Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the HSM franchise in any way, shape or form. Nor do I hold any rights to Willow by Julia Hoban.
A/N: I know what you're thinking, "How did a 3 day wait turn into a 3 week wait?" And here's the answer: school sucks and I wish Pages had auto-save or I at least remember to press save more frequently. In short: sorry! Thanks again to xZANESSA4LIFEx, Tayweezy, UnwrittenSpeech, Bridget129, pumpkinking5, and Clembo29. Oh and thank you to everyone who has added this story to their Favorite Stories list. It means a lot to me. And here's the chapter we've all been waiting for! Enjoy!
to Tayweezy: Hey! lmao Glad you though the last chapter was "hm hm god" (did you mean good? I'm just going to assume you did. =D) Anywho, yes, Troy loves his hugs, especially when they're from her. Eek! I'm to crush your hopes of getting this out earlier. Better late then never though. and haha.. thanks for the birthday greeting! Thanks for the awesome review! Hope you enjoy this chapter! XD
to pumpkinking5: "Wow!" is right. Yeah, the last chapter was a lot for her to take in. Genevieve was pretty cold in the last chapter. Keep in mind that, it wasn't so much that she found out Lucille knew her mom (because Gabriella met Lucille and Troy in the same night on New Years Eve ), it was more that Lucille didn't know about the accident. Thank you so much for all the support and I'm loving that you're enjoying the twist and turns of this story! XD
Gabriella watches Lucille as she sips on the warm mug in her hand. She observes the way Lucille coddles the baby in her circles around the kitchen's island. In a few months she'll be watching her sister do the same exact thing with baby Maria. Lucille and Genevieve were two completely different people, but they had one thing in common- they were mothers. It's such a simple label with so many different meanings and responsibilities.
"Please help yourself to the cookies, Gabriella," Lucille says as she places Sydney in her playpen. The woman, essentially the female version of Troy, sits down in front of her and joins her manicured hands on top of the glass table. "Sweetheart," she begins softly, "what exactly did you mean by an accident?"
The brunette takes a swig of the tea that somewhat seems to burn her throat. She lowers her head, not willing to look into those blue orbs called eyes. How could she tell her? She had basically broken down when she had told Troy and now, it pains her to think about the accident. Her eyes drift shut and she can picture getting into the car on that cold night.
With her eyes still shut, she begins to voice her words carefully. "We were in the car and another car swerved in our lane." Her voice is steady and she feels a sense of pride for being able to control her feelings. Feeling a bit stronger, she opens her eyes and dares herself to look at her. "We- she - didn't stand a chance," she struggles to say.
"Oh sweetheart," Lucille gasps, "I'm so sorry."
She's heard it time and time again over the years, but it changes nothing. Politely, she nods and takes another sip of her tea. The images of that night still play in her head and she wills them to go away.
"Where are you living now?"
"With my sister and her husband just a couple of blocks over," she says as she attempts to focus on the hot liquid in front of her.
"That's so sweet of her to take you in."
Sweet? Take me in? You make it sound like I'm some stray dog. God dammit! I'm her sister and yet she treats me like a stranger most of the time.
Despite knowing that Lucille meant well, something about the older woman's words strike a chord with her. A power struggle begins with her as the images in her won't stop. She is jostled out of her thoughts when she hears something crash. To here ears, it's a fainter version of the metal frame of a car crushing. The warm mug slips from her hand, causing it to shatter, and she jumps to her feet.
The images begin to play and she's torn between picking up the broken mug and saving herself.
"Are you alright dear? Oh, look at that! Your shirt is all wet."
"I'm so sorry," she stutters as she backs away from her mess.
"Don't worry about it, dear. Things break all the time in this don't you go into the bathroom and clean yourself up?"
Without a moment of hesitation she rushes around the corner and into the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she slides down into the fetal position. The shattering of the mug echos in her ears and mix with imaginary sound of glass cracking.
Why do I break so easily?
She places her head on her forearm and attempts to focus on her breathing. The images play in her head in reverse, beginning with the shattering of glass. They won't stop, no matter how hard she wishes them away.
I should of grabbed a piece of that broken mug.
Seconds. Minutes. Maybe hours pass before she hear a soft knock and Troy's voice through the door. She struggles to stand, but when she does, she yanks the door open and clings to him.
He stands momentarily stunned before wrapping his strong arms around her.
The images and the noises in her head don't vanish instantaneously, but as she uses him as her anchor to reality, they slowly fade away. Is it possible that she needs his hugs just as much as he needs hers?
-
-
Four hours later found Troy and Gabriella on his bed with a pizza box separating them, the television providing their background music.
"I scarred them away," she mutters before taking a bite of her pineapple and ham pizza.
"No you didn't. They like eating out every often because mom isn't the world's best cook. Don't take it personal," he says as he reaches for his second slice of pepperoni pizza."How can you eat that? Cooked fruit on a pizza is disgusting."
"Delicious is what is. All I need is some ranch dressing and this would be the best thing on the planet. Don't knock it till you try it," she says as she picks a pineapple off of her slice and aims it at him. "Speaking of which, you should really try eat more than just pizza all day."
He dodges the fruit piece while scrunching up his face in disgust and throws it in the pizza box. "Fine, we'll get Chinese food next time."
"Who said that there will be a next time? We finished the whole project, didn't we?" she says with a smirk. "Besides, I'm allergic to sesame seeds."
"What if I 'accidentally' got pizza sauce on it? Then we'd have to start over. Oh and good to know, because if we did order Chinese, I would of ordered sesame chicken."
"You better not or I just might not speak to you again. If you did order sesame chicken, my face would of swelled up to resemble a puffer fish. Believe me, that is not a pretty sight."
"Awe, I bet you would be a cute puffer fish."
"Oh yeah, because an accumulation of fluid in my face is so attractive," she says dryly.
"Okay, maybe not," he says before taking another bite out of his pizza.
"Want to try some?" she asks as she holds the end of her pizza to him.
"No, I'm good."
"It's really yummy," she practically sings and leans over the pizza box to bring it closer to his mouth.
"Bring that any closer to me and I'll smear pizza sauce on your shirt," he tells her menacingly as he moves out of her reach.
Gabriella simply shrugs, completely unfazed. "Go ahead, it's not like it's my shirt. Okay, your stare is kind of making me uncomfortable. Especially with you smiling like that," she adds the latter sentences as his eyes scan her upper body.
He looks away, cheeks tinted with red. "Sorry, it's just weird to see you in my shirt. You're like drowning in a sea of plaid."
"I know, and I thought your letterman jacket was big," she muses as she shoves her left sleeve down to get a better grip on her pizza.
"Here, let me fold your sleeve," he says as he sets down his own pizza and holds his hands out for her. "C'mon, it's just me," he coos when she looks at him hesitantly.
Sighing, she sets down her pizza and gives him her arm, like she did when he cleaned up her cuts. She watches as he carefully rolls the plaid material up, stopping at three fingers width of exposed skin. "Thanks," she mutters as he drops her thin wrist and reaches for the other sleeve to treat it the same.
With the exception of her parents, never in her life has someone cared for her like this. The tenderness that Troy shows her, makes her even more uncomfortable than his smirking gaze. Her eyes drift around the room, taking in ever square inch that was his bedroom They settle on a wooden box with 'World's Greatest Dad' painted on the side in green paint. She turns back to him, lifting an eyebrow. "You're not forgetting to tell me that Sydney is really your daughter, are you?"
He looks baffled, mouth opening and closing sever times before he says, "What?"
She points across the room to the shelf that held several sports trophies and the single wooden box. "It was among the trophies, one can only assume tha-"
"It's not mine," he says quickly. "I mean it is, but it wasn't for me. It was for my dad for father's day. My dad was a carpenter and so he built stuff all the time."
"Sounds like the opposite of my dad. He barely knew how to change a tire and that's only because my mom taught him." She pauses as her words echo in her head. "Does it get easier?"
"Does what get easier?"
"Talking about your dad. I know that this seems like a silly question because I did lose my dad like four years ago and so I already know what it's like to a parent. But it's different this time around."
"What makes this time any different?"
"Because I had my mom and sister as my support back then. We laughed and cried and just reminisced on our favorite memories of dad."
"You still have your sister to do all that stuff with,"
"It's not the same. She doesn't treat me the same as she did back then. It's funny, our dad's death brought us closer together and our mom's death drove a wedge between us. I wonder who has to die now to bring us back together."
"Have you always been this negative?" he asks with a slight frown gracing his features.
Pausing for a moment, her mind drifts to an earlier time in her life. She finds it hard to paint a clear picture of just who 'Ella' was. That part of her life is clouded and blurred- entirely too far for her to grasp. "I'm not really sure, but it doesn't really matter because this is who I am now."
"Okay, let me rephrase that: do you have to be so negative? It doesn't hurt to look at things from a different perspective every once in awhile."
"Well, I'm sorry," she says sharply,"I can't think of a single way to make my mother's death into something positive."
"I didn't mean it like that. I just-" He cuts himself off with a groan of frustration. "You are so difficult to talk to!"
"I can leave if you want," she offers, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed.
"No! Don't," he says firmly, grabbing her by the elbow. "I'm sorry. It's just that in the back of my mind, I'm always worrying about if I'm saying the wrong thing."
"Troy," she begins softly as she turns back to him, "you should know by now that there is no telling what will set me off. Earlier, it was the sound of metal crushing followed by the mug braking. Those little noises were enough to send me into that little panic attack you walked into in on in the bathroom."
It's the little things that make it all too real.
He looks at her thoughtfully, an almost guilty expression gracing his face. He clears his throat and reaches back into the pizza box, picking up her slice of pizza and hands it back to her. "I think we've reached our quota of how much seriousness we can take in a day," he mutters as she timidly takes the pizza from him. "Wanna watch a movie and just get lost in it for awhile? You know, escape reality?"
Gabriella considers his offer for a bit. It has been a long day and she can't even remember the last time she allowed herself to enjoy a movie. She let's out a huge sigh, finding it somewhat annoying that she allows herself to bend to his every whim. "Want do you have?"
He smiles triumphantly and practically bounces off the bed. "Close your eyes."
Her eyebrow raises and she tilts her head to the side. Maybe she doesn't bend to his every whim. "Excuse me?"
"Turn away from the television at least."
She obliges, chewing on her pizza. "Just don't put any horror flick, okay?" she tells him as she feels the bed move, leaving her to assume that he was getting up.
"Don't worry, I think you'll like what I pick," he calls from outside of the bedroom.
The next thing she hears is heavy footsteps as he walks back into the room, the DVD player opening, the television momentarily silencing, then.."The Parent Trap?" Not believing her ears, she turns around to see the opening credits of her favorite movie with Troy standing by his television smiling.
"Surprised?"
Yes! He remembers what my favorite movie is after four months?
"Why do you even have this movie?"
"It's my mom's goddaughter's favorite movie. She left it here when she came down for a visit," he says as he studies her reaction. "I did it again, didn't I? We can put in a different movie if-"
"No, no. This is great!" she says with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. She can't help, but smile at his thoughtfulness. Settling onto his pillows agains his backboard and a smile on her face, she moves the pizza box to make room for him. "It's just what I needed."
Troy celebrates his success by pumping his fist in the air and jumping onto the bed, causing a giggling Gabriella and the pizza box to bounce. "Excellent," he says with a grin as he positions himself beside her.
-
-
"Ohmygosh! This movie is so gory!" Gabriella screams as a thick red liquid squirts from the main actor on the screen.
"That's really ironic coming from you," he muses as he glances up at her from where his head rested on her lap.
"Shut up," she says with a quick glare. "It's need about the blood. It just looks so fake and..gosh...How can you watch this?"
"Because I find it really amusing."
"What part? When a quart of red paint is pouring out of a stab in his shoulder?"
"That and your reaction," he says with a smirk, causing her to roll her eyes.
"How much longer until this over?" she asks as she looks anywhere, but at the screen. "Why is there no clock in here?"
"I knocked it off my nightstand- by accident."
"Of course you did," she mutters and strains her ears to hear the distinct sound of a garage door opening. "Oh crap. Your mom's home."
"So?"
"Well, let's see. I was here when they went out for dinner and I'm still here now that they're done."
"Troy, we brought you some food!" Lucille calls as she walks down the hall with Sydney in her arms.
"Get off me!" Gabriella says in a harsh whisper before Lucille pops her head into Troy's room. But it's too late because Lucille now stands in the doorway with Sydney perched on her hip.
The older woman studies them carefully, hiding her surprise well as she watches the petite brunette move from beneath her son. "Oh, Gabriella. I didn't think you'd still be here."
"Sorry, we kind of lost track of time. Literally." He gestures to his broken alarm clock on his nightstand.
"Well it's nearly 10:45 now."
"And that translates to: 'Troy, you should really take her home now'. We hear you loud and clear, mom."
"I hate to be the parent in this situation, but it is a school night."
"We understand, Mrs. Bolton. So sorry, to overstay my welcome," Gabriella apologizes as she attempts to hide her reddening face.
"No, no you aren't dear. In fact, why don't you and your sister and her husband come over for dinner next week. It seems silly that we always see each other at the groceries and homeowners meeting, yet we've never had dinner together. I guess it's because she was Troy's teacher and it would of just been awkward. But now that you two are dating- "
"We're not dating," she says quickly.
"Oh," she says as she looks between the two of them, confusion in her eyes. "Well, you three should come over anyways."
"That'll be nice."
"Okay, I've got my keys. Let's get out of here," Troy says as he already has one foot out his door.
"I'm sorry for the mess in the kitchen," she apologizes once again as she hoists her bag onto her shoulder.
"Don't worry about it. Have a good night, dear."
"You too. Bye," she mutters as she silently follows Troy through the house and out the front door. "What happened to your trash can?" she asks as they reach his truck and spot the crushed silver bin.
"That was the crash you heard earlier," he says as he scratches the back of neck with one hand and holds the car door open for her with the other.
"Oh," she says as she slides into her seat and he slams the door.
"Ready to go home?" he asks as he sticks the key in the ignition and begins to back out of his driveway.
Hell no!
"You seem anxious," Troy muses as they turn on to her street. "What is it that you're avoiding?"
"It's nothing," she fibs quickly as she looks down the road and watches as the house gets closer and closer. "It's just late and a school night. I forgot to call Genevieve and tell her that I was going to be late."
Troy's truck pulls to a stop in front of the Moretti house. He turns to her and asks, "Do you want me to come in with you? Maybe it'll help."
She tucks a loose curl be hind her ear as her eyes try to map out his face in the dark. If she squints hard enough, she can see his blue eyes starring at her intently. Shaking her head, she says, "You being there might make her want to talk more." Because Troy Bolton absolutely loves her hugs, she briefly gives him a side hug that lasted no more than two seconds. "Thanks again for dinner and putting up with me today," she says as she edges closer to the passenger door.
"Anytime," he says with a smile that could light up the night.
Gabriella shoves the door open and she hops out, closing the door quietly behind her. Five steps. Five steps across the luscious green grass was all she took before running back to the truck. Without even asking for permission, she gets back in the truck and slams the door. "I don't care where you take me. I just can't enter that house yet." The words stumble over each other and she cannot bare to look him into the eyes.
He shifts the truck into drive and manages a U-turn. Silence wraps around them as they drive back to his house. Like the gentleman that he is, he helps her down from the truck and takes her by the hand to lead her to the back of the house. "Wait here," he says just as they enter the back gate.
What the hell am I doing here? She thinks as she watches him retreat through the darkness. Suddenly she regrets not being able to make it through the front steps. Why must she be so weak? She is so close to banging her head into the wooden gate when she feels a hand on her lower back. A scream is on the tip of her tongue just as she hears his soothing voice.
"C'mon, I know the perfect hideout." Troy's hand drops from her lower back and grasps her hand. With a flashlight in hand, he leads her through the massive Bolton backyard, pass the concrete basketball court and small garden. They come to a stop at the base of an elaborate tree house. Wordlessly, he gestures for her to scales the wood steps first.
"Wow," Gabriella breathes when Troy joins her at the top, flicking on a battery powered lantern. The tree house is reminiscent of a house with a wrap around porch. A thick rope is what stops them from falling off the wooden platform. The actual inside of the tree house was simple with cushions dispersed freely on the floor. It wasn't amazing, but it felt safe.
"Make yourself at home," he says as he makes his way to a series of jumbled ropes. "This is the best part of being up here."
She watches as he pulls on one of the ropes and above them, the roof opens up, to reveal the twinkling stars above them. It's been awhile since she took the time to just look up at the shining night sky. "Cozy little hideaway you have up here," she compliments as she collapses onto one of the cushions.
"Yeah, well my dad helped me build it when they told me that they were splitting up," he says, getting a distant look in his eye. "He wanted it to be a place where I could escape to and just forget about everything. You know, just a place to disappear to for awhile."
"Wish I had a place like this growing up."
"Yeah, it was pretty sweet," Troy says as he abandons the rope mechanism and makes his way to a large plastic bin with a matching white lid.
"What's in the box?"
"Books."
"Awe, are you afraid of what your friends would think if they knew you were a bookworm?" she teases as she pushes herself off of the cushion and makes herself over to him.
"Maybe."
"If being a bookworm is part of who you are, then you shouldn't be ashamed of it," she says as she lifts the lid and begins to rummage through the bin.
"So, is it safe to assume that you aren't ashamed of being a cutter?"
But she doesn't here him because she is too stunned by the two books she holds in her hands- one black with red lines layered over the sing-worded title and the other a stark white with mock grey blood splotches in one corner a red slice opposite of it. A single word joins the contrasting book covers: cut. Flipping them over, she quickly skims the summaries. As suspected, both books are about cutters. "What are you doing with these?"
"Some people read for enjoyment. I read to understand and for the occasional enjoyment." His nonchalant tone contrasts greatly with the edge in her voice.
"Does it help?"
"Sort of. I mean, for the most part I can empathize with the characters. That's the great thing about first person narratives. You get a look into a person's brain and see everything how they see it," he says as he takes the books out of her hands. "Which brings me back to my original question: are you ashamed of being a cutter?"
She sighs and keeps her hands busy by ruffling though the rest of the bin. "No, but I'm not exactly proud of it either." Picking out a random book, she reads the back cover. Suicide-pack? She asks herself before picking out another book. Again words such as 'depression' and 'suicide' pop out at her. The covers are worn, signifying that they weren't new purchases like the other two books.
I wonder what he was trying to understand with these.
"Although they are two completely different things, that's kind of how I feel about reading. It's just something personal that I don't think needs to broadcasted to all of East High."
Gabriella nods understandingly and shuffles through the books some more. "Got any books about dealing with a bipolar sibling?"
"Thinking about giving it to your sister?"
She lifts her head, narrows her dark eyes at him, and then turns on heels to make her way back to the cushion she previously occupied. "I wasn't talking about Genevieve. Well I was, but not in that way." She falls back onto another cushion so that she's looking up at the night sky.
"Does this have anything to do with why you're putting off going home?"
"In a way, yes. I failed my my Spanish test."
"So you're afraid that your sister will flip out on you?"
"I wish! That would of been better."
"I'm not following."
"Before I went to the gym, I ran into Genevieve then we an into one of her old friends. She acted as if nothing ever happened. Like everything was perfectly fine."
"Why is that such a bad thing?"
"Because everything is not fine! For God's sake! She completely ignored that our mother was dead. I wish you were there to hear her. She regarded her death as nothing!"
"Maybe you're reading into this wrong. Think about it. Maybe she wanted to spare you from having to talk about it. Or she just didn't want to turn a chance encounter sour."
"Oh and I suppose you think it's sweet that she took me in too."
"You lost me again."
"Earlier when I had that talk with your mom, she said that if anything happened to her or Coach then she would hope that you would take her in. It was sweet of her to do so."
"I suppose it is sweet, but I'd image it to be pretty difficult too. But wasn't she sort of expected to take care of you?"
"So, you're saying that she felt obligated to take me in?" she asks with an eye roll as she tries to make herself comfortable on the cushions. "Jeez, that makes me loads better."
"No, no. I didn't mean it like that. It's just that she's your sister and she loves you, why wouldn't she take you in?"
She bites down on her bottom lip and allows her eyes to drift shut as she thinks about his words. She's never looked at it that. "If you were Genevieve, do you think that you'd ever be able to look at me the same way? Could you still love me?" She hears his heavy footsteps and can sense that he came to sit by her.
"I don't know where you're getting all of these ideas from, but I don't doubt that your sister loves you."
"But, how can she? I ruined everything for her?"
"You didn't ruin anything."
"You don't understand. She was practically handed a teenager and told, 'Here you go. You're the parent now.' Instead of going from point A to point B with her daughter, she went from point A to point X. She's going to be walking into parent-teacher conferences with a screaming baby in her arms. Do you think she really wants that?"
"Of course she doesn't want it, but half the things that happen in life isn't exactly what we want."
"I think we're spending too much time together. You're beginning to sound like me," she says as she hears his chuckle and heavy footsteps come closer. Cracking an eye open, she sees him looking down at her with a thoughtful expression. She suddenly feels like she's a micro-organism under the scrutinizing gaze of a microscope. Immediately regretting it, she snaps her eye back shut and pretends that he wasn't there. She sees why he loves this place so much. Like her balcony at Genevieve's house, it was easy to make yourself feel invisible up here. "Thank you for sharing your hideaway with me."
"You know, you're the second girl that I've had up here. The first being my mom."
"Well, don't I feel special?"
"You should," he mutters to himself, but tells her,."It's always here for you when you need it. Just like me."
Gabriela knows that she should thank him for such kind words, but she finds it hard to speak as she feels his feather light touch brush down the side of her face.
He is just so...sweet.
-
-
"Thanks for walking me home," she says as they come to a halt on the front steps of the Moretti front steps. "You really didn't have to."
"Gabriella, you should know by now that I did have to," he says with an easy smile. "Are you ready to face your sister?"
"It's late, so I'm kind of hoping that I can ignore the whole situation. Well, for today at least."
"Good luck with that. I'll see you in the morning. Want me to swing by and pick you up?"
"Yeah, that'll be great."
Troy opens up his arms to her and she happily obliges, wrapping her arms around his midsection. "Night," he mutters into her hair and squeezes her tightly before releasing her.
The world around them seems to stand still as she smiles up at him. Again, she imagines what onlookers might think. They look so normal, wrapped up in each other's presence. Perhaps if it were a different place and a different time, then this wouldn't of been such a platonic exchange. She drops her arms from his waist and takes a step back, crossing her arms under her chest. "Be careful," she calls to him as he descends down the front steps. "Call me when you get home. You know, so that I know you got back safely."
Troy turns back to her and in the faint light of the street lights, she can see his ever-present smile. He raises his hand to his forehead in a mock salute and waves before turning back down the street.
Gabriella waits until he rounds the corner before fishing her key out of her bag. She is careful to not make a lot of noise as she steps into her sister's house. The hallway lights are on, as well as the kitchen's. Her ears strain to hear even the faintest of sounds, but all she hears is the air condition running.
Thank God.
The fifth step creaks as she makes her way up the stair steps, catching her off guard.
"Gabriella?"
It is Adam's voice she hears first. Pivoting on the step, she makes her way back down the steps and towards the kitchen entrance where she drops her bag. Stopping in the doorway, she is surprised to see Adam and Genevieve sitting calmly at the dinner table.
"Do you have any idea what time it is? "
"I'm sorry, we lost track of time."
"Obviously," Genevieve snaps. "And that grade on your Spanish test. Did you think that I would forget?"
"Mrs. Clark said that I could make it up." Gabriella stutters, nervous about her sister's tone. "That their would be some extra credit I could do."
"That's not the point. You could probably teach that class and yet you still failed."
"I don't know that happened. I knew the material. I just freaked."
"Maybe it's not a good idea for you to be working at the daycare anymore. If you're having trouble balancing the two, then-"
"No!" She cuts Genevieve off quickly, her words sinking in, causing a burst of panic to erupt in her body. "I can handle them! You can't force me to stop working there."
"Yes I can."
"Stop it! You're not mom!" she screams, catching herself off guard for her bluntness. But not nearly as much as what comes out of her sister's mouth.
"Yeah, and who's fault is that?"
Gabriella's hand flies to her mouth as Genevieve's razor sharp words slice through her train of thoughts. Each syllable cuts deep, but its meaning completely shatters her. She doesn't notice the way her sister's face pales, nor the way Adam looks back and forth between the two of them. All that matters is her sister's confession. She had always speculated that her sister hated her and blamed her, but she still carried a tiny torch of hope that her sister loved her. If it weren't for the wall behind her, she would surely collapse.
"I didn't mean it like that, Gabriella," Genevieve stutters as she pushes away from the table.
Her eyes drift close as she attempts to block the impending images from her head. "Yes you did," she croaks as she pushes herself off the wall. She opens her eyes just in time to see Adam helping her sister stand. The swell of Genevieve's stomach glares at her, as if confirming its mother's words. She's had enough and heads for the stairs without a second thought.
Gabriella can feel her heart beating wildly in her chest as she storms into her room, effectively locking her door behind her. The noise is too loud for her as she slides down the door and pulls her knees to her chest, burying her face into the folds of her sweater. It's not just Genevieve's and Adam's voice that is overwhelming her, but the screech of tires. The melancholy sound of the car's frame crushing. The bone chilling sound of her mother's scream. An insistent ringing blends with the array of sounds and she shakily straightens her legs to ease the phone out of her pocket. The screen glows with a familiar name and she doesn't hesitate to answer it.
"Hey! I didn't wake you, did I?"
Despite the fact that the phone is pressed flush against her ear, his voice sounds like it's miles away. Her eyes are shut tight in desperation for an ounce of control. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
"Gabriella?" Troy asks with concern lacing his voice.
His voice comes out stronger, but it's not enough to cleanse her mind of the horrid thoughts. "Yes." She manages to breath out the monosyllable with much effort as she pulls her knees back to her chest.
"Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?"
"No," she breathes weakly as she struggles to stand.
"Okay," Troy says slowly.
Staggering over to her nightstand, she takes sharp breaths as she rummages through the overflowing drawer. It takes her seconds for her fingertips to grip the thin metal. Gabriella presses her back to the box spring of her bed as she listens to his even breathing. The crushing of a car is no longer the only thing pulling her under. Images begin to form in her head. First she sees the bright lights heading straight for her. Then she sees her mother's face intact, but her eyes glazed over and her mouth open. She can't wait any longer.
Gabriella pushes up her shirt. She poises the blade over the scarred expanse of her lower abdominals. The tip of the blade pierces her skin, causing her to gasp from the pain. With firm pressure and a steady hand, she draws a thin line on her stomach. Blood seeps through the path that the blade has engraved. As she lifts the blade from the smooth surface, she remembers to breathe.
The pictures still haven't stopped so she takes a sharp breath before the repeating the motion over and over again. Each slice is deeper than the last and finally the scene - noise and all - begins to fade. When the blade has finished its job, she drops the blade and examines her handiwork through half-closed eyes. Droplets of blood contrast with her pale skin. She suddenly feels weak and lowers herself to the cold floor.
"I'm still here," Troy reminds her through the phone. It's not condescending or demanding- just an anchor to keep her to reality. His breathing is steady and she does her best to match his pace. Her eyes drift shut in content and she clutches the phone for dear life. The silence that echoes in the room is comforting her like a security blanket. As the final element to lull her to a dreamless sleep, she focuses on the steady breathing over the phone.
Gabriella's life was far from the picture perfect scripts written for television: no father, no mother, no love from her sister, nothing that really matters. But in this moment -drugged by the feeling of her cuts and lulled to sleep by the melodic breathing of the only person who might possibly care- everything was perfect. Or at least close to it.
A/N: *bites nails* How was that? I know that was a lot to take in, but I needed it to build things up to that last scene.
On another note, for some inconceivable reason, the chapters seem to be getting longer. Was it better when I broke down chapters so that it's like half the length of this?
I think I caught all the errors, but because I don't write in sequential order, I might of missed something. Sorry!
Thank you for reading and please review!
Much Love,
Kae xx
p.s. As of the moment I post this chapter, my pen name on here will be changed from KKK-DouBLe-KaeKae to KaeSquared.
