“It entails your promise to sleep right after or at the very least, relax while watching a movie in the guest bedroom downstairs.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Her sharp brow lifts, but it’s the grateful expression I’m captivated by. What have they done to you, sweet girl? “This is all I’ll ask of you.”
“Thank you.” The tension in her body drains, and a bashful smile takes place. “You got yourself a deal, and I want another piece, please.”
“I’m a man of my word.” Standing from the table, I walk into the kitchen and pick up the pie she chose and take it back with me, placing it before her to take another slice. And she does so without prompting, opting for the larger cut while I’m left swallowing hard and reminding myself that I need to go slow for her.
I’m an obsessed man with this beautiful girl.
I’m going to enamor her until I’m the only thing she can focus on and allow as a distraction.
“Seriously, this place is a gem. Makes everything temporarily better.”
“How can I make that feeling everlasting?” Picking up my wine glass, I take a sip of the sweet red liquid. “We can do this at your pace, Gabriella, but please know I’m here for you. I will listen and help you get through this as best as I can.”
She swallows her bite, nodding her head. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“And are you ready to talk?”
“No.” Even though the one word shuts down the subject, her tone is apologetic and the last thing I want is for her to feel remorse of any kind. Extending a hand toward her, I wiggle my fingers until she smiles and places her warm hand in mine. “Now what?”
“Now, you breathe and eat and then lay down. In that order.” Her fingers squeeze mine at that. “I will not push you to talk tonight, but tomorrow is another day. At some point you’ll need to, and I hope you trust me enough to accept my help.”
“Thank you.”
“None needed, but if you don’t hurry up with that, I’ll be stealing—” I’m cut off by her pretending to stab my hand with the fork.
“Touch it and die.”
“Dare me.”
“You wouldn’t dare harm my sensitive mind tonight, would you? Someone under traumatic stress?” I’m surprised by her humor but don’t let on and instead, grab her plate with the pie and pull it toward me. Gabriella doesn’t approve and growls at me, the sound so damn cute, and I smirk. “Put it back.”
“Apologize.”
“Sorry,” she mumbles under her breath, face pinched. “Now give it.”
“Only because you’re just as sweet.”
“You suck.” A bark of laughter rumbles through my chest while she giggles. It goes on like this for a while; the harder I chuckle, she does too. Tears spring to her eyes and Gabriella wipes away the few that fall, shaking her head as her amusement lingers. “I needed that, you know.”
“Needed what?”
“To laugh, because all I’ve done today is pretend.” Gabriella takes her hand from mine and runs it down her face, the action showing me a glimpse of her true emotions. There’s frustration but also fear. “I keep telling myself that it’s not real. That this is a dream, but it’s not, and the fact remains that a man was killed in my backyard and I stared down a large snake while discovering the body. There’s no getting rid of that mental picture. There are no words to calm down the panic I feel at just the thought of going home, but tomorrow I will because facing my problems head on is what I’ve always done. This is just another disturbing blip in my road.”
“You don’t have to do it alone this time.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Theodore. Sadly, I do.”
18
Gabriella
T
here’s something so comforting about finding someone with the same affinity as you. To stumble across the same similarities while opening yourself up to the possibility of more even in the midst of chaos. It gives you an anchor. A reason to ignore reality, even if it’s for a few minutes.
What that more is, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never quite figure it out, but today he’s brought me peace within a whirlwind of fear that’s made me thankful—susceptible to his every charm.
It’s in the simplicity of a look or a conversation about the preference he has for the color black, one that matches my own. Because colors and shades are things I understand, and within his home and our conversation I found a bit of normalcy, a tranquil middle ground for my mind that’s fighting back panic while high on whatever concoction the ER department gave me.
And while I appreciate the reprieve these medications have given me, they’re not long lasting nor do they erase the damage done.
My eyes shift, and I look from right to left and right again. I take in the elegant wallpaper on one wall with what looks to be a black lattice design and then toward the gold sconces, giving the living room a warm feel. There’s opulence here and from my quick glance, I can tell that these items are made out of real gold and not painted metal. At least, to a degree, as the karat and thickness and other materials used all come into play.
Every square inch of his home is decorated in different shades of the lustrous color—contrasting beautifully against each other while bringing its uniqueness to the forefront. The items give his home a gothic Victorian aura, a sense of what’s dark and edgy, yet to me, it also feels homey. It puts me at ease.
Is it smart of me to even be here? No.
Do I find myself caring? No. At the moment, I don’t.
