Perspective

Chapter Seventy Two.

"So place your hands on my hope,

Run your fingers through my soul"

Song: Put Your Hands On - Reef

A/N : Apologies for the hold up, the chapter after this went from a 6k word one to a nearly 10k word one.
Enjoy the double update.
Missed you love muffins, sorry I'm a slack noodle.

******

I wish dogs could talk.

Because i could definitely use some kind of advice or someone to have a mental freak out over this with.

Instead, I had gizmo sitting on the couch next to me at Frankies; staring at me with his tongue hanging out of his droopy face.

Harry had gone into the kitchen to get us some water, and I was whisper yelling at my dog like a lunatic, wishing he could answer.

He knows. He's known the whole fucking night.

I dunno whether I'm arrogant or the dumbest person alive for thinking he didn't catch on when I said that 'i love yit' bullshit.

"He said he loved me," I yell in a whisper, and then hold up the stuffed toy Harry won tonight, "and, and he knows I love him because I named this fucking thing yit, well, it's a longer story than that but the point is he fucking knows — what the fuck do I do?"

Gizmo says nothing, only stares at the stuffed toy and cocks his head, with drool dangling from his jowl.

Then I get a whine followed by a huffed snort.

"Oh great, brilliant advice Dr.Phil, thank you so much for that," I huff, dropping the toy down next me and covering my face with my hands, sighing, "All my problems are solved."

"You and Gizmo arguing again? What'd he do this time?" Harry asks, coming in from the kitchen, acting totally normal and not phased whatsoever by our conversation in the car.

He hasn't brought it up again, or mentioned it and i dunno whether that makes me feel better or worse.

Harry sits a bottle of water on the coffee table, then walks around to pick up yit and sit down in his place; resting the toy in his lap.

It strikes me in that moment, that the stuffed Gizmo toy from now on will literally symbolise my love for him. That's how he found out. A stuffed Gremlins movie toy from a claw machine.

One that my dumbass named yit.

.... Move over Romeo and Juliet, we're the peak of romance with that embarrassment.

"We're not arguing, he's just dealing with how much of a head case I am," I mutter, before finally dropping my hands and relaxing back against the couch.

Gizmo makes himself comfortable, lying down and resting his head on my lap. We woke him up from his usual deep slumber when we got back, he seemed eager to get back to that.

Harry is holding the toy in his hands, looking like he's inspecting it before nudging my shoulder when he looks at me, "Hey, what'd I say before we left your place? Be nice to my girlfriend."

The thing that's making all of this ten times more stressful is the fact those feelings I had earlier haven't subsided, in fact they are worse. My stomach is tightening and doing flips each time I look at him, and everything in me wants to climb on top of him.

"If she quit acting like such a dickhead, like she did tonight, maybe I'd be nicer," I throw back, fiddling with the fishnet material of my stocking to try and distract myself.