Gabriel

18. Punches and Pains

MAEVE

I hear footsteps walking away and the sound of clanking coming from the kitchen. I huff out a frustrated sigh and head into the bathroom. Fück fück fück. I think as I pace back and forth the length of the bathroom. I fidget with the sleeves of my shirt, curling them over my closed fists, then opening them to flex before curling again in anger. I want it so badly right now:

My safe haven. My pain. My escape.

And all I can think in my confused and jumbled up mind right now is how Gabriel took it away from me. My razors and my sharp edges that give the release I so desperately need. And all the rage just keeps on building up inside me with no release. I pull on the closest thing in my vicinity- which happens to be the shower curtain- until it comes tumbling down inside the tub.

My fists are still shaking and my breathing heavy. The wall comes into contact with my fist and I let out a painful yelp, but the pain is good.

The pain feels amazing. It's inexplicable, but feeling something, anything other than anger right now is not an option. Getting so lost in the pain and drowning in the anger helps a bit as I hit the wall with my cut and bleeding knuckles until I feel strong arms wrap around my own. I now instantaneously from the way that sparks shoot up my hands and throughout my whole arms that it's Gabriel. I fight against it for a minute, yelling out all the curses under the sun as I try to get out of his strong grip to no avail.

Once I'm out of breath yelling out how awful he is, my knees buckle, dragging us both to the ground with my dead weight. We just sit there breathing heavily, him still not having said a word until he breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry, baby girl. I really am. But I can change what I've done. I can only make it up to you in the future", he says breathing heavily from our previous struggle. If this were to have happen twenty-four hours earlier, I would probably be crying right now because I wouldn't know any better. But no, as his grip loosens from behind I am overcome with numbness, feeling nothing as I stand up. He does too.

"Are you okay-", he starts taking a step closer, but I step back, making him stop. I can't look at his face as we just stand there, my deep breathing the only sound occupying the small space.

"You can leave now", I say, my voice barley above a whisper. He hesitates for a moment, giving me a chance to look up. His eyes are filled with remorse and sorrow, but I can feel nothing but discontent for the man that took away my escape. He finally turns around and takes a step before stopping. With his back still turned he says, "Make sure to bandage them. You don't want to get an infection."

Then leaves with a loud slam to my bedroom door. I look down to my bloody knuckles and back up to the mirror in the bathroom. I don't recognize who I see as my reflection. I just look so... lost.

It's not even about the girl who left her underwear, or even the multiple girls I'm sure that have warmed his bed. It's all internalized by frustration to my own insecurities that eat me from the inside out, extinguishing the little confidence that I had. I walk back out from the bathroom into my bedroom after having washed my hands and crawl into the bed.

Sleep doesn't come to me quickly as I over-think his final words. After everything that happens he still cares for my well-being. He could have just left, or yelled "I hate you too!" but instead he just... cares.

He cares. And I've known that for a while now, my growing feelings for him somewhat because of his caring. But, to actually admit that someone else cares for me is harder than I would imagine.