The First Rule

Chapter 3a: No Boyfriends!

"Hey Emily~"

Startled, your eyes darted to the living room.. and saw your dad, sitting in front of the TV. Hands crossed behind his head, legs spread over the leg rest of his brown leather lazy boy. The remote bouncing on his big belly as he changes body gestures like a switch, following the film's plot intently.

Standing there between the door frame, you tilt your head and cross your hands over your chest. Closing your eyes—exuding your inner peace—you focus on your six senses. And just by the sounds coming off the speakers, you already know—

YIPPEE KI YAY, MOTHERFUCKER!

Die Hard.

Again.

Throwing your head back, speechless, you sprint from the front door to him and complain, "God, dad—we have other movies in this entire galaxy—I told you to use Netflix!" you rush to his side to sit on the couch, grabbing the remote on his belly. However, once you pause the movie—you see the familiar interface the same moment you hear your dad shout,

"THIS IS NETFLIX!"

"Oh boy you're hopeless, dad," you sigh desperately, eye dropping in defeat. Suddenly, you're pulled by his arms so you're leaning onto him as he shouted right into your ears—

"YIPPEE KI YAY, MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Gosh! Dad, seriously you broke my ears!" you break away from him while petting your ears, pouting. Mr. Winters laughs a big roar in satisfaction. 'He's such a prankster' you thought. But his cuteness never lets you sulk for even just a minute—because now you're already breaking off into giggles while tickling him, slapping his round belly. He jumps, tickled by your action.

Just as you're about to tickle him even more, a burst of excitement echoes through the house as a furry streak darts into the scene. A massive pitbull, your family's beloved Tumba, bounds into the living room with wagging tail and eager eyes. Tumba senses the playful atmosphere and joins in, bouncing around your dad and you. His fluffy tail sways like a metronome of joy, and he nudges his cold nose against your hand. And you can't help but smile.

Your dad grins, clearly amused by Tumba's antics. "Someone's excited about a Die Hard marathon~" he chuckles, ruffling the dog's fur. Tumba seems to agree, barking happily. Amidst the canine chaos, your dad shakes his head, still chuckling. But then he shoots you a sideways glare as he remarks, "Unlike someone."

Replying with the same manner as you shake and squeeze Tumba's body in adoration, you tease, "Then Tumba over here~ has bad taste," to be replied with your dad's disgusted face and you laugh at the amusing sight. "Ok first off, why are you home already? Are you fired?!"

Pouting, Mr. Winters chubby cheeks deflated, his eyebrows frown by your disrespect. If you're not his only daughter he might've already made plans on when to kick you out. "First off, you're not funny. Second off—" in a blink, his frown turns into a smug smirk and proudly replies, "please—I'm a boss. I can go home as soon as I want to," giving you a confident shrug even though he knows it'll show more of his triple chin. Pressing the play button, he continues watching, ignoring your annoyed expression beside him.

"To have a Die Hard marathon? You're so annoying dad. Where's mom?" you ask, standing not far from the couch before starting to head up the stairs with your head still turned back, waiting for your dad’s answer. Thinking you've called him to follow, Tumba gallops to you in excitement. Mr. Winters moves his eyes to you slightly, not wanting to miss a thing from Bruce Willis' action, replying,

"She's out getting some groceries. How's school?"

Aaand there it is. I think I’m having PTSD right now.

Pictures of those horrifying events come back to haunt you. Your face turns into a big scowl as you start turning around swiftly, taking big steps to the stairs as you lazily reply, "Meh."

At your dismissive answer, he pauses the TV again and argues, "What—you have friends, right? I'm watching your t****k closely you know—"

Now you're already on the fourth step as you give him a narrowed glare through the glass that's been separating the stairs and the TV, nonchalantly saying, "A few."

Taking your answers seriously, deeply concerned, he straightens his lazy boy just to continue his speech, "No you gotta make more friends, Emily—you gotta learn from Tyler—"

"Yeah yeah, be a social butterfly like Tyler blablabla—I'm gonna go upstairs, okay?" you dismiss. At the mention of that forbidden name, you roll your eyes and hurriedly leave the cringey conversation behind. Beside you, Tumba follows—before in an excited gallop he races you to your room.

As you hop on the steps, he shouts firmly, "Ok make friends, but no boyfriends, got it?!"

Hearing it the same time you arrived at the second floor, you stop on your tracks and stomp your feet on the ground in annoyance as you scream, "Oh my God, dad! Go watch Die Hard with Tyler!" Then you run to your room as you hear your dad's voice trail behind you.

"Oh that I will!"

"I am so removing him from my t****k. Tum, what do you think?"

Dropping to your bed, you talk to your American Pitbull like a crazy grandma. But just as you're about to close your eyes—you hear a knocking. You dart your eyes to the left, towards the source of the sound..

To find Cavill, behind your bedroom window. You roll your eyes to the routine.

Ugh, here we go again.

Oh, and did I mention that we're neighbors?

"Em! Psst! Em! Let me in!" he demands urgently, still knocking fiercely at your window. Now sitting on the corner of your bed, you glare at him with hands crossed on your chest. Still having the audacity to roll his eyes and glare back at you, he shouts, "Let. Me. In!"

Gritting your teeth to suck enough air audibly in annoyance, you lazily dilly-dally to the window. Tumba, definitely not mirroring your manner, runs to the window excitedly, wagging his tails to Tyler. At the sight, Tyler beams and makes a shushing gesture, asking Tumba not to bark. Tapping into his overflowing intelligence, Tumba comprehends and sits, now patiently waiting.

Letting out a grunt at the scene, you stare at him in resignation and only unlock the lid. Quickly turning away from him, you leave him to it—leaving him with a look of disbelief spread across his face. He lifts the window up himself, and slouches his tall figure to get in, and continues his rant, "Why the hell—" he climbs inside, grabs the window stool to steady himself, "did you—" grabbing the head of the window with his other hand, he finally brings his legs to your bedroom and complains, "lock your window?!"

In utter disbelief at his stupid question, you shoot him a death stare, "Precaution? Burglars? Intruders? Oh! Wanna know a secret?"

Not taking your sarcasm in a good manner, in a hush, he rants, “Well, I'm obviously not a burglar, or an intruder but—seriously?! After the stunt you just pulled?! You almost sent us to detention, bro—!” before Tumba jumps and gallops to his feet to welcome him. He squats and opens his arms to hug the large Pitbull, whispering, “That's my boy!”

However, as he turns his glare back to you, you grunt, "Ha! To still have the audacity and throw the blame on me!" pointing your index finger at him as you pace left and right, avoiding eye contact.

Taking those accusations to the heart, he stands back up and throws his hands in the air as he complains, "You’re the one who didn’t—" when his right hand suddenly yanks a pile of books to the ground! In alert, you stop pacing and turn to him. You look at each other in concern, eyebrows knitting, teeth gritting.. Tyler's face says busted all over as he mouthed, "Help—" but before you can respond, a roar echo through the house,

"Cavill we have a front. door young man!"