It's the walk of shame to the house that sparks my anxiety. I have my top against my shoulder and the smaller Tupperware in my hand. Right behind me is Micah, who carries the bigger Tupperware and my pants. I'm assuming a few steps behind him is my father, who proceeded to lock the gate just after we entered.
I don't know what's worrying me more; my father who is beyond ready to give me an earful, or Micah. After my father demanded we — well, he told me to get inside, Micah just followed — get inside, an immediate shift of attitude about Micah occurred. It's obviously a bad thing; Micah knows how protective my father is, and for all of our sake, I'm praying he keeps his mouth shut when I get yelled at.
I'm also a bit worried about the bleeding. It doesn't matter how much or hard I press onto my collarbone, it's still bleeding and not stopping. Don't get me started on the pain.
As soon as we're inside, the both of us hear my father shut the front door really loud, and that shakes me more than anything. I know he is angry, but I've not prepared myself mentally for his upcoming speech.
And then I hear him call my name from the kitchen with so much authority. My heart sinks to my stomach and I turn to Micah — we're both in the living room at this point. "Please stay here."
"I'm coming with—"
"Micah. Stay here." I hiss. "You're going to make it worse. So stay here and let me handle it. I'll be back after, okay?"
He isn't pleased with it, but he gives a small firm nod as though to accept my request. His eyes, though, keep watch of my hand gripping the shirt against my collarbone but says nothing after.
I step out the living room, nerves raking my body every second, and make my way to the kitchen, thinking of any and every reason I could use to soften up my father.
There he stands by the kitchen counter, hands on the marble platform and an annoyed look on his face. When he notices me, he stands up straight and glares at me.
"At this time? You come back home at this time? You don't even communicate with me, to tell me that you are coming back late, Gertrude! It's like every other day, you must test my patience! And then you stand outside with a boy? Kissing outside my house? The nerve you have—"
"Papa, I messaged you. I sent you a message telling you I would be late because I was invited to a dinner." That's my attempt to reason with him, but I'm flushed with embarrassment at the fact that I'm getting yelled at with Micah just in the next room.
"And what the hell happened to you? You're standing here, blood everywhere! What happened! You come home looking like somebody stabbed you, blood everywhere! Where's my phone, I'm calling the police since he's still here."
"Papa." I take a step forward, lowering both hands and press them together with the blood stained stop between. Even still, he takes steps towards the entrance of the kitchen, so I quickly attempt to block his path. "It's all a misunderstanding, a mistake—"
"A mistake? He was trying to kill you!" He yells in my native tongue. The device is retrieved, and already he's dialling numbers.
"He wasn't trying to kill me, papa." I insist with a softer voice, speaking my native tongue in order to soften him a bit. "I'm sorry for coming late, I should have came inside as soon as he dropped me off. Just please, don't call the police, it's not necessary."
"Who is he? Hm? Who is he to you?"
"Boyfriend." Not a slight moment with hesitation, I state. It's better than trying to come up with something beyond unbelievable at this point, and I'd rather him lose his mind at me than make matters worse with police rocking up to the front door.
Lose his mind, he does. His eyes go wide, lips part and body goes rigid for a hot moment. The shock in him quickly turns to rage. My breath instantly hitches.
"Boyfriend? A boyfriend, Gertrude? You insist on disrespecting me by bringing a boy here and saying it's your boyfriend? Have you no shame? What would your mother say? Hmm? Your mother, if she was to see you like this, what would she say?"
I'm not feeling shame, but the guilt washes over me like a bucket of ice cold water. I can only press the top against my collarbone gently to avoid causing more pain at the sharp stings that shoot periodically, with eyes lowered to the ground. Even still, he doesn't like my meekness, he doesn't like that I don't have a response.
"I'm talking to you, Gertrude!" He bangs his hand on the kitchen counter, and I immediately take a step back as fear begins to spark in the depth of me. "What would she say? Your sister Lerato. What would she say? Would she be proud of you? Instead of being like her, hard working and focused on your school books, you're focused on friends and white people. White boys! A white boy is inside my house right now because of you. Busy! Sleeping around, coming late and being a disrespectful young girl. You are proud of that? Hmm?"
Yeah, that's definitely guilt. My limbs start shaking, and I gulp a blob of saliva when I feel my eyes sting up. Perhaps, just maybe, both my mum and Lerato would think I've been nothing but chaotic, troublesome and inconsiderate. I was never one to make my parents that proud in comparison to my sister, but I tried my best. My mum knew that. I really did. And of course when things changed, I changed.
I had that 'life is short' mentality and let it rule over me. Heartbroken by Banele, not doing the best in school and now look, imprinted by a wolf without my consent. It overwhelms me.
"I... I'm sorry, Papa."
"Sorry is not enough. Sorry is never enough. You are always sorry, Gertrude. You don't stop to think maybe it should have been you and not them—"
"You don't stop to think that this is your daughter you're speaking down to?"
Of course, Micah couldn't just listen to me and stay in the living room. He stands by the entrance of the kitchen, passionately glaring at my father with intensity. I think this is the most grey I've seen his eyes. Thick layers of anger comes off of him, and I'd be lying if I said he wasn't giving off some sort of... possessiveness.
"You! Don't even try and tell me how to speak to my daughter, you hear me, white boy? My daughter, not yours. Instead, look what you did to her." My father aggressively points at me. "Look at her. Blood everywhere because of you, and you know what? I am seconds from calling the police so they can lock you up. You and your kind think you can do as you please because of your race? You tried to kill her!"
"Kill her?"
I foresee something bad happening here.
Micah scoffs at my father, taking us both by surprise, and finds every temerity to confidently walk up to me. Before I can take a step back and create distance, just for the sake of my father obviously watching, Micah takes hold of my jaw and turns my face outwards, then removes my hand from my collarbone.
"Mi—"
"I'll call the pack doctor, she'll know how to heal you." He places my hand back on my collarbone, applying more pressure than I did despite me trying to move away to relief myself.
"I cannot even believe my eyes." My father claps his hand from where he stands.
I glance over any father, but weirdly enough, Micah immediately turns my head back to face him. His eyes are still a deep grey and there's a deep frown on his face. He's trying to communicate something without verbally saying it, but honestly, there's not enough mental capacity in me to try decipher it. Instead, I say; "I need to speak to my father in private, please just leave us for a few minutes—"
"I'm not leaving you with him, mate. He's said enough, I'm sure the damn neighbours heard his speech."
"Hey! This is my house. You don't say what happens in my house, you hear me? She is my daughter, get away from her right now."
"She is my mate, so I'll stand wherever I want besides her. You are her father, stay in your lane and know your role."
The hell? He's only going to make things worse. I take hold of his wrist and squeeze it as some sort of warning. "Micah! He's my father!"
The boy runs his hand through his hair to move the loose strands from his face. "He's not my friend so I have no loyalties or respect for him."
"You know what?" My father taps on the kitchen counter with his fingers. We both look at him, watching him. My father looks at Micah in pure disgust, then back at me. "You're going to break up with him." I gasp at him; I think I hear a lowered growl from Micah. "You heard me. Because you are no longer allowed to leave this house unless it's for school. Before school and after school, I will drop and fetch you. Not that Andrea girl, not this boy. Me. No more giving you respect and freedom because when I give you a hand, a single hand, you take the whole body greedily. And then you have the nerve to stand right in front of me with this boy?"
"Papa, wait—"
"No, don't say papa. No shame whatsoever. Then you let this boy speak to me like I'm his friend? You have no respect for me and my house. Your mother—"
"Talk about her mother one more time." Now, this time, I have to take hold of Micah's wrist and hold him back the very same moment he challenges my father by daringly taking a step towards him. There's a threat behind his words, an authority I can clearly identify, though I doubt my father can pick that up.
To him, it's all sorts of shame and audacity that an unknown stranger can speak to him like this, in his house.
"Talk of her mother again, I'll send you lying right next to her grave."
The pure shock I'm experiencing.
"Listen to him! Just listen to him!" My father yells, immediately taking steps towards us, and with instinct, I approach my father in order to create distance between myself and Micah, as well as Micah and my father.
"Papa—"
And then, there's a loud echo within the kitchen. It doesn't take a genius to know exactly where it comes from. For a split moment, the pain on my collarbone can't even compare to the sting on my cheek. It almost takes my breath away, eyes immediately welling up and without consent, a tear slips past them and right to my chin — it's the same speed in which Micah approaches my father with.
I hear it before I see it, but when I do turn to look at them, hand cradling my cheek, Micah has my father in a tight grip by the neck, right against the fridge.
Despite two separate killer long of pains occurring, I don't hesitate to rush over to them, crying, and forcing myself between the both of them, trying by all means to push Micah away from my father and to get him to release him from the hold. I can hear my father choking harshly.
One glance at his face tells me enough; he's losing oxygen, his eyes have rolled back and quickly, he's no longer fighting for his life.
"Stop! That's enough, Micah— stop!" My bloody hand takes hold of his wrist and with all my might, I claw my nails into him and pull, eventually making him release my father from the neck grab. I push Micah back and away before I turn to my father.
He literally slides down the fridge and onto the ground, limp with mouth still ajar. I quickly kneel down besides him, fear creeping within me as I shake his arm. "Papa—"
"Gertrude. Listen to me."
The second Micah tries to grab hold of my wrist, I fling his hand away. "No! He's not breathing!"
"He's fine. He'll wake up. We need to go."
"I'm not leaving my father here, Micah! Look at what you did!" I wail, pouting at my father and pushing his hand away from me, the moment he attempts to grab hold of me once again. "I t-told you to stay in the living room and now look! This is crazy!"
"Gertrude, you're still bleeding, we need to go—"
"I'm not going with you! Don't you understand?" I get up to my feet, pointing accusing indexes at him with a blurry vision. "This has gone way too far. He is my father, my only family here. I am not leaving him. I can't leave him!"
Micah looks at me like I have about two heads resting on my forehead. He has to take a whole minute to process it, the way he rubs his hands through his hair and tugs, groaning loudly at that.
"Are you quite literally insane? Did not not hear even half of the things he said to you, and yet you still defend him? He threatened you, us, and then hit you. I'd be damned to let anyone think I'd laugh about at the disrespect towards me and mine! My mate! Come hell or high water, stranger or family, that line will never be crossed with no repercussions."
"He. Is. My. Father—"
"I am your mate." The daring, threatening step he takes towards me says enough. He's not playing around and this back and forth doesn't entertain him. "You'll remain bleeding if we don't get that healed." He points at my collarbone. The spare glance at the top hem of my shirt, stained and now damp in blood, is enough to tell it's own story. "We need to go back to the pack house—"
"You bit me to prove a point, didn't you? You wanted to prove a point, so you imprinted on me. And now I'm bleeding because of you."
"I didn't do it to prove a point! I told you, I don't know what came over me but I didn't intent on imprinting on you. I am sorry that I did it without your consent, but if we don't get it checked out, you'll remain bleeding until who knows what happens next? We have to go."
"I'm not going with you. I'm staying here with my father." I mutter, wiping my face before I turn to my father's still body. Indeed, his belly moves up and down to indicate his breathing.
"It's not up for discussion, Gertrude." Without hesitation, he grabs hold of my wrist and turns me back around, and before I could protest, pull away or even fight against him, he painfully grabs hold of my jaw and literally forces me to look at him. That's enough for me to know he's about to command me to do whatever he wants, and I won't be able to deny it or him. Immediately, I close my eyes with much force, try turning my head. "Gertrude."
"You said you wouldn't do it again!"
"Look at me." He says it with so much authority, that fighting against his words and his body quickly becomes impossible. "Look at me, Gertrude, or I'll make you look at me. Look." So my eyes burst open and I'm met with blue-grey dilated eyes. "You're coming with me back to the pack house to get you healed. I refuse to let you bleed out as much as you already have. Your father will be fine, I'll send somebody to check on him later, but you're not staying here tonight. That is final."
So I feel the effects of his words slip into my body, and the resistance I had physically, quickly dies down. I'm whining both in pain and frustration, upset that yet again, he's using his ability on me like this, especially at a time like this.
My hands grow weak, I'm not longer fighting him, so he takes the initiative to take hold of my hand and walk me out the kitchen without a moment of hesitation. And I follow him like some zombie, tears slipping down my cheeks and wondering for the first time, genuinely wondering, if all this would have been worth it or even been worth it if I didn't survive that accident.
He doesn't even bother to close the door behind the both of us; he already has us walking towards the gate, and I am certain he will break the gate open since he doesn't have the keys to unlock it.
That anger settled in the pit of my stomach doesn't settle down, it only grows more. Before I know it, the resistance that was once dying down starts up once again, and before I know it, I'm quite able to fight against his hold, pulling my wrist back with all my might, which takes the both of us by surprise.
"Wha... how did you—"
"You leave. Don't come back until I've fixed this mess. I am not leaving my father like that." I take steps back from him and already head back towards the house.
I didn't know what happened, I don't know how I did that, but I don't remain stagnant a second to figure it out.
But Micah is right behind me, hot on my tail. Just as I, or rather, we approach the front door, he doesn't hesitate to, once again, take hold of me and spin me to face him. His eyes are now grey, fully grey.
I don't even utter a word. I can't, because instantly, as soon as I've looked right into his eyes, he says; "Sleep."
Instantly, my body numbs from head to toe. The adrenaline I once had fades to nothing, like it ceased to exist, and my body slugs up just as he scoops me into his arms.
In the comfort of them, against my will, the temple on the side of my head rests against his collarbone, and just like that, my vision fades to nothing but blackness.