Stubborn and the Mutt

forty one | her father

It's the walk of shame to the house that sparks my anxiety. I have my top against my shoulder and the smaller Tupperware in my hand. Right behind me is Micah, who carries the bigger Tupperware and my pants. I'm assuming a few steps behind him is my father, who proceeded to lock the gate just after we entered.

I don't know what's worrying me more; my father who is beyond ready to give me an earful, or Micah. After my father demanded we — well, he told me to get inside, Micah just followed — get inside, an immediate shift of attitude about Micah occurred. It's obviously a bad thing; Micah knows how protective my father is, and for all of our sake, I'm praying he keeps his mouth shut when I get yelled at.

I'm also a bit worried about the bleeding. It doesn't matter how much or hard I press onto my collarbone, it's still bleeding and not stopping. Don't get me started on the pain.

As soon as we're inside, the both of us hear my father shut the front door really loud, and that shakes me more than anything. I know he is angry, but I've not prepared myself mentally for his upcoming speech.

And then I hear him call my name from the kitchen with so much authority. My heart sinks to my stomach and I turn to Micah — we're both in the living room at this point. "Please stay here."

"I'm coming with—"

"Micah. Stay here." I hiss. "You're going to make it worse. So stay here and let me handle it. I'll be back after, okay?"

He isn't pleased with it, but he gives a small firm nod as though to accept my request. His eyes, though, keep watch of my hand gripping the shirt against my collarbone but says nothing after.

I step out the living room, nerves raking my body every second, and make my way to the kitchen, thinking of any and every reason I could use to soften up my father.

There he stands by the kitchen counter, hands on the marble platform and an annoyed look on his face. When he notices me, he stands up straight and glares at me.

"At this time? You come back home at this time? You don't even communicate with me, to tell me that you are coming back late, Gertrude! It's like every other day, you must test my patience! And then you stand outside with a boy? Kissing outside my house? The nerve you have—"

"Papa, I messaged you. I sent you a message telling you I would be late because I was invited to a dinner." That's my attempt to reason with him, but I'm flushed with embarrassment at the fact that I'm getting yelled at with Micah just in the next room.

"And what the hell happened to you? You're standing here, blood everywhere! What happened! You come home looking like somebody stabbed you, blood everywhere! Where's my phone, I'm calling the police since he's still here."

"Papa." I take a step forward, lowering both hands and press them together with the blood stained stop between. Even still, he takes steps towards the entrance of the kitchen, so I quickly attempt to block his path. "It's all a misunderstanding, a mistake—"

"A mistake? He was trying to kill you!" He yells in my native tongue. The device is retrieved, and already he's dialling numbers.

"He wasn't trying to kill me, papa." I insist with a softer voice, speaking my native tongue in order to soften him a bit. "I'm sorry for coming late, I should have came inside as soon as he dropped me off. Just please, don't call the police, it's not necessary."

"Who is he? Hm? Who is he to you?"

"Boyfriend." Not a slight moment with hesitation, I state. It's better than trying to come up with something beyond unbelievable at this point, and I'd rather him lose his mind at me than make matters worse with police rocking up to the front door.