Preparing for a long, long day

"What's wrong, Cupcake?" My dad concernedly asked when he saw me crying a few meters away. Just like all the times that I needed my dad, I ran to him and ended up in his loving arms.

I was in the garden, where my father was creating a majestic gazebo in the middle of the orchard, surrounded by varieties of beautiful colorful flowers. This place was an enchanted paradise for someone like me. A place drew only in fairy tale books, where I wanted to be the princess. Then, the magic disappeared when I bumped into him, an arrogant boy who lived in that big castle.

"It's him. He did this." Pointing to the young boy who was a few years older than I was. I knew he was older because he was much taller than my brother was. My brother always said that I should never allow big boys to push me around, and I should defend myself.

"What did he do?" Dad lowered himself to scan my already tear-stricken face, trying to calm me down. I tried to stop crying, but the pain was making it hard for me. I wanted to be strong because that was what the princess was supposed to be.

"He's a big bully. He pushed me and then kissed me." I cried harder this time, feeling the sting as his fingers traced the wound. The cut in my jaw was starting to hurt a lot. My dad checked the broken skin, trying to put pressure on it to stop it from bleeding.

"That's not what happened. Mr. Miller." The stupid boy defended himself. "It was an accident." Still standing just a few feet away from us. I wished he would move his stupid face back to his big house. If my wound did not hurt that much, I would punch him in the face. My brother did teach me a thing or two.

"Liar!" I shouted. I picked up a stone and aimed it at him. I threw one at him, but he was quicker than I thought when he dodged it easily. I picked up another stone, but my dad stopped me before I could throw it again at him.

"Ok. Stop Scarlet." My dad warned. I knew he was serious because he called me by my name. I dropped the stone on the ground and pouted. Well, I was a child who was acting out and throwing tantrums.

"Mr. Miller. It was an accident," he insisted. "I'm truly sorry." He looked sincerely apologetic as he faced me. Instead of accepting his apology, I decided to stick my tongue and turned my back on him.

"Behave. The two of you." My dad said as he went to his truck and got some medicine. Not before, he looked at me and then to him, sending us both a glare that there would be dire consequences if we did not adhere to his warning.

We sat at the bench while he started wiping my face clean, putting some antiseptic on the affected area, and then putting a big strip of bandage. I would need a few stitches since the cut was worse than he initially thought, but the piece of plaster would have to do for now.

"Scarlet, come here. I need you to accept his apology. After this, maybe you two can become friends." My dad encouraged me to face him. When I did, he suddenly vanished.

The banging on my door woke me up. "Scarlet, wake up. We'll be late." That was Gemma, shouting and tapping on my door. She served as my snooze button when my alarm failed to wake me up. For now, it was not the fault of my alarm why I was not able to rise early, but something else.

"Huh, I'm up," I shouted to make her stop, still slightly dazed. That was odd as I scrubbed my eyes. That was certainly not a dream. If I was right, it was a memory of my childhood, back when my father was alive. He once brought me to that big house. He said it belonged to his boss, who wanted a beautiful garden for his new wife.

Then, I saw that boy. It was such a long time ago, and I was still young. He was a jerk as far as I was concerned. I only saw him that day, but somehow I found myself always thinking of him. Eventually, I forgot all about him. I could not even remember his name or his face.

I usually had several different recurring dreams, but this time, I was sure that this one was not the same as the others. Some of them were more of a nightmare, which usually started with the fire that occurred in our house a couple of years ago. I could not remember all the details of the incident, but these dreams never fitted with my existing memories.

Then, the other dreams were just as confusing as the rest of my memories. I could not put it together and make sense of it all. It was like a puzzle that would not fit together. Why did these dreams keep bothering me? The same question that I kept asking myself. It just would not stop haunting me.

Anyway, two years ago, my brother, Harry, died. He saved me from the fire that burned our house down. If not because of me, he would still be alive. If there were any other choices, I would take his place. I believed I deserved it more than he ever did.

"Are you ready?" Gemma shouted from the kitchen.

"Not yet. You go ahead," I answered as I continued to stare at nothing in particular.

"Ok. I have to be at the diner early today. I'll see you there. Don't be late." Gemma responded, but my mind was too busy analyzing my dream to comprehend what she said.

Maybe missing my brother was triggering all these dreams and memories. On the other hand, it could be my guilt, which was slowly beating me up inside, making me remember a moment I had with my dad. I certainly missed my family.

When I was a child, I had lived in my little, perfect bubble. My world was colorful and bright. I was a painter. Well, I wished to be.

My dad always treated me as if I was his princess, being his only daughter. Harry thought of himself as my protector. My mom was the only one who did not agree with the two of them. She had always been the disciplinarian. Everything was perfect in our little castle. We may not be rich, but our home was full of love and laughter.

However, I learned the hard way that nothing stayed the same forever. My perfect world eventually started crumbling down. One by one, the things that I thought made my life special slowly lost their glamour, and the colors turned darker each day.

'Wake up, sleepyhead, or I'll kick your ass.' That was what Harry would say whenever I was running late because I was daydreaming again. He was an early riser, always on time, and the most responsible person I had ever known except for my dad.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm up." I half yelled. I must be crazy talking to myself, running straight to the bathroom, preparing for a long, long day.