Stubborn and the Mutt

forty seven | ily, Gert

I'm not too sure what frightens me more; the day-mare I joke woke from, or Andrea's face damn near hovering over mine. My hand instinctively clutches onto my chest, and with my left, I shove her away, getting a loud laughter from her.

"Andrea! You can't do that!"

"You were so far gone, girl, I—" she laughs once again as I get to a sitting position. "I didn't have a choice but to make sure you're not dead. I told you I'd be here at one. I find you sleeping?"

"I was having a nap, okay? I set an alarm."

Without hesitation, she takes hold of my phone from the table and shows it to me. "Which one, the one that didn't set? Maybe you set the time for one, tomorrow? How about one in the morning?"

The groan that leaves me is not woman-like. "I'm sorry. But we can go now. I have my stuff, my dress. I packed some make-up. I have everything." My hand motions towards the small luggage.

Andrea grins and heads towards the door, exactly where my bags are. "I'll give you a moment to gather yourself as I take your stuff out. Five minutes, Gert, and we leave."

Nodding, I watch her leave my bedroom and close the door gently behind her, and when I'm left to myself, I sigh heavily before laying back down on my back, tired eyes staring up at the ceiling.

It's been just a few days since I had this nightmare... day-mare? The same thing happens every time; I'm with my mum and Lerato in the car, a fat conversation is happening with fits and giggles, and then... it ends like how it always did. I've overcome the grief, I'd like to believe, so the dreams shouldn't be happening anymore. I shouldn't still wake up frightened, heart aching and overcome by sadness.

A couple of more minutes are spent by me staring at the ceiling, gathering my thoughts before I decide to get up. The first stop I make is the bathroom, to pee. The second is my room, for my phone and charger, and then I'm headed downstairs.

There's my dad in the kitchen, stirring something in the pot. He only spares me a glance, but speaks up. "Chicken soup. A bit chilli but it's nice."

"Well, I hope you enjoy it, papa." My feet carry me to the small pantry, slightly trembling hands dig into an opened chips packet, and my fingers pull out just a small amount of chips before shoving them in my mouth.

"So, you're leaving."

"I'll be back tomorrow." I confirm through a stuffed mouth.

My father only hum, then turns around to look at me properly. It's only now that I notice the walking stick, leaning besides him against the counter.

"I thought you were done using it."

"My leg was a bit stiff today." He simply explains, tapping the left leg subconsciously. "Just to be safe, I decided to use it."

I can only nod, and very quickly, we're standing looking at each other in silence — minus the stove of course. I shrug a bit, breaking eye contact as I look around the kitchen. It's a bit awkward; again, we haven't spoken about what happened, and I'm not sure if I should say something now or just let it be.

Besides, Andrea said 5 minutes so, I don't think it's enough time. She's probably marching up to the house now, ready to call me out.

"I love you, Gertrude."

Well, that beyond takes me by surprise. My wide eyes shoot right back to him, lips gaping like a fish as I try to comprehend or even formulate a word in response.

"I wanted to say that. I think I don't tell you that enough. I worry you think I don't love you, or I don't care about you."

"I... it's fine papa. I think it's just the way we go." I smile. "I love you too, you know this."