Running Into Figure Six

“Maybe I should let you rant today. I will do mine next time” he said, passing an apple drink to me. That instantly made me smile.

“I’m fine. Really. You are doing too much for me” I said, as a matter of fact. With just a sneak peek at the trolley, I knew that he had bought everything I asked for. It was enough to make my day

“I am not complaining. I actually enjoy it”

“Thank you” I mumbled, knowing that it was true. He started to stare at me like before again, and I just excused myself.

“I need to use the bathroom” I went straight to my bathroom and left him there. When I was done, he was still there. He looked away when he realized I needed to dress up

“You keep saying that you need to use the bathroom” he argued. “Why’s that?”

“Because you are staring too much. I know I look bad already but you make it worse by staring”

“I don’t even realize I am” he said showing me his perfect set of teeth. He stood up to leave after, telling me that he had to go out, and that he would be back soon.

“Can you write your number in my phone?” He said, handing me his phone without looking. I expected this long ago but i did not want to ask him first. “I will bring Bella, she gives the best company” he said, storming out.

And sure enough, the cute, white ball of fur rushed in, a few minutes later, with Rooney following behind her.

“Take care of yourself ” he said, giving me a friendly smile.

“Don’t disappear like the other time” I found myself saying and he just smiled and placed a hand on his chest. “I won’t”

As soon as he left, my mood was dampened.

His cat was just like him, except that it had green eyes like mine, and not turquoise like his. I never had a cat, but holding Bella made me remember Tom, my late dog from many years ago. They were both friendly and warm. And I was tempted to walk him down the street.

Bella made some cute little noises and sat on my thighs while I sat before my dresser and combed my hair. Rooney had bought a whole lot of stuff and I would have to do a lot of arranging and rearranging. He got me curtains too- sky-blue and leaf-green matched together with a very creative mix.

I didn’t know how to hang curtains. Every curtain I owned in my room back in California was fixed by my dad.

My dad was also the first to comb my hair when i was born-my long, dark wavy hair, and I grew up letting only him comb it. Sometimes, I would not comb my hair until he got back from work and I got back from school. I wouldn’t let anyone else touch it either.

Mom said I would cry and run to daddy when it was time to get ready for school so that he would get me ready. I was his favorite and he was my favorite.

When mom scolded me, I ran to him for succour and he would ask my mom to not nag me so much, because I could get scared of her in the future.

“If you want a child that will open up to you and not be so discreet about sensitive stuff happening in their lives, don’t nag them. Scold them a while and then teach them. Be their friend, not a boss” he would always tell her, but mom enjoyed nagging me too much to let it stop.

It took me two whole years of dating Gerald to let him touch my hair. He thought I was crazy when I yelled the first time he tried running his fingers down it.

I can’t ever get over my dad. Not now, not in the future. I will never get over his absence. Nothing can ever make me get over him. Nothing at all.

He gave the best hugs. He gave the best advice, the best everything.

I still cry my eyes out whenever I remember his smile. I have pictures of him kept away in my box-every picture of him I could find at home, and I’ve not hung them since I got to New York, because I’m scared it will be harder to move on, if I see his pictures everyday. And everything just sucks all over again when I remember that I can’t see him or touch him ever again.

My dad made me promise that I would never be with anyone who showed less love than he did. If anything, someone better or just as loving.

My dad respected my mom a lot, t ook care of her so well and never d id anything to hurt her.

He bought her presents randomly and it always made her day. Their marriage was a very beautiful one. I wouldn’t ever believe that they ever argued except that on a few occasions, I heard mom raising her voice at him and all he did was say, “Calm down, babe. Let’s talk this over. The children should not hear us”. I respected him a hundred times more after then.

He made me promise when I was fifteen to only be with a man that cared about me.

My dad and I talked about everything. Girl stuff. Periods. Pregnancy. Tests. Career. Books. Movies. Health. Eating good food and exercising- since he was a doctor. Every damn thing. Things I could never think of telling my mom.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Dad gave me six checklists for a good guy, and according to him, these are ways to know if a guy is good enough to be with.

“No guy is perfect. You coming to his life will make it perfect, but he has to have a hint of these six. These six things are a picture of what real love looks like. Otherwise, tell him to go work on himself and then come back later”

Dad said if he didn’t have all six, he was definitely not okay for me. He also taught me to work on myself so that the man who had all six would find me.

“A man who has all six will not come if you do not possess them yourself. They also look for women that complement them. So, be a good woman and sit right there waiting” he usually told me.

“A man who is patient or tolerant, ready to go the mile, honest, supportive, respectful, and kind, is the potential partner figure that anyone should get right”

Then I would ask him how he managed to be with mom, when she was clearly not a patient woman.

“I learnt to tolerate her” he simply responded.

Most times after school, he’d call me into the orchard where we both planted beetroots, and there, he would give me a long, interesting lecture about boys and girls, or about science and mankind, or God and mankind, health and wealth, mental health and physical health.

Jessie got jealous at a point and she invited herself into our discussions, but I mostly had my dad to myself.

I looked up to hugging him and having a fun time with him everyday after school.

He was the only one who knew about my first kiss, and he guided me with words, and especially mentioned that I should not throw myself at anyone, because “I am amazing”, and men who had eyes to see that would come on their own.

“It’s better to be single than to be with an asshole who sucks all your happiness away” he had told me.

And so when he died, I went numb for a long, long time. I yelled at everyone that tried to talk to me, and flung every object I laid my eyes on, out my window. The world seemed a little too large and scarier because he was gone.

And mom transferred all her pain on me too. It was like we were competing to see who felt his absence the most- Me or her.

Stephan was just neutral. Like I said, I think he might be a sadist or just very unfeeling.

“Stop acting like you’re the only one who lost him. You have no idea how hopeless I feel at the moment, losing such a good man” her actions seemed to say. And so, instead of helping me get over him, she made me remember him every single day until I had to leave because I was really losing it.

Mom and I argued every single day and she tried to hit me every single time.

We were always arguing about dad, and we blamed each other for his death in a way. It was pathetic but we couldn’t help ourselves.

I was really hurting.

It is why I can’t leave Gerald. My dad loved him. He looked and acted like my dad. Called me Rissa, combed my hair, said nice things, gave great hugs and so on.

When he started hitting me and yelling at me and cheating on me all at once, I still stuck. Told no one about it because I was scared he would hurt me for telling on him.

Because I can’t leave him. Because I should not. He is my dad, just not the dead one.

“I should call him” i told myself, bringing my mind back to reality. “He loves me, so he will forgive me” It was my go-to clause.

When I tried to stand up, I noticed Bella was no longer on my thighs.

Holy crap

I started to look for her everywhere but I could not find her. My front door had been slightly open when I got lost in thoughts, and so I was scared she had run out into the street.

I almost started to dial Rooney’s number but then I remembered he had mine, and I didn’t have his- I would need to wait for his call.

“I can’t lose her” I prayed. “Please Lord. I can’t lose his cat”

I ran down the street before realizing that I should have checked his place first. His call came in when I was running back home, without Bella.

“Why are you panting?”

“Bella… I can’t find her. I was ..”

“She must be home, around her litter box. I put some food for her there” he said, cutting in and setting my mind at ease.

“Breathe in and out, Clarissa” For some reason, he sounded like he himself needed that technique first. His voice was a little hoarse, like he had been crying for thirty minutes straight.

“I’m sorry… she reminds me of my late dog. I can’t afford to lose her. Are you okay though?”

” I won’t be home tonight. Mom is in the hospital”

I figured.

“Oh” I said, coming to a standstill. “I am so sorry..” I didn’t know what else to say really.

“Be safe, Clarissa. Bye now” he said and hanged up. I suddenly felt very foolish and insensitive for worrying so much about his cat that I forgot about how he was feeling.

Sure enough, when I got to his balcony, Bella was there, purring in a corner where her litter lay, but she seemed a little different and less bubbly.

“Come here, sweetheart ” I said to her but she was not moving. She seemed somewhat frightened but I did not see any sign of a predator nearby.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I asked, but she just hung her head low and stared at a distance. She must have felt that her owner was in a bad situation. Same way Tom my dog, did all the time I was crying, those many years ago. He usually sat on my dresser and stared at me, looking very concerned and sad.

I picked her up and trotted back to my own apartment with so much worries on my mind. Was he going to be okay? His mother must be really sick. It also seemed to be a terminal disease. If she died, would he ever talk to me the way he used to, or even come back at all? Or would his eyes lose the bubbly colour i used to see in them? I asked myself.

When I closed the door behind me and sat at my desk, It didn’t take me too long to realize that I had something bigger to worry about, and that was the state of my relationship.

I should apologize to my boyfriend but I was scared he would not take my calls, or maybe he would just yell so much I would have to nurse a panic attack again. Alone this time.