Gabriella Ch. 08

Despite what Patricia had said, he couldn't sit back and do nothing. It wasn't in his nature. He had a small window to right so much wrong, and he would start with the hardest piece of the puzzle. He would prove to Patricia and Gabriella that he would do whatever it took to hold their small family together.

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Gabriella

The only good thing that had come from her impromptu exit from Classical Literature the day before was her new found interest in the story. Jekyll's battle with Hyde intrigued her, the struggle of good and evil fighting against each other in the same being.

With every day and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two.

She had read over that passage several times until each word was engrained in her mind. She felt the need to know them forwards and backwards because she would one day recite them to him.

She hadn't spoken to Simon in six days. Of course, he had gone longer than that before just ignoring her, but they had at least lived under the same roof. She had only seen him once as he was walking into Grayson Hall. From behind, he resembled a college kid with his nicely fitted jeans, black bomber jacket and his favorite white classic Adidas sneakers. Only the dark brown briefcase in his hand gave him away. She had ducked around the corner of the building and leaned against the wall, hugging her book to her chest hoping he was gone by the time she looked again. And he was. But not before her heart fluttered and her thoughts were held prisoner by him again. Memories of the past and sometimes hope for the future. Before, those hopes kept her strong, but over the past few weeks she realized it was all in vain. He was where he belonged and even worse, where he wanted to be. Not with her.

And she kept replaying her visit with her mom. She had never known her mother to quit a job without having another lined up. But she'd also never had anyone to fall back on for support until Simon. Her mother seemed to need him almost as much as she did. Almost...

Her mind wandered too much. She went back to her book. Years ago, novels had been her saving grace and best friend. Most kids groaned at the thought of books and libraries with cold librarians, their hair in tight buns and pearls stacked around their necks. But to Ella, it was all special. The library wasn't far from their apartment on Hemley Street, and she would walk there most afternoons and delve into the fictional lives of others to cure loneliness and boredom. She could still remember how the children's section of Charles Hart's Memorial Public Library smelled. Ginger bread cookies and Elmer's glue. Bright yellow and red colors lit up the open space. Giant foot prints in different colors that led to Dr. Seuss or Beverly Cleary displays. Clifford the Big Red Dog had a large cut out toward the information desk and a large stuffed cat from The Cat in the Hat sat in another corner with multi colored beanbags.

And even though the library used electronic check-out, they still kept the old cards from where past librarians stamped a date of checkout and wrote a name beside it. Oates, Jenna...May 10, 1990. Taylor, Matthew...September 23, 1992. It fascinated her to know the names of the people who had read the books years before her. What did they think of them? She wished libraries would go back to that system.

Or perhaps she wished she could just go back. Back before afternoon pornography took the place of Ramona Quimby and a married twenty-two year old named Tim took the place of blue-haired librarians. Before her education of life became skewed by a different path.

She was finishing up the last few pages when a loud bang at the door interrupted her. Her skin prickled with fear. Despite the tough front she held up for her mother, her fellow lodgers gave her the creeps. The people who ended up at the Gaslight were usually truckers who stopped by to find a few quick minutes of release with a hooker. Or drug addicts who needed a place out of the eye line of cops to shoot up. And then there were the occasional mysterious travelers with ratty luggage passing through.

One specific guest had her freaked. He appeared unassuming with black rim glasses and a plaid shirt, but he stared at her from the moment she entered the parking lot, down the sidewalk and to her door. She quickly made her way into her room and peeked through the curtains that reeked of stale smoke. He reminded her of the pictures she'd seen online of highway stranglers and serial killers. Men had always stared at her, but she knew the difference. This stare was as if he was trying to figure out what her body looked like turned inside out. Or at least she had convinced herself of that. She was terrified and almost broke down and called Simon. But she resisted.

Now it was too late to turn off the light and pretend the room was empty as the knock sounded again. She slowly crept to the door and looked through the peephole.

Elation and anxiety slammed into her, but she resisted the temptation to fling open the door when cobalt eyes and brown hair came into view.

"What do you want?" she asked.

There was a beat before Simon's muffled voice came through the door, sending shivers up her spine. "I need to talk to you. Can I come in?"

No. She couldn't be alone with him. She didn't trust him. She didn't trust herself. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Just a talk."

Even through the door, she could feel how cold it was on the opposite side. A gust of air drifted beneath the door freezing her bare toes. "About what?"

"About what happened Sunday."

She couldn't let him in. She couldn't let her guard down. "Okay. But I can hear you just fine from out there."

Several seconds of silence passed before she heard him sigh. A soft thump sounded against the door and when he spoke, his words came through even clearer though his voice was low. "There was no excuse for how I reacted."

Everything was still as she held her breath.

"I'm so sorry, Gabriella and I promise to never lay my hands on you like that again."

She had seen him pissed before. Coming home early in the morning after a night of partying, she'd been on the receiving end of his wrath. Skipping a few classes, wearing "inappropriate attire" as he called her clothes would definitely get him riled up. But she had never seen him that mad, and especially not in front of her mother. She had known from the moment he stood upright that he was unraveling and fast. She saw it in his eyes. He was the bull and she'd just waved the red flag, or in this case, thrown the blue glass that made him hit level ten on the pissed-off scale in under a second. Her mother might not have seen it, which was why she was slower to react, but Ella saw the look and for the first time, she was scared of his reaction. So she ran, not knowing what else to do, and never dreaming that it would all end the way it had.

But what he and her mom didn't know was that his physical actions that day had paled in comparison to the emotional beating she had taken. She would gladly suffer through another rough shaking and more if it meant not having to bear witness to another kiss and embrace from him to her mother. Another 'good morning, honey' or 'I love you' that stabbed at her insides, bleeding her until she had nothing left but anger and hurt. All because she would never be on the receiving end of those intimate morning sentiments. She would gladly suffer until her teeth rattled if it all could go away.

"Can I come in? Please?"

He sounded so close. Just two inches of cheap beige colored wood separating them. She didn't want to let him in, but she didn't want him to leave.

Against her better judgment, she opened the door and shivered as the cool night breeze blew into the room, sending goosebumps all over her arms and legs. But she quickly realized her mistake when she looked up at him.

His dark brown hair looked damp and messier than normal perhaps due to the helmet in his hand. Her cheeks warmed as she took in the black and blue riding jacket he wore, remembering how it felt wrapped around her naked body at Lake Torrance over the summer. His dark jeans fit his tall frame perfectly, and as her eyes quickly traveled upwards to the most perfect set of stormy blue-gray eyes she'd ever seen, she realized they were fixed on her.

Tingles shot through her lower region and she played them off by squeezing her thighs together as she shifted from one foot to the other. His eyes slowly drank in her outfit and immediately she was self-conscious. Her nipples tightened and ached as the thin white material of her tank top rubbed the sensitive bare flesh. She tugged on her denim shorts that were cut way above mid-thigh which left the pockets peaking below the hem, drawing his attention further downward.

She quickly moved away from the door and let him enter, if only to divert his gaze and her own lust. The lock clicking behind her echoed in the small space, once more reminding her they were alone. She leaned against the dresser while he shook off his jacket and his eyes took in the state of her twenty-seven dollar a night room. Her clothes were strewn about and her school books, minus the defiled backpack, were scattered on the floor. She quickly gathered her dinner, a half empty liter of Sundrop and two honey bun wrappers from the nightstand and deposited them into the trash.

He perused her body as he followed her movements, his scrutiny unnerving her. She could never tell what he was thinking more; if he approved of the curves of her body, or if he just disapproved of the tight clothes covering them. She leaned back against the dresser, trying to keep her body straight as an arrow, because the slightest bend in her waist and the curved crease where her ass met her upper thigh would be exposed, no doubt earning her a disapproving glare.

He moved in front of her and set his blue helmet on the dresser. The subtle, smooth cologne, mixed with whatever natural delectable scent that radiated from his body, threw her off guard as it shot straight to the center of her core. His arm blocked her on one side as he stared down at her, his eyes...penetrating her deeper than any man had ever tried physically.

"Did you—nevermind." He pushed away from her and sat on the bed, quickly putting much needed distance between them.

"What?"

"No, it's cool. I didn't come here to..." He exhaled and ran a hand over his face, before he looked back at her. "Fuck it. Did you wear that outside?" he asked, accusation laced in his voice as his eyes soaked up her barely there attire.

She swallowed down her sarcastic remark in favor of the truth. "The heater in this room is broken and won't shut off. And the only other room available is at the end, and it's darker down there."

He nodded, paused, and diverted his gaze from her body to the cheap room. "So, are you okay?"

"Yes."

He glanced around again. "Why are you staying here and not with Nolan? This place isn't safe."

"I'm fine and I'm not with Nolan anymore."

That seemed to pique his interest. "What happened?"

She gave her best bored expression, though her heart and stomach still clenched at the truth. "Nothing. People breakup every day, it's not a big deal."

He ran a hand over the course polyester green comforter before looking up. His eyes held hers as he spoke. "I never thought he was right for you."

"And I never thought you were right for my mom," she snapped. She looked away from him, mentally chastising herself for the slip. For constantly giving too much away.

"God, Gabriella, for once can we just—" He closed his eyes and sighed. "Okay, I didn't come here to argue and I shouldn't have said that about Nolan. But I'm not going to compromise on your safety either. I don't want you staying here."

"It's really not up to you." She had to tread carefully. If their conversations turned into a hostile verbal spar they would only end up in bed, where they would work out their anger and frustrations with each other like so many times before, and that was the last thing she needed. "I have to get up early tomorrow, so..." She gestured towards the door.

"Why, what's happening tomorrow?"

"I'm going to look for a job."

There was nervousness in his eyes. "You're still staying in school though, right?"

"For now, yeah." She shrugged. "But I don't need a degree to get my certificate."

"Certificate for what?"

"To be a masseuse."

His eyebrow shot up. "You were serious about that?"

"Yeah," she responded defensively. "Why, what's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "I just...what all do you need to accomplish that?"

Suddenly her plan sounded silly and trivial next to his PhD. She nervously licked her lips. "I have a few hours training, but I need to log five hundred total and take the exam." She looked at him. "But I've studied for it. Just haven't taken it."

"But in the meantime, you're still going to stay in school? Right? So you'll have something to fall back on?"

She nodded, although honestly, she wasn't sure.

Relief spread across his handsome features. "Good." He plucked her book from the nightstand and scanned over a few pages. "Jekyll and Hyde. I read this in college. Pam Moore's class?"

"Yeah."

"So you kept her, but dropped me."

She shrugged for lack of anything polite to say, and held out her hand for the book. She figured it was obvious to both of them why she was no longer a student in his class.

He handed her the book and said, "I wish you would have talked to me first. I would have worked something out. Even if it was giving you a good grade just for coming."

"You don't do stuff like that," she replied, something she quickly found out after their affair began. If anything he became harder on her and more demanding of her participation in class, often calling on her when she was one of the few who didn't raise her hand. He made it a habit to walk past her desk in the middle of a test, slowing to look over her shoulder at her answers. Her hands would shake, and his shadow would cast a dark blur over her work as she filled in a bubble or wrote in an answer. He would blow out a frustrated breath or make a clicking noise with his tongue on the roof of his mouth before moving on, leaving her to second guess the answer she thought was correct. She had earned every decent grade she'd gotten in his class, of that she was sure.

"I would have for you."

That one little statement shocked her and made her heart beat faster. "Why?"

"Because of what I put you through," he admitted quietly.

She scoffed. "Well, considering what you put me through in class, I deserved an A. Plus."

"What I put you through in class?"

"Yeah, you treated me like shit."

He gave her a quizzical look. "I did not."

She smacked his shoulder with the book. "Simon! You did. You always have."

"No. I didn't. I made an effort to not treat you any differently."

"Okay, who is this then?" She mimicked his voice. "Does anyone know the answer? Gabriella, do you have an answer for me or did applying lip gloss distract you from hearing the question?"

Simon grinned almost sheepishly. "I never said that."

"Yes you did! Asshole. You always pick on me." She whacked him once more with the book.

He laughed and grabbed her wrist to block the blows. "Okay, okay. I'm guilty of pushing you, I guess. But you're smart and should pay more attention."

Ella looked down between them. His fingers seared the delicate skin around her wrist as his playful chuckles tapered off, leaving only the low rattle of the broken heater to fill the void.

Slowly, he drew her between his legs until his eye line was level with her breasts, though he kept his gaze upward on her face. A bead of sweat ran down his temple and stopped at the strong curve of his jaw. If it was because of the heat in the room or the heat between them, she wasn't sure, but her eyes remained focused on the tear shaped drop, remembering the taste of salty sweetness she had kissed hundreds of times after their reckless lovemaking. The heat emanating from his body was overpowering, as if fire and intensity mixed to flow through his veins. From the first time she felt his body against hers without the barrier of clothing, she knew it had all been a charade. The mild-tempered friendly guy he masqueraded to everyone was not the body that lay trembling over hers as the storm within him cooled.

One simple tug and he could have her sprawled on the bed, the battle for her dignity lost as her treacherous body willingly submitted to his touch. Every minute she was alone with him turned the tide in his favor. She couldn't think straight when she was in such close proximity. The light mix of cologne and fervor clung in the air, causing her body to crave the release that only he could give. Causing her to crave his—

She broke eye contact and pulled away from him, silently gasping for air. "I have to go to bed."

The lusty haze cleared from his eyes as they softened and eventually lowered to his hands. She loved his hands and how they felt caressing her body. They were large and slightly calloused from years of motorcycle maintenance, bench pressing and general outdoor labor. His profession could have made him soft, but he kept the hard edge due to his personal activities.

He stood and leaned against the dresser beside her. The sleeves to his light gray sweater and dress shirt underneath were pushed up to his elbows and the fine hairs on his forearms brushed her, sending electrical currents through her body. She turned to him and he was looking at the bed...or through it. After a minute, he finally blinked, waking from his trance and spoke.

"Patricia left."

A sick feeling rolled in her stomach. "When?"

"Earlier tonight."

She slid away from him. "I knew it. So that's why you came? I've been here a week and you could give a shit. But she leaves for one night, and now you're trying any desperate measure to get her back. I should have known better."

"Gabriella, I didn't—" She turned away from him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "I didn't know where you were until today. I searched for you! You disappeared. You dropped my class, took a different route to your other classes and wouldn't take my calls. And no one I questioned knew where you were." He released her arm. "Am I upset that Patricia's gone? Of course I am. If you came back, would it smooth things over? Yes. But don't kid yourself into thinking I don't care about you, because you know better." His voice softened. "You used to tell me you thought I was the only one that cared."

She stared down at the chipped black paint adorning her toenails. She wanted to believe him. She had dreamt of him coming to her door and rescuing her from this awful place. Her heart had whirled in her chest when she saw him through the peephole. She wanted to believe he had come because he missed her. Because he did care.

She tensed when he moved in front of her, locking her between his body and the dresser. "Gabriella, you don't belong here. Let me take you home. Let me—"

"No."

"Things can go back to the way they were before."

She tried to take a step back, but her heel hit the bottom of the dresser, trapping her and sending a sting through her foot. "Everything was a mess before," she said more to the carpet than him.

He closed the gap, the tip of his white sneakers touching her bare toes. "I can live with a mess," he whispered.

She jerked her face upwards and searched his for comprehension. Her skin grew hot as a strange mix of yearning and defeat played out in his eyes while his words became clear.