clocks

12

Dream

I'm not long awake when the sudden rush of footsteps on the wood behind me almost makes me jump. It's only nine or so in the morning, neither Nelly or George should be awake yet.

I'm in my office, reviewing my notes from what George and I managed to talk about yesterday. Last night lingers annoyingly in my head whilst I try to read, it's very hard to concentrate when all you can picture are those eyes, his eyes, his brown eyes, staring up at you, rounded like that.

But I try to put it past me as I reflect on my notes, and just as I've started to find some focus, the door to my office slides open, and in walks Nelly, her hair a frizz, in a baggy shirt that looks like it needs to be washed.

She does what she does most mornings, she shuffles over to my armchair by the bookshelves and she curls her legs up so she can just about lay in it, closing her eyes as though she's asleep again but she never is, she's awake.

This morning, I survey her through my glasses, watching as she brings her legs up so that she can lay. We both know what conversation is about to happen. The one surrounding whatever it was that really happened last night.

It was the first time I've ever seen her drunk, she's never shown any interest in drinking before and in fact, she even seemed a little repulsed by it. She's definitely no party animal, as far as I'm aware, I can tell you that much. Today she looks like she's paying the price for whatever it was that she was drinking.

"You're up early," I comment gently, putting the cap back on my pen. "Why don't you go back to bed for a little while, get some more sleep?" I ask her. She looks like she could do with it, but I'd never say that to her.

She looks at me, disapprovingly, almost looking frustrated. "Stop doing that," she answers, her gaze not quite able to meet my mine as the words come from her mouth.

"Doing what?" I ask her, genuinely confused.

"Be mean to me," she says, her eyes finally lifting to mine. "Stop being so— nice, I don't deserve it, can't you just ground me? I think that would make me feel a little better."

Her face is dull, like she really wishes I would shout at her, or ground her. But what good would that do? Neither would fix anybodys problems. What she did has already been done, shouting or grounding her wouldn't stop her from doing it again, so why bother? Why waste my time, and hers?

"Don't be silly, Nells," I mutter, feeling the heat of the sun through the windows on my shoulders. "You do know what you did wasn't okay though, right?" I ask.

She nods, and I know that she's telling the truth. By both the miserably guilty look on her face and the way she's been begging for me to scold her.

"You should of told me that you were drinking, and I could've been a little more prepared for a phone call like that. You really scared me," I tell her, trying not to take on a lecturing tone because then I'll sound boring. "I'm not angry, because I know what it's like at that age, I've been like that myself. I'd just rather if you told me next time, alright?"

"Right," she nods quickly, her eyes still staring back into mine. She seems to be a little bit happier now that I've given her some sort of 'telling off,' though we both know that's not what it is.

"So when there's a next time," I nod slowly, "because there will be a next time, we can set down some rules, rules that will keep you safe, and rules that will prevent me from going into cardiac arrest when I have to answer a phone call like that again."

She holds a straight face, until eventually she lets out a small giggle, the smile spreading quickly across her lips. I smile too, because she doesn't look utterly devastated anymore.