Chapter 9 – The Smell I Couldn't Forget
1363 Words
Rocco's Point of View
After the night Ryan almost fainted, I began watching him more carefully.
Before, I only noticed when he came home.
Now, I noticed everything.
How long he stood in the bathroom.
How often he rubbed his chest.
How slowly he climbed the stairs.
How he sometimes stopped halfway through putting on his shoes and closed his eyes.
How his smile appeared a little later than before.
Ryan thought I didn't notice.
He was wrong.
I noticed everything.
I was his dog.
That was my job.
The next morning, Ryan woke before his alarm.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time.
I watched him from the floor.
He didn't move.
"Rocco?"
I lifted my head.
He smiled.
"You're awake."
I walked toward him.
He reached down and rubbed my ears.
"You know..."
He paused.
"I think I need to start taking better care of myself."
That sounded good.
I wagged my tail.
He laughed.
"Don't look so serious."
"I'll be fine."
There it was again.
The words humans used when they were afraid.
I'll be fine.
Ryan stood.
He took two steps toward the bathroom.
Then stopped.
His hand grabbed the edge of the table.
I jumped up.
He closed his eyes.
After a few seconds, he breathed normally again.
"Just dizzy."
He looked at me.
"Nothing serious."
I didn't believe him.
That evening, Ryan came home carrying a small paper bag.
The smell was different.
Not chicken.
Not bread.
Something sharp.
Something unfamiliar.
Medicine.
He placed the bag on the table.
I sniffed it.
Ryan immediately moved it away.
"No."
"That's not for you."
He sat down.
There were several small boxes inside.
He took one out.
Read the label.
Then put it back.
I watched his face.
He looked worried.
"What?"
He noticed me staring.
"Don't worry."
He rubbed my head.
"Just vitamins."
He smiled.
I didn't know what vitamins were.
But I knew medicine.
Medicine was something humans used when their bodies weren't working properly.
I didn't like the smell.
Ryan began taking pills every morning.
Sometimes after breakfast.
Sometimes before leaving.
Sometimes he forgot.
When he forgot, he would suddenly stop halfway through putting on his shoes.
"Oh."
Then he'd rush back to the table.
The little white pills became part of our routine.
Coffee.
Bread.
Pill.
Keys.
Backpack.
Goodbye.
I hated that routine.
Because it meant something was wrong.
One Saturday, Ryan didn't go to work.
That surprised me.
Usually Saturdays meant laundry.
Cleaning.
Sleeping late.
And sometimes a walk to the market.
But that morning, Ryan stayed in bed.
He pulled the blanket over himself.
"Just one day."
He whispered.
"Let me rest."
I climbed onto the bed.
He didn't stop me.
His face looked pale.
I rested beside him.
For several hours, we stayed there.
No television.
No music.
No talking.
Just the sound of rain against the window.
Eventually, Ryan opened his eyes.
"Rocco."
I looked at him.
"Do you remember the first day we met?"
Of course I remembered.
The rain.
The chicken.
The stranger who gave me half of his dinner.
Ryan smiled.
"You were so skinny."
He gently touched my side.
"You could see your ribs."
He laughed.
"And you still had the nerve to steal my food."
I wagged my tail.
"I gave it to you."
He corrected himself.
"Actually..."
"You didn't steal it."
"I gave it to you."
He smiled.
"You know why?"
I waited.
"Because you looked at me like you trusted me."
His smile faded slightly.
"And I didn't want to be the person who broke that trust."
I moved closer.
He wrapped his arms around me.
"I hope I've been good to you."
My tail moved.
He laughed softly.
"Yeah."
"I think you have."
That afternoon, Ryan decided to take me outside.
The rain had stopped.
The streets smelled clean.
Wet concrete.
Leaves.
Puddles.
Food.
We walked slowly.
Much slower than usual.
I noticed.
Ryan used to walk quickly.
Now I had to wait for him.
Every few minutes, he stopped to catch his breath.
I would turn around.
He would smile.
"Keep going."
But I stayed.
"Rocco."
He laughed.
"You really won't leave me, huh?"
No.
Never.
We eventually reached the small park several blocks away.
There weren't many people.
A few children played near the swings.
An elderly couple sat beneath a tree.
Ryan found a bench.
He sat down.
I rested my head on his knee.
He looked at the children.
"Do you think we'll have more days like this?"
I looked up.
He smiled.
"I hope so."
He pulled a small bag from his pocket.
My favorite treats.
He held one between his fingers.
"Sit."
I sat.
He smiled.
"Good boy."
He gave me the treat.
Then another.
"One more."
"Sit."
I sat again.
He laughed.
"You're getting really good at this."
I didn't care about the treat.
I cared about his smile.
On our way home, something happened.
A man in a white uniform walked out of a small clinic.
Ryan stopped.
The man recognized him.
"Ryan?"
Ryan looked surprised.
"Doctor?"
I looked between them.
The doctor smiled.
"I haven't heard from you."
Ryan became quiet.
"I've been busy."
The doctor looked at him carefully.
"You need to come back."
Ryan glanced at me.
"I will."
"When?"
Ryan hesitated.
"Next week."
The doctor sighed.
"Don't wait too long."
Ryan nodded.
"Okay."
The doctor walked away.
I watched him disappear.
Ryan remained silent.
Then he looked down at me.
"Sorry."
I didn't know what he was apologizing for.
He crouched.
His hand rested on my head.
"I should've told you."
Told me what?
He looked toward the clinic.
Then back at me.
"I've been feeling sick for a while."
His voice became quiet.
"I thought it would go away."
He forced a smile.
"But..."
He touched my cheek.
"It hasn't."
I licked his hand.
He smiled sadly.
"I know."
"I know."
That night, Ryan made dinner.
He cooked rice.
Fried an egg.
And made a little chicken for me.
He watched me eat.
Then he didn't touch his own food.
I stopped.
He looked at me.
"What?"
I stared.
He smiled.
"Eat."
I continued.
But slowly.
He laughed.
"You don't have to worry about me."
I didn't understand those words.
But I knew I was worried.
Before bed, Ryan opened the drawer beside the table.
Inside were documents.
Bills.
Receipts.
His medical papers.
He pulled out one sheet.
Looked at it.
Then folded it carefully.
He placed it beneath the others.
I watched him.
He didn't cry.
But his eyes became wet.
He wiped them quickly.
Then noticed me.
"Oh."
He smiled.
"You saw that?"
I stayed still.
He sighed.
"You know..."
"Sometimes I'm scared."
That was the first time he'd ever said it.
Scared.
I knew that word.
Dogs knew fear.
Ryan sat on the floor.
I walked over.
He pulled me into his arms.
"I'm scared of getting sick."
He buried his face in my fur.
"I'm scared of not having enough money."
His arms tightened.
"I'm scared of what happens if I can't work."
Then he whispered something that made me go still.
"And I'm scared of what happens to you if I'm not here."
I didn't understand the meaning.
But I understood the sadness.
I licked his face.
He laughed through his tears.
"You're supposed to make me feel better."
I wagged my tail.
"Yeah."
He hugged me tighter.
"You always do."
That night, Ryan slept beside me.
His breathing was quieter than usual.
I stayed awake longer than I normally did.
I watched his chest rise.
Then fall.
Rise.
Fall.
I listened to his heartbeat.
And for the first time...
I became afraid of silence.
Because I had learned something that humans already knew.
The things we love most...
Are the things we are most afraid to lose.
I didn't know what illness meant.
I didn't know what the doctor had seen.
I didn't know what the papers in the drawer said.
But I knew one thing.
Something was coming.
And whatever it was...
I would face it beside Ryan.
Just as he had once faced the rain beside me.
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