Gabriella Ch. 08

Time passed, jokes and cheap shots were traded and before he knew it, Simon was rolling his fourth bottle of beer between his palms. He didn't even remember ordering it, but Steven had abandoned him to flirt with the bartender so he needed something to drown out the thoughts on the edge of his mind, threatening to ruin his buzz. He watched as Steven leaned over the counter and tugged at one of the bartender's braids. She slapped his hand away, but smiled and continued to engage in conversation with him.

Simon's attention turned to three guys who sat down a few stools from him, one around fifty and the other two in their twenties. The older man placed his arm around one of the younger guy's shoulders and laughed. The two younger men looked alike and upon further inspection they looked like the older man. A father and his sons, he realized. A father and his sons, enjoying each other's company. A stab of envy hit him. The last words his own father had said to him were 'don't come back with a twang in your accent'.

That was it. Nothing that should have been profound or memorable, but Simon remembered it, and out of spite he did his best to speak with a local vernacular. Although it was never believable, he was happy when certain words like 'ball' and 'over' lost their prominent northern inflection. It was his subtle middle finger to Charles Graham and his former life under his father's roof.

"Did you know my dad didn't drink?" he asked when Steven sat back down.

"Her name is Fiona," Steven said folding a small piece of paper and shoving it in his pocket. Simon expected Steven to regale him with the tale of how he'd turned the hot lesbian to the other side, but after a second Steven looked at him and said "Wait, what about your dad?"

"He didn't drink. I mean, at least if he was a drunk then I could understand his bouts of random rage. But he wasn't. He genuinely was an asshole with no outside influence." He picked at the edge of the label on his bottle. "Then again, I wasn't wasted Sunday, so I guess I have no excuse either." He lifted it in toast and eyed the three men that had started his trip down memory lane. "Like father, like son," he said before downing the liquid. The words tasted as bitter as the beer.

"Bullshit," Steven said. He slammed his hand onto the counter, already beyond buzzed, and knocked over a basket of peanuts. "There's a world of fucking difference between shaking someone who threw a glass at your head and beating the shit out of your spouse for burning the meatloaf." He gripped his shoulder. "You've got to quit beating yourself up over that. Shit happens."

"You say that like it was just a fucking flat tire, or a coffee spill."

"Fine, point taken," he said with a sympathetic sigh. "But I know you better than anyone, and you're nothing like your old man."

Simon had never wanted words to be truer.

"Any word on Ella?" Steven asked.

From one sore spot to another.

"No."

Steven stuffed several peanuts in his mouth. "I'm sure she's fine."

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose to quell the headache that was coming.

"She'll be okay, man," Steven said patting him on the back. "She's twenty and can take care of herself.

"Actually, she can't, that's part of the problem."

"And you being around her is the other part."

Simon swiveled on the barstool to face him. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Steven tipped his bottle up and the pale gold liquid disappeared down his throat. He pulled it from his lips with a smack. "Nothing."

"No, you started this. What did you mean?"

"It just means that this separation is a good thing. Maybe now you can work on your marriage."

Simon scoffed. "Yeah, because I haven't been doing that, right?"

"I don't know, maybe you have. I mean, I'm not married or anything, but I'm pretty sure continuing to fuck another woman doesn't constitute as working on your marriage."

Simon squeezed his beer bottle before bringing it to his lips. Anything to pry his mouth open and keep from cracking his molars. Steven's eyes were on him, but any retort now would only strain their friendship. So he held his tongue and chugged his drink like water.

Steven sighed. "That came out wrong. I just hate seeing you struggle like this. This moral line that you keep straddling isn't going to work." He looked around and lowered his voice. "You can't hold your marriage together while trying to be a stepfather to Ella some days and her lover on others. It doesn't work that way. And just four years ago you were in the same boat as me. Single, with no responsibilities, and now you want to pretend that you've gone through twenty years of fatherhood with her? You're not her father, man. You don't need to take care of her, and maybe the best way to fix this is to stop trying to fix it for a while."

Simon cut his eyes to him, hoping his glare was burning a hole right through him.

"Look, you'll be fine," Steven added, drunkenly oblivious to the balled fists Simon made below the counter. "Like I said a while back, if she moved out, your problem is solved. Now she has, so just make sure to hold up your end of the deal and leave her alone."

As if his problem was so simple. Leave her alone... Like he hadn't thought that from the first moment he had gone to her bedroom. It could have been his several failed attempts to end things with Gabriella or Steven oversimplifying his crisis, but the temperature in his blood was reaching the boiling point and he needed to cool off before he did something he regretted.

He slowly stood and braced himself on the bar as his body caught up to his mind and slammed a handful of money on the counter.

"Oh, so what, now you're leaving me?" Steven asked.

Simon grabbed his helmet and ripped his jacket from the back of the stool before he looked down at his friend. "Guess I should start working on my marriage. Right?"

Steven's face was red and his eyes glassy. "Fuck. Simon, come on man, I'm only trying to help."

The door seemed to shift, but he eventually found it and walked out before Steven could follow. And before his words could do more damage.

He broke every speed limit by at least twenty miles over until he finally reached their house. It wasn't often he ended a Friday night so early, being barely past ten, but he needed to turn in. Maybe the answers to all of his problems would come to him after a peaceful rest.

Patricia's car sat in the driveway, but all of the lights, including the front porch were off. It wasn't like her to be in the bed at this time, but ever since Ella had left, her behavior had changed. One night she wouldn't sleep as she alphabetized the contents of the fridge until the early morning, and other nights she'd turn in before the sun even set.

He staggered from his bike to the side door in the garage and cursed the lock for being tricky before it allowed him inside. He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and made his way into the living room. He stumbled over something in the floor and cursed before he flipped the light on.

Patricia was sitting on the couch, her hands neatly folded in her lap. The left side of her face was obscured by her hair, while the right side of her bob cut was tucked behind her ear. He stared down by his feet at the objects that had almost caused his fall. Two small bags. It took him a moment for his brain to register what it meant, but when it did, he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He wanted to lean against the wall for support, but that meant taking a few steps back and he couldn't move a muscle.

She hadn't looked up at him, but began to speak. "Today I watched my daughter ransack her room for jewelry, which I can only assume she was planning to sell to pay for the most God-awful motel, where a man was killed four years ago. I just don't know...what to think about that. I don't know how to be okay with that here, in this house." She shook her head and looked up at him. "I need some time away, Simon. Just a few days to clear my head."

The lump in his throat hindered him from speaking, so he nodded.

"I'll be at Myra's, so I won't be far."

"I can leave," he whispered feeling nauseated. Equal parts pain, failure and alcohol made his stomach churn.

"I wouldn't really want to stay here alone."

Neither would he. But that wasn't his choice to make. "Okay."

She rose to her feet and walked over to him. Her large golden eyes stared up at him and for a moment he wondered if she would kiss him, like she had done many times in the past to smooth over any problems they had. After they had argued about him buying a new bike, or mixing dinner plans so that she was waiting at Teddy's Café and he was at home waiting for her, she would lean her head back and smile, flashing perfectly straight pearl white teeth before her soft full lips connected with his. So many insignificant arguments that hadn't prepared either of them for something this serious. Something this devastating.

He braced himself for a kiss that never came. Instead she lowered her eyes and bent to pick up her bags.

"I got them," he said, gently pulling them from her hands. They were light, which should have been a relief, but his arms were tense and ached even as he brought the straps over his shoulder.

Outside, the wind was unrelenting, pushing them back almost as if it were on his side and demanding that she stay. But she opened the door and slid behind the driver's seat anyway, no longer in the path of blustery weather. She pressed the trunk release button and he sat her bags inside, closed the trunk, and then walked around the car to where she sat, preparing to leave him.

He knelt down by the driver's side, his hand holding the door, barring her from shutting it. "Patricia, I'm so sorry. I don't even think I can explain to you how ashamed I am. I know I let you and Gabriella down. But you don't have to leave. I will work this out. Please, just give me a chance to."

A slow shake of her head was her answer. She wouldn't, or couldn't stay, and he had no one to blame but himself. "Everything feels so different, Simon," she said looking down. She said something else, but the wind captured it and muffled the words. She looked back up at him. "I don't know what's real anymore."

He grabbed her hand and placed her palm against his chest. "This is real," he whispered, his eyes searching hers as his heartbeat elevated to her touch. "I love you so much and I will do whatever it takes for you to stay."

She pulled her hand from his and placed it on the steering wheel. "I can't. Not now."

"Where's Gabriella staying?" he asked. His words sounded frantic to his own ears. "I'll apologize to her. I can make this right again, Patricia, I swear to you."

She shook her head again and exhaled heavily. "She's staying at the Gaslight Motel, but I'd prefer you not go to her. I think we all just need our space right now."

Even though he had heard her words loud and clear, it still sounded like 'need our space from you' was what she really meant. He reluctantly released the door and stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Okay."

She quickly shut it and started the engine. The car moved down the driveway and she didn't spare a second glance as she disappeared from sight.

Inside, he didn't bother turning on any lights as he made his way to his bedroom. The large bed sat empty and cold in the middle of the room. Too much space, too little here to distract him from the emptiness he felt inside. He and Patricia, who were in no way big decorators, could never figure out what to fill this space with and now with her gone less than five minutes, the dead emptiness seemed to widen.

Several pieces of black plastic swung back and forth as his fingers grazed the row of empty hangers in their closet. Only her summer clothing tucked neatly on one side remained, giving him a small hope that she would be back.

His hand slid over the sleek burgundy wrap Gabriella had borrowed the day Nolan had picked her up for her birthday. The last day he'd seen Gabriella happy. The day he should have stayed and worked things out with her, instead of abandoning her for fear of what would happen if he didn't leave. She had changed that weekend. Enough so that she would call her own father, a man she never even spoke of, and beg him for help. Had he hurt her that badly, or was there something else going on that day, another thing she couldn't trust him with?

That same day the closet had been full, minus an outfit or two that Patricia had taken with her to Asheville. He'd packed a small bag and surprised her, thinking that he was fixing everything. The answer had been that Patricia needed more of his time and Gabriella needed less. Simple solution. But in the end, it was only a thin weak band aid he was stretching over them both, praying that it didn't break. But it had, into a million pieces.

His eyes felt weak and his head heavy. His mind was slowly shutting down. And for that, he was grateful.

***

Her body felt so good. He pumped harder and faster into Gabriella from behind, his eyes focused on the small cluster of stars on her lower back. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes half hooded, a small smile toying with her lips. But something was burning his back. He tried to ignore it before light shone over his shoulder, scorching his skin even more. He continued to fuck her as the light blinded him then faded revealing the florescent lights of his lecture room as his entire class came into view. All of his students with various expressions ranging from disbelief to excited. But his heart stopped when he saw Patricia sitting on the front row sobbing. His eyes remained on her but his body wouldn't stop. He willed it to, but it continued to seek out Gabriella's hot center. After he came, he pulled his pants up and walked toward Patricia, but she was backing up and shaking her head. He tried to move faster, but she was always just out of reach. Then she disappeared. He turned and the class was now empty and Gabriella stared at him, tears in her eyes as she stood naked on top of the desk, like a Greek statue. In an instant, the floor disappeared and a black hole formed where the off-white tile should have been. She poised a foot over the opening. He tried yelling her name, but nothing came out. The desks were bolted to the floor and blocked him from reaching her as he shouted again and again to no avail. Her eyes haunted him as she stepped forward and fell into the hole.

"Gabriella!" he screamed.

Simon sat up abruptly and almost fell off the bed. He could barely breathe as he took in his surroundings. A moment passed before his hazy gaze adjusted to the dark. He had no clue where he was. His eyes slowly focused on the window to the left. The dark oak dresser that sat in the corner of the room....his room.

He fell back onto the soft bed. "Fuck me."

His dress shirt and heavy denim jeans clung to his sweat covered body. His heart hammered in his chest as blood pulsed through his ears, mimicking the rapid beat. His arm was heavy as he lifted it and felt the empty spot beside him. His hand balled into a fist as he gripped the sheets, wondering how long her side of the bed would remain vacant. Days? Weeks?

He staggered into the bathroom, his head still buzzing and his stomach turning from reliving his college days at The Lantern. He didn't bother with the light as he splashed cold water on his face and gargled with mouthwash, each gesture restoring pieces of himself to the somewhat normal man he was.

In the hallway, he stopped at Gabriella's bedroom door. Before she and Patricia had moved in, her room had been filled with his workout equipment. Everyone thought he was crazy for buying a house, but he knew he would fill it one day in a 'if you build it, they will come' type of way. And come they had, bringing him more joy...and sorrow than he thought possible.

He leaned his forehead against the door like he had done many times before. His ritual that gave him one last chance to hold onto his principles before he opened it and inevitably lost the battle of self-control, something he greatly lacked in Gabriella's presence.

But tonight he wouldn't be met with a smile on the other side of the wooden barrier. Tonight she wouldn't be getting dressed...or undressed like so many mornings he had walked in, never bothering to knock.

Tonight she would not be waiting for him. He gripped the handle and pushed the door open.

Everything was in place, a far cry from how she normally kept her room. Articles of clothing, usually of an intimate nature, magazines and scraps of paper used to litter her beige carpet. Now things were neatly stacked and organized, conforming to the rest of their house. A twinge of guilt pierced him for wishing Patricia had left this room untouched. Void of any other presence except Gabriella's.

The light hint of strawberry filled the air. At least that hadn't changed. Strawberry...and cinnamon. No better combination could describe her. The familiar scent connected with his memories as they rushed before his eyes like a flipbook. Her face bright and happy on the first page, but quickly deteriorating as they shuffled by, until the last page revealed a sad and broken girl.

Sad because of him. Broken because of him. Gone...because of him.

He checked the time on his phone. It was past midnight, pushing another Saturday around. Almost a full week since he'd last seen her. Almost a full week since she'd sat in his office and asked if he had ever cared about her. She had always broken their unspoken rules. Their secret language was filled with looks and touches that expressed what their words couldn't. Words complicated things, because he couldn't say what she wanted to hear, and he didn't want to hear what she wanted to say. So he did what he did best when Gabriella confused things...he said nothing.

When she'd asked why he couldn't leave her alone, he said nothing.

When she said she loved him...nothing.

She had given him much more than he had ever given her. Her body, which he'd received first, and believed was all he wanted; her mind, which intrigued him, and which he soon grew to admire as well.

And then there was her heart, the one gift he never wanted to open and tried like hell to return. She gave anyway, even though he wasn't a gracious recipient. She tried to act like his rejection didn't hurt, but he knew better. He wondered if others saw through the tough girl act as well. If they saw the insecurity in her eyes as she said something harsh or shocking. Did they notice the way her mouth turned down in a sultry pout as she braced herself to get her feelings hurt. Did they see all of that or only the façade of a femme fatale?

He picked up the picture of them together. The cheesy restaurant photographer had charged eight dollars for the simple photo, but Gabriella wanted it and she rarely asked him for anything. And even though it was his birthday, he had been in a foul mood. They had argued the entire time in the car until they pulled up to the restaurant over her skipping classes.

He sat the picture down and rubbed at the dull ache that settled in his chest. If he were being fair, it was a few weeks after their affair had begun and he was on edge, hating the upper hand he had given her. It's where most of his anger lay hidden, just below the surface as he blamed her for his loss of control, and that was the image the photographer had captured.

And it was easy to make her sexuality as the culprit. It was something she should be able to turn off to appease his sanity. But it was a part of who she was and there was no off button.

He walked out and closed the door, hoping to alleviate the ache, but the dullness sharpened, slicing through his chest as a somber silence settled over the house.