Just Hate Me and We'll End It Here

Alex

What to do? What do I do?

My wife- I have to use that term pretty loose, I suppose- has locked herself in the bathroom because of some nightmare she had and refuses to talk about it, even though it’s obvious she’s had it before… more than twice, too.

Groaning I hit my head against the freezer, then I open the door, closing my eyes. The cold air breezes out across my head, cooling me down, hopefully calming everything down, making it better…

Oh, who am I kidding?

Well, hopefully food will help me think of something. I frown to myself, still helplessly wondering what’s forever running through Bay’s mind. Especially her dream. She looked so upset, sad, and frustrated, and upon waking up… she was ready to cry, I think. Because the dream wouldn’t end, or because… it can’t?

“Now, Alex,” mother starts in a scolding tone upon seeing me drinking straight from the orange juice carton.

“Uh…” I try to hide the guilty look. “I couldn’t find a glass?” I offer.

She gives me a reprimanding look and hands me a glass from the cupboard. “And where’s your girl this morning?” She asks me.

I snort at the term. If Bay heard that… I shake my head with a little grin. She’d most definitely throw a tissy-fit at that, for sure. Seeing my mom and her go head to head…. Heh, that would be something…. Mom clears her throat and I look up. “Huh? Oh, right…. Uh… she’s a little…out of it,” I finish faintly, getting a sudden idea. “Um, mom? I think…. I’m going to take Bailey out.”

“Out?” Mom repeats, a little confused.

“The cemetery,” I finish softly.

She nods silently and sets the orange juice down from my hands. “Don’t be gone too long,” she finishes softly, then turns her back as she starts getting breakfast out for dad. Swallowing, I watch her, wondering if I should have said something else… but it’s too late now, and I head up the stairs.

“Bailey?” I call, knocking on the door softly, crouching because I can hear her faint breathing from the other side- she’s obviously leaning against the door.

“Shove off, jerk,” she growls.

Still moody? Yep.

“Get out,” I tell her, cutting off the niceness. “We’re going out. Now.”

“Not likely,” she retorts scornfully.

“Do I have to make you?”

She snorts again and that’s obviously her answer. “Fine,” I grit my teeth. Hurriedly, I change and rummage through her bag for a few things, before grabbing the little key to the bathroom from between the mattress. “Tada,” I mutter, flinging the door open, and catching Bailey in surprise, nearing falling over. “Miss me?” I smirk.

Glaring, she stumbles up and onto her feet, opening her mouth to retort. “And I never said you have a choice,” I remind her. “Now hold on to these,” I command, tossing the clothing items at her. She catches them just barely, and I use the moment of distraction to toss her over my shoulder.

She screeches, slamming my back. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I laugh. “We’re going out, and you don’t have a choice in this. And go ahead, keep banging on my back, but it’s just a massage. Mind doing it a little lower?”

She lets out a frustrated groan, hitting me again as I reach the bottom of the stairs, heading outside. “Bye, mom,” I call and we come out to the brisk air, and I’m careful to make sure she doesn’t hit her head or anything, though she’s still struggling and that’s a little difficult.

Quickly I get her in the car, shutting the door before she can escape. I lock the door, too, just in case. Then I hurry around, pushing her arms out of my way as she keeps yelling threats at me. Isn’t this fun?

“You might want to get dressed,” I mutter, turning the key. “We might be a little while.” And I start driving, ignoring her.

Five minutes later, she huffs and climbs in the back, carefully changing in a way that I can’t see anything… disappointing much? But I do have to focus on the road, I suppose. Then grudgingly, she returns to the passenger seat, then slowly buckles up. Sighing, she looks out the window.

“Where are we going?” She finally asks in a small bitter voice.

“You’ll see,” I respond. “We’re almost- ah, here,” I mutter and slow down, parking on the side of the street. “The cemetery.”

She freezes from looking over and goes back to glaring at her hands, balled into fists. “Why?” She growls.

“I want you to meet someone.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t get a choice,” I remind her, and climb out, step around, and yank out my unwilling girl. “Do you want me to carry you again?” I offer.

“No,” she sighs, jerking her arm free of me, and fixing her shirt. Thus folding her arms by her sides, angrily. “And you didn’t get me any shoes,” she reminds me.

“You’ll live,” I tell her, then jerk my head for her to follow me. “This way.”

Ever so slowly, she follows me as we wind through the quite graveyard, passing through crosses, statues, gravestones, flowers and the like. It’s still early so no one’s here; it’s just us. Then I see the grave marker and my throat tightens as I stop in front of it.

Cautiously, Bailey steps up behind him.

“Bay,” I say softly. “My brother, Dan.”

I hear a slight intake of surprised breath come from her.