Dead Attachment

Chapter Seventeen : Stormy Days

-SEVENTEEN-

STORMY DAYS

                After Christopher disappeared, I crawled back in bed, just sat there and stared at the foot of my bed, hoping that somehow he would appear again.

                Now, my room is brightened up with sunlight and I’m still here, sitting on my bed. I can hear birds chirping from outside, making me close my eyes and just drown myself with the sound. The storm will probably come later.

                I run my hands through my hair and feel my constant, even breathing. The image of Christopher seeming so real and clear is glued in my mind that it keeps popping in my head every second. I try not to think about it, but something about seeing his tear streaming down that pale face, haunts me.

                To do something productive, I’ll just cook breakfast. I stumble my way out of bed and shuffle towards my closet.

                I grab my comfy clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, wear them on, pull my hair back into a messy ponytail and head downstairs. Today, I’m going to act as if nothing happened. That I just woke up to another ordinary, beautiful day.

I’m not going to let this experience destroy me and worst of all, change me. Dad is going through some tough time and if I let this get the best of me, he’ll be the one who’ll be affected the most. I can’t be selfish. I can’t just think about myself which is why I’m going to act as if Christopher doesn’t even exist. That everything was just a coincidental, horrible dream.

I go downstairs and immediately head to the kitchen. I open the lights in the hallway and in the kitchen.

Everything’s the way it should be except for the numerous bag of seeds that’s resting on top of the dining table beside the newspaper. Maybe it’s needed for the shop for customers or something.

I drag myself to the fridge and open it. I grab four eggs, thinking that Dad may eat more, and decide I’ll make an omelet for breakfast.

Mom usually makes omelets for breakfast because she has this addiction with omelets specifically anything that involves eggs. I learned how to crack eggs and make omelets because of her. Not only omelets, but other egg dishes too which makes me miss them.

 I grab a pan under the sink and head to the stove to place it on top. I take a few steps towards the sink to grab a bowl and the oil in it.

This time, I don’t even care if a plate hits me on my head. It’s just a way to prove that everything was really just a bad dream. That a ghost who protects me doesn’t exist.

I successfully put a bowl and the oil down. I wait for a few seconds if a wind will rush behind me but I feel nothing which is why I decide to continue on.

I’m not really in the mood for faking a camera and talking to an audience that’s not really there, so I silently crack the three eggs, with his pale face popping in my head every now and then, and pour it in the bowl. I grab a fork and mix the eggs, sprinkling a hint of salt and pepper along, before I head to the stove. I forgot to put oil in the pan so I scurry to get the oil in the counter. After pouring the oil, I turn the heat on and wait for the pan to consume it. After a few minutes, the oil sizzles and I finally pour the mixed eggs in. I use the fork I used to mix the eggs in cooking it.

I cook omelets simply and if I’m not feeling lazy, I’ll add some bacon and sprinkle some basil. Today, unfortunately, is just not that day.

I hear a knock from the entrance of the kitchen and see Dad rubbing his eyes briskly. “Hey there sleepyhead.” I tease with a smile.