I Wish

Chapter 8

My head was stomping. Not as badly as I was, crashing back the way I had come, but I did not give a f**k. Not one sad single solitary f**k. Nope, because you know what distance did? It gave me the opportunity to get angry, and the ability to feel it. Actually and properly, like a person. Like a normal human person. One who wasn’t distracted by Ivy, and how stupidly hot I found her.

“I really need to learn when to shut up,” I growled to myself. It was starting to get light, we’d been talking for longer than I thought I had been. Cursing, I picked up the pace. By the time I got home, through the backyard because I wasn’t an i***t, I kind of just stood and stared at the door. Knowing I couldn’t go in there. I was too mad. Sounds ridiculous, huh? But this wasn’t normal, or natural. This was walk into the kitchen, open all the cupboards, pull out all the bowels, plates and glassware and smash them all. Screaming obscenities all the way. This was the urge to pull out the whole damn cutlery draw, shake the contents all over the floor, and slam it into the island until it breaks. To pull all the food out and stomp on it, and leave the fridge looking like a battered victim of a mugging gone wrong. All of this paints a very clear picture in your head, hopefully helping you understand the sheer depth of the terrifyingly unreasonable fury I currently had to live with. So I just didn’t go inside.

Instead, I pulled off my shoes so aggressively that I almost fell over, and tossed them so hard on the ground that they bounced off the grass. Socks and jacket quickly followed suit. With nothing left to throw, this really felt like the moment to stop, tilt my head back and yell ‘f**k!’ at the top of my lungs. I didn’t. Mostly because I was sure that if I did that with this headache my skull would shatter in protest, and also a little because if I started screaming I wasn’t sure I would be able to stop. The guttural sigh I let out sounded like it belonged to an animal, and I flopped down on my back. Carelessly throwing myself down and cracking my head on the lawn. Okay. Okay…. I needed a plan. I thought, staring up at the sunrise, I wasn’t going to be able to enact it now, but I needed a plan. Birds started to chirp, and I wound my fingers in the grass, beginning to contemplate things.

“I’m not going to be that chick,” I concluded, it just wasn’t happening. No, not under any circumstances, I promised myself, my stomach rolling over at the idea as well as the pounding at my temples. What exactly was ‘that chick’? Hmmn, she’s the one that rebels at the idea of being someone’s one and only, fights it, gets worn down over time in ways that are frankly creepy and gas-lighting, only to realise that she should never have fought so hard because, lo and behold, she loves them. All with a general idea of ‘Hey, maybe the universe knew what it was doing here.’ That was usually the part where it all hit external conflict, and it made for a great story. Really it did. I just had no interest in living it. At the end of the day, that wasn’t going to be me. I wasn’t sure how that wasn’t going to be me, because here I was at step one where I rebelled, but it was absolutely not happening. Do I just skip straight to acceptance? Was that the way it was done, and more than that, was I capable? Facts. I needed facts. Starting easy, with the most obvious then.

She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, and the part where she was a girl didn’t seem to hinder that. Actually, on that note – completely kissable, maybe even more than that. My thighs pressed together of their own accord as I thought about how full of s**t my attempt to play coy was. Yeah… s*x had never really seemed like it was all that, but this? Oh! My cheeks burned, and I was probably blushing so hard that you could even see it. Attraction was clearly very much not a problem. I can work with this, I can. Okay, so she seemed upset by how resistant I was. Like distressing me hurt her, and that went both ways, so it kind of worked out. My head started to ease as my train of thought became more, ‘let’s see if I can make this work’ and less, ‘get out of here now don’t look back.’ I seemed to have this freak magical occurrence where her well-being felt like it meant more to me than anything in the world, but hey it seemed to be as big a deal to her as it was to me. Maybe I just trust the universe, and if it crashes and burns, I at least will have got to say that I tried. I reached for the stars, and possibly walked out, making it with my fairy soulmate. On the other hand, this could all be a ploy by some kind of evil monster – and I did not like even thinking of the word monster, to do some kind of dastardly… I don’t know anything. Fairies kidnapping humans used to be a thing, right? I hated thinking like that but it was the world we lived in, it was inevitable. There were a lot of conspiracy theories regarding Covid, and a lot of them were pieced together so well that they actually seemed pretty convincing. Probably because the people handing out official information lied, and lied often. Nefarious purposes or not, who knew? Either way, it didn’t matter, I supposed the chips would fall where they might. Still, it must have been nice for those people who could have a concrete belief one way or the other.

I shifted, trying to get comfortable, the grass prickling into my shoulder blades. I couldn’t take the same approach to Ivy, because I knew quite uncomfortably that what I do does matter. Here in this house, living in a twenty-four hour lockdown for over a year, it didn’t matter what I thought. I couldn’t do anything one way or the other, even if I did commit to a viewpoint, but with Ivy I could. My headache spiked, and I groaned quietly. Now I'm right back where I started. Wonderful. I need more information, so two questions. Just… small steps. Question number 1. Find out more about the wishing thing. Number 2, figure out what her deal with my name was. I could do that. After that, I resolutely stopped thinking about the whole thing all together, and lay there trying to find shapes in the clouds. The colours of the sunrise were so beautiful that I found myself wanting to get up earlier on some days, just so I could do this again.

“You going somewhere?” my mother called, and it made my head hurt so bad I wanted to throw up. So this was going to be a, wait it out until I felt better, thing. Wonderful. I was hoping all of this introspection would have a purpose.

“No,” I said just loud enough that she could hear me, while she loped forth to nudge my shoes with her foot. “Can I have some painkillers please?” I asked softly. She studied me. Whatever she was looking for, I assume she found it.

“How bad hon?” she asked, smoothing a hand through my hair, and picking out the bits of dried glass. I considered the question. I didn’t have the patience for a fancy explanation, or even one that was a little less rude. I just answered the question as shortly and effectively as possible.

“Bad. Headache, I think I’m going to be sick,” I told her, and I wasn’t lying. The way acid lurked in my throat, I was really pretty sure I wasn’t lying anyway. She nodded, and went inside. I lay there for what seems like an unreasonable amount of time, even though I know it’s not, with my stomach churning one way and my head the other. Mum came back with a glass of water, two panadol and a small white pill she didn’t offer an explanation for. Not gonna lie, I really didn’t care. Did not in any way care what it was, mum handed it to me. It’s going to fix this. I was nauseous, headache ridden, and miserable. She sat next to me, and for the next half hour we just sat there staring up.

“Come on. That should have kicked in by now,” she said, grabbing my hand and helping me up, “I think the boys are grabbing breakfast, we should go join them.” I could have begged off if I told her I still felt sick still, but whatever she had given me had turned the stomach's raging nightmare into mild queasiness. Also, breakfast with the family… that was a kind of normal thing I could really use right now. Something where I could just sit and pretend that nothing more is wrong with my life than there was a week ago.

“If I’m willing to accept full responsibility for my actions, and not complain if it makes me feel worse, I think I can get some fruit loops?” I asked her, experience telling me that it was better to start trying to bargain now. She sent me a very serious look, and I wondered at what age I got to stop asking my mum for permission for things.

“I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times,” mum says dramatically, “They’re called fruit rings. We don’t buy brand names. You know this.” There’s an over-exaggerated sigh that escapes her mouth, and a mischievous look crosses her face. Any protest dies in my throat after that, and she shoots me an extra cheeky little grin. “You get sick, don’t come crying to me. You know my opinions on dairy and upset stomachs,” she said, laughing, and wow. I did not expect I’d get to eat them. I just thought there was no harm in trying. In a substantially better mood, I followed mum into the house. The boys were inside, currently making a huge mess all over the place. Cereal and toast crumbs littered the bench, and an empty sugar packet had fallen next to the bin, and there were milk spills slowly making their way over to drip down the cupboards.

“Alright kitchen wrecking monsters, you better be prepared to clean this mess up,” mum said, throwing a cloth at Jeremey, and indicating that Mark should go start picking up the rubbish and putting things back where they belonged. After a few moments of watching them satisfied, she pitched in to finish helping them return the kitchen to something less hazardous. Fruit rings or coffee, I tried to decide between, as I stayed out of their way. Who was I kidding? Like that was even a question, coffee all the way. I grabbed a spare cup, mine having not been used in so many days that I didn’t want to go and search for it at the back of the cabinet's top shelf. I wasn’t tall enough for me to be in the mood to play that game right now. This one was ugly. I don’t know whose grandma chose the flower print on it, but all I know is it looked like it had been ripped off some old ladies' curtains in the late fifties to early sixties. I dumped two sugars and a coffee in there, and grabbed the milk while I waited for the kettle to boil. It didn’t take long, mum must have had a cuppa before she came out, and my first mouthful of mine… little bit of heaven. I was so tired, and this could only help. I burn my mouth on that first sip, but it’s so totally worth it.

“Mum, how come Rose doesn’t have to help?” Jeremey whined, rinsing out the cloth. He didn’t really mean it, and it shouldn’t have been a big deal.

“Rose doesn’t have to help because your sister didn’t make the mess,” she told them, and I dropped the cup. It shattered at my feet, and I tried not to jump as the ceramic shards bounced off the hardwood floor. Coffee splattering everywhere, and pooling at my feet.

“Mother fucker,” I shrieked, the second it collided with the floor.

“Rose honey?” Mum said, stepping forwards quickly. That… that wasn’t my name. I wasn’t called… My name was… was… WAS…. Oh. She really had stolen my name from everybody, I realised, in a horrified stupor, quickly creeping in, including me.