me reassuring her, she would fall.