Teeth Out And Growling ||Gerbert||

ii. Stare at the Sun

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍T.W.: Substance abuse; cheating; toxic relationship/s; trauma/trauma bonding; religious imagery.

ii. Stare at the Sun

*

‍‍‍‍I tell Donna about the protest - she sits in the kitchen with a blank expression and nods once in a while, but I get the feeling she's not listening.

"Okay," she says as soon as I mention it's tomorrow, her voice frail, "do you need me to call the school?"

"No, Jamia already did. But could you--"

"Oh, okay. Alright. You wanna try these figs - I bought them on sale today and they're so good!" The figs in question are dangling off a ceramic bowl, so ripe, their fuzzy skin bursts at a touch. I shake my head and she stands up; a car whirrs past our windows, a dog barks something hungry in the distance.

"Anyway, if you don't need anything else, I'm off to Martha's - she and Bill are on holiday and they asked me to pet sit their dog. Imagine me, with a dog! I know so little about dogs, I hope it's at least a poodle..."

"For starters, don't feed it chocolate," I say, and she laughs, one leg already out the door.

"Oh darling, I'm not brain-dead!"

I take a fig once the door clicks closed - it melts in my fingers instantly; most of it ends up on the floor and I'm left with a husky. Donna is... slippery in conversations, she deflects and pretends the topic doesn't exist - wolves mostly, then Donald, sometimes the fact there's always some teenage boy just lounging on the couch (it's mostly Bob because he keeps fighting with his parents). She's so swift with it too. Until I was ten, I thought it was my idea to leave the local park to go shopping. I clean the mess with paper towels, leave a post-it for Mikey, get dressed.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍‍The air is thick and cloying with heat - around this time it feels like Summer already; the pools packed with children who paddle about on flamingo floats. Some private businesses still place a bowl with iced water by the entrance, a statement if nothing else - if anyone asks it's for dogs (wouldn't really be a lie since only dogs use them). Most of them are owned by wolves, come to think of it.

I pass two bowls before making it to the cafe; tucked away in a corner, but most of the street is visible from inside. Bert settled right by the door as he stirs a matcha latte with a paper straw that's about to dissolve around the edges.

"Took you long enough," he says as I sit beside him.

"Wow, sorry I have shit to do?"

Bert huffs, "It's Sunday and sleeping till midday is not 'shit to do'." Thank God he didn't pick yesterday, I would've probably killed him on sight.

"Anyway, how long will this take?" I ask. The café is tightly packed besides where we sit and it almost makes me feel claustrophobic.

"Let's just say you might wanna order a drink," he waves a notebook and a pen as I reach for Desserts & Drinks menu, flip it to the back. I've already had a morning tea and a refill, and I'd rather avoid a heart attack so I pick from juices and anything iced crammed next to vodka; Martinis and literal birthday cakes.

"So," Bert taps his pen, "business - the dreaded journey?"

I raise an eyebrow, "Dreaded?"

"Your words, not mine. How many people can your creepy white van fit?" Bert asks, canines show and glisten, the end of that straw now resembles a chew toy (leftovers of one).