Grayscale

Chapter Twenty-Five

"What the fuck, Gabriel? What are you doing?" This is what I woke up to at seven in the morning. Gabriel was standing a few feet away from the door to the bathroom, a white hotel towel wrapped around his waist. I was lying in the bed facedown, the covers only up to my waist. If I had been laying any other way, this situation would be a thousand fold more embarrassing. I wasn't wearing any clothes – which, while it made sense considering the past night's events, was still not quite perfect, considering I was in the room with a total stranger.

 It was a man with salon-perfect highlights speaking to Gabriel. Probably a co-worker. He looked like one of the suits from the coffee shop.

 "Jesus, Brandon, get – wait, did you just let yourself in? I didn't even give you a key."

"I took one last night before I left the room. By the sounds of your conversation, I figured I might need it. Looks like I was right. Does Mia know?"

"Can this conversation wait?" Gabriel was tense. His shoulders were tightened, and with the hand that wasn't supporting his towel, he ran his hand through his hair. "I'm a little busy."

 "So, Mia doesn't know?"

 "Brandon, I said I'm busy," Gabriel snapped. "This conversation can wait. Get the fuck out."

 "I'm calling her," he stated, before turning around and slamming the door behind him.

Gabriel didn't seem to remember that I was there for a second. He whipped around and slammed his hand against the bathroom's door frame, and then he deflated, letting his head fall and rest against it, too. "Fuck," he sighed. "Fuck."

 This was when I decided it might be good to see what the hell was going on. And then my phone started ringing, and Gabriel turned back around, remembering that he had a guest. "Calypso, I'm sor–"

 I picked up my phone and held my hand up to him, cutting him off before he could offer his excuses for whatever had just happened. Who was Mia? "Yeah?" I greeted the caller.

 "Calypso Elizabeth Fairchild, where are you?" My mom hissed. "I have called you seventeen times and text you eleven. Your brother has called you at least half a dozen times. I was getting so worried I even had your father call. Where the fuck are you?"

I was half-tempted to hang up. Before I could convince myself that was a good idea though, I found myself telling her the truth – a version of it, anyway – and that was a hundred times worse. "I'm in a hotel room. I went out last night."

 The other end of the line went silent for a moment, before my mom asked very quietly, "Where are you, exactly, Calypso?"

"In a hotel room. It doesn't matter, Mom. I've got to go. I've got stuff to take care of." I did hang up then, because I couldn't handle trying to explain to her what happened last night and why I was here. All I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and forget about everything that had happened. I wanted Gabriel to lay with me and help me forget. I just . . . I didn't want to explain, to be questioned, to have to think.

 I didn't really want to be alive, if I were being honest. That was what it really was.

And I knew it was wrong to feel like that, but I couldn't help it. Now that I was really awake, I remembered why I was there. I remembered the bandages and the blood – there was so much – and I remembered Reed, and my thoughts were so crushing. Everything was so hard to handle, and suddenly, I just couldn't breathe, no matter how hard I tried.

"Who's Mia?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the crushing weight of my thoughts.

 His silence was the only answer I needed to confirm what I already knew.