Gabriella Ch. 08

Her breathing halted as she listened to his words vibrating through his chest.

"You know I love you, right?"

She squeezed her eyes shut against his admission. Those words she had longed to hear could single handedly make her forget why she had to leave, if she let them. If she forced herself to block out everything else...

"I've always denied it, but I figured you knew anyway," he admitted gently. "I hope you understand why I could never say it. It would have just complicated things even more than they were." He paused, breathed deep, as if a huge weight had been lifted off of him. "I guess I don't really know why I'm saying it now, other than I probably can't fuck things up anymore than I already have."

But he could. And he was. They still had a chance, he and his wife. She didn't. She rose and looked down at him, a sick feeling growing inside her. "It's time for you to go."

He reached for her and she pushed him away as she stood, large knots tying in her stomach. "I'm going to take a shower. Please be gone when I come out."

"Gabriella, I—"

"Please, Simon. Leave." She couldn't look at him as she walked into the bathroom. She shut the door before he could respond, and turned on the water before he could hear her fall apart all over again.

**********

Patricia

Seventeen. That was the number of headlights that had passed by Myra's guest room window since she'd been in bed. It had been her trick to see if she could distract herself from her thoughts, but she found herself listening closely to each engine, hoping to hear that of a motorcycle. She rolled over and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:30 in the morning. She faced the window again.

Eighteen...

Earlier that night, Myra had informed her that she wasn't allowed to think about the things that stressed her. No job. No Simon. No Ella. But she broke the pact within the first fifteen seconds. She was unemployed. Her husband was slipping away. And her daughter was half a step from being homeless. This dream family life she had always wanted was crumbling and she had no clue where to begin to put the pieces back together. That had always been Simon's specialty.

When he had come back into her life, for the first time she had felt like she had a partner. A protector. A friend. A lover. The perfect guy.

Back before he started screwing another woman. Girl. When she thought she knew who Simon Graham was, a man who would smile across a crowded room, setting her insides ablaze with desire. Whose touch was always gentle and whose thoughts were always understanding. She had never felt rushed or belittled and his patience during her bouts of self-doubt moved her. In her eyes, he had been the epitome of the perfect man.

But she had been blindsided with the emersion of her husband's other side. This distorted version cheated and lied, harbored a volatile temper, and lost control. This wasn't the man she had married; this was the man she had witnessed off and on for the past few weeks, and it pained her to think that Ella could have stumbled across his darker nature even sooner. Their fights could have been more out of hand than she'd imagined when she wasn't there to step in. She choked back a sob thinking what could have happened on Sunday if she hadn't been there to stop him. What would he have done?

Pain stabbed at her eyes and her stomach heaved. She had to get up. She made her way to the kitchen, only after stubbing her toe on the door. Even though she had been to Myra's apartment numerous times, in the dark everything seemed foreign. Everything felt off, fitting in perfectly with the rest of her off kilter life.

She searched the freezer and found a tub of Neapolitan ice cream, grabbed a large spoon and dove in, the sweet taste making her momentarily forget her problems. For a span of five seconds, she couldn't think past her 'mmm' response. But then aftereffects of the cold sent chills through her body and reality set in. She took another bite, less enthused than before.

The light above came on and Myra stood in the doorway wearing a green National Bank softball tee and boxers.

Myra followed Patricia's path and looked herself over with a shrug. "Well, after I kicked him out, I figured I could get some good use out of some of the clothes. I only gave him an hour to get all of his shit." She looked back up at her and smiled. "But trust me, I wanted to have a Waiting to Exhale yard sale with lots of fireworks."

Patricia smiled, though she didn't have the energy to laugh. She hoped her problems with Simon wouldn't reach that level. It made her physically ill to think of divorcing him.

Myra walked over and grabbed a spoonful. "Mmm, perfect," she said licking the cream from the spoon. "See, as long as I have this, I don't need a man to comfort me."

"It's good, but it's not a substitute."

"Hmph. Says you," she said, shoving another spoonful into her mouth.

With Simon, she had never needed a substitute. The highlight of her day had always been making love to him, especially when he'd come fresh from the shower. He wouldn't bother with underwear as he slipped into bed, his skin still warm and soft from the water. He would pull her into him and kiss and caress her until she submitted. His body pressed tightly against hers while she held onto him for dear life as if he were trying to mesh them into one. The adoring things he whispered into her ears just moments before she came made every nerve in her body tingle. She tried to quiet her whimpers so she wouldn't disturb Ella, but some nights it was impossible. Her face burned with shame the following morning and Ella wouldn't even look her in the eye. But that was a small price she had to pay for a night of total ecstasy. Life had been perfect.

Now everything was defined 'pre marital affair' or 'post marital affair'. She often wondered how her life would have been had she not opened that stupid drawer causing a damaging domino effect of revelation in their marriage. Ignorance was bliss. Until her quest for a pen, she had no clue of her husband's exploits and for whatever reason, never suspected a thing.

"How you holding up?"

Patricia looked up. "Not so good." She scooped another spoonful of strawberry and chocolate. "But this helps a bit."

Myra rested her warm hand on top of hers. "I know this all seems so hard now. But I think Ella made the right decision in leaving. I think that was best for her, and in the long run, best for you and Simon."

Patricia scoffed. "Yeah? You go scope out the Gaslight Motel, then come back and tell me that this was best for my daughter."

"Well, at least it gets her away from Simon."

Patricia's jaw clenched. She was sick of Myra pinning all of their problems on him. "I know you like to think that Simon is to blame for everything. But you know what Myra, sometimes it's not his fault. Sometimes it's Ella's fault. And sometimes it's my fault."

Myra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because it was your fault he was fucking another woman. And your fault that he attacked your daughter."

Patricia dropped her spoon and it clanked loudly against the marble counter. "What the hell is your problem with him?"

Myra threw her hands up. "Do I really have to point out anything else? Is what I mentioned not reason enough to dislike him?"

"Oh, come on. You hated him even before that."

Myra started to say something, and then her lips pressed tightly together as she shook her head, her chestnut colored hair shimmying back and forth in her ponytail.

"What?" Patricia asked.

"Nothing."

"No, go ahead. I'm all ears."

Myra looked at her, her eyes burning. "You don't really want to hear what I have to say, so what's the point? You like to think things are perfect and that's the only reality you're willing to accept."

"I do not! I'm here sleeping in your apartment because I am accepting reality. My life is far from perfect. I just want to know if it can ever get back to a place where...I don't know, things are just better. It doesn't mean I don't still hope..." She stared at the carton of ice cream, the edges slowly beginning to melt and roll down to the center. "Just say whatever it is you were going to say, because despite what you may think, I'm a big girl and your opinion isn't going to shatter me."

Myra swallowed hard, and for a moment Patricia wondered if she'd spoken too soon. Her friend rarely had to struggle this much with speaking her mind

"Fine. Then I'm going to be completely honest with you." A pregnant pause suspended over them before she spoke again. "I think..." She took another deep breath. "I think that Simon and Ella have been sleeping together."

It was like she'd ripped off a giant imaginary wax strip. Every pore and hair follicle on Patricia's body tightened as prickles rolled from her scalp down to her toes, stopping only long enough to twist her stomach inside out. The entire transformation took less than a second and with the exception of her mouth suspended open in shock, no one would have realized that her body had momentarily disintegrated. Were it not for the grace of gravity, she would have floated away in fragments beyond recognition.

Myra watched her carefully, her eyes less severe than before. "I don't have any proof outside of my own two eyes and gut feeling. But the handful of times I've been around the three of you and from the stories you've told me, there are too many signs to ignore how inappropriately close they are."

Patricia's voice had left her. To create sound, she needed a tongue and lips and at the moment, she felt neither. Only the ache in the back of her eyes from lack of blinking. Never had she expected those words to come out of Myra's mouth. Never.

"The way they fight and make up..." Myra continued when the silence became almost suffocating.

Her words stabbed at Patricia's ears, and she wouldn't let up. She kept talking. Patricia felt herself grunt, but still no coherent words could be produced yet.

"The way she changed for him. The way he looks at her as if—"

"Stop it!" Patricia shrieked, her throat thawing from its momentary frozen state of disbelief. "Don't you dare!"

"Patricia, I'm trying to help you—"

"Really?!" She felt crazy with rage, humiliation, and hurt that she would ever be discussing something so unspeakable. "By accusing my husband of something so...so completely...something he would never do!"

"But how do you know?" Myra took a step forward, but Patricia took two steps back, bumping into the counter. She was grateful that there were no sharp objects in sight. She felt insane, unhinged.

"How do I know?! Because I've known him since he was eighteen, that's how I know! And I sure as hell know him better than you!"

Myra stared down at the counter. "You knew him so well, yet he was able to have an affair for a year without you knowing? And up until last week, you didn't even know he was capable of losing it like he did."

"Oh my God," Patricia whispered hoarsely. If she had to hear one more word, her stomach would involuntarily return the ice cream to Myra's kitchen floor. "I can't believe you would do this to me!" Her vision blurred as she rushed passed her and down the hall to the guest room. She could make it to Days Inn in less than ten minutes if she packed quickly.

"Patricia, wait," Myra called out behind her. "I'm sorry. I—like I said, I don't have any evidence and I could be mistaken. I admit, I met him when I was still getting over my divorce. I was suspicious of all men, so I realize I never took the time to get to know him. I could have misjudged. I just don't think..."

Patricia continued to pack her clothes, her body moving faster than her brain. Everything hurt, even her teeth.

"Please don't leave," Myra said as she tentatively stepped into the room. "Don't runaway just because things are uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" Patricia stopped packing and looked up at her ex friend. "Do you realize what you've just done? Did you stop long enough to think about what you were saying? You just accused my husband of—" the word lodged in her throat "of sleeping with my daughter. My daughter, Myra!" she said, hurling a shirt into her bag." She shook her head. "I don't think I've ever felt so sick in all my life."

"I'm sorry."

"Go to hell."

Myra sighed. "I could be mistaken. Maybe I am... I just want to protect you and Ella. I'm just trying to be a good friend."

Patricia closed her eyes and breathed deeply to avoid hyperventilating and passing out. She had done that once as a child. A neighborhood bully had taken a brick and slammed it down onto a live baby bird that had fallen from its nest. She had been six and the image of blood and guts flying out from beneath the brick as it crushed its body still haunted her. It had caused her to pass out. She often wondered if the poor bird had known that a cruel painful death was approaching just seconds before the brick hit. If it had, she almost envied it. She wished she could have been warned about the crushing brick Myra had planned to deliver.

She opened her eyes and tried her best to keep her voice at a normal pitch. "Do you remember what Ella was like before?" she said slipping her bags over her shoulder. "She was barely alive. A warmed up corpse that didn't care about anything or anyone. She hated the world and was running as fast as she could toward a cliff."

Myra nodded, no doubt remembering how Patricia used to cry to her over the situation.

"He changed that, Myra. He brought her back from this dark abyss that she had locked herself in, and he did it for me because I couldn't. He made her laugh again. He forced her to care about things. And whether she wanted me in her life or not, he gave me some semblance of my daughter back, something no one else including me, her father, teachers, priests or even you, has been able to do."

She shook her head and walked to the bedroom door, forcing Myra out of the way. She stared down at her. "And now you want to take that special gift and turn it into something so vile, so—God, I can't even think about it. Well, I'm not going to let you do that to him. He has a good heart. I know now that he's not perfect, but he's loved and supported me and Ella unconditionally, so fuck you for trying to ruin that." She had never spoken so harshly to anyone besides Sam, but she couldn't find the words to soften how beyond offended she was.

"You're right," Myra said calmly. "And... maybe I've misread him. You do know him better than I do, and I will keep out of it from now on. But you're tired and you've gone through hell, and I've just made it worse, so please don't try to drive this late and this upset. Let's both sleep on it and in the morning I'm going to take you to Anderson Outlet to get a new purse. My treat."

"I don't need a new purse." She needed a new start. But as the words left her mouth, her strength left as well. Her body felt like she had swam the English Channel, but only after being wrapped in a body bag and beaten with metal bats.

"Tush. Every woman does." Myra smiled though her eyes were worried and remorseful. "And tomorrow, we won't speak a word about this and you can go back to thinking I'm your crazy, wonderful, outspoken friend, instead of the meddling insensitive bitch that I became tonight."

Patricia closed her eyes, a few bothersome tears finally spilling over. "I just want to go to bed."

"Okay." Myra slid the bag from her arms and placed them back in the room. "I hope you can forgive me. I truly am sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking as she quickly made her way to her bedroom.

Patricia stood still by the door. A searing emotional lead oozed through her body, holding her feet heavy against the floor.

Myra thought that Simon and Ella were...

This must be what it felt like to be buried alive. She couldn't move and each shallow gasp burned her lungs.

How could she possibly think they would...

She wanted to tune out everything that was said and start over. Rewind those last ten minutes of her life and burn them to ash and throw them to the wind as though they never existed.

She moved like a zombie through the room and sat down on the bed. Her eyes zoned in on the sweatpants she had forgotten in her hasty escape. They lay in a puddle on the floor with a slight bulge in the left pocket. She reached inside and removed the picture of Ella. She closed her eyes for a few seconds before unfolding the photo and staring down at her daughter.

Before tonight, she would have only thought for a moment about the photo and wondered why she had found it where she had, but she would have continued on with her life, the picture forgotten. But Myra's toxic words were like hearing 'don't look down' on the ledge of a skyscraper. She couldn't help but scroll through four years of memories since Simon had been in their lives...

Coming out of the house to find Simon and Ella laughing hysterically at the bottom of the steps after she'd slipped on ice and taken him down with her.

Trying to calm a yelling match between the two after Ella flashed a car full of guys on their way to dinner.

Walking into the kitchen late after work to find Ella holding a bloody tissue under Simon's nose, results of a shadow boxing lesson gone wrong.

Simon lifting Ella from their lawn a few weeks back when she'd gotten drunk. 'Or maybe you'd rather spank me' she had said earlier. But she was drunk. It hadn't meant anything. Just Ella wanting to get a rise out of all of them like she had done so many times in the past.

The two of them had an unusual relationship, but her own relationship with Ella couldn't be classified as the norm, so who was she to judge them.

People could interpret things wrong. She had seen a study on misinterpretations. A close-up of a man littering was actually him feeding homeless cats when the full picture was displayed. And that's what Myra had done. She wasn't around them enough to see the image in a wide lens, and her bitter divorce limited her view even more.

Still, a lone tear broke free and landed with a splat on the bottom corner of the photo. She quickly blotted it and put the picture, and Myra's words, away.

**********

Simon

Simon stared up at the light brown water marks that were scattered across the ceiling. The discoloration resembled coffee stains on a table cloth, further reminding him that everything about this motel was grimy and filthy and the last place he would ever leave Gabriella. If something would have happened to her, he...he pushed the thought far from his mind. His sanity was already hanging by an unraveling thread, no sense in severing it.

The shower made a creaking noise as he listened to the water splash about. He didn't need X-ray vision to know exactly what her caramel skin looked like covered in white suds and dripping wet. He'd seen it. Felt it. In the shower, she was playful, always wanting to give him a Mohawk or wrestle, insisting that the water evened the playing field.

And Patricia was usually more reserved, holding him tightly until the water ran cold and even then she hadn't wanted to let go.

He rubbed his eyes and groaned, ashamed that he had compared them. He fought hard to keep intimate thoughts of one far from the other, because on the rare occasion those lines blurred, he felt sick in body...and mind.

He tried to reason that had Gabriella not been his stepdaughter, someone who he saw daily and felt responsible for, their relationship would have only been a fling. He hated that word. Fling. As if it were that insignificant, something he could just toss away and be done with; when in reality a fling could destroy everything. But that's what she would have been had she just been Ella, the knock-out in his two o'clock Tuesday and Thursday classes. Their sexual escapades would have gone no further than his office and soon he would have realized what he was ruining with Patricia and stopped, leaving his life unharmed. But the truth was she was Gabriella, his beautiful but troubled stepdaughter, who he lived with and cared about deeply. Too deeply.