What can I say about Timothy, I think, rolling side to side amongst the soft, plush bedding I've made my nest. He's real, I think, he's real and he's... fragile. There's not much to him, this boy, this man I've given myself to for eternity, supposedly. His hair is brown, like the color of dirt underfoot in a forest of trees. He's got hazel eyes, not green, not brown, a muddy mix of the two. Nothing remarkable. Nothing... captivating.

I sigh, I sigh deeply. There has got to be a better way of going about this. Who told the men that the women wanted sex? Who told the men that the women wanted love and babies and homes and weddings and ever-afters? I don't want those things. I don't want to be a wife or a mother or a homeowner or anything. I want to be free and I want to travel and sing and sit in the sunshine every day by myself, for the rest of my life.

How can I make those things happen now? Now, when Timothy has me, when Timothy has taken me hostage and bonded me to his side? There has got to be a way. There must be better ways.

Should I listen to the messages? They're all saying the same thing, I'd guess. Not the one from my bank, of course, but the rest of them. I already know what those voices will tell me. Not that I need telling, I'm most aware of all. I'm trapped inside this body that isn't mine any longer, they're just watching me fall deeper into it.

I press the play button on my answering machine, deciding I'll give the first one a try.

"You have six unheard messages. First message."

It's Andrea, like I thought it would be.

"Thea? Thea, I know you're there. Why aren't you picking up? Please answer."

There's a pause as Andrea takes a breath. She's getting herself worked up.