Gabriel

37. Half Black

GABRIEL
     Walking into the apartment, I stand still as silence envelopes me like a cold wind. Closing my eyes, and breathing in deeply I sigh. With relief of knowledge that one less demon roams the earth— or maybe just closure, but either way I still feel a weight lift from my chest.
     It's done.
     The monster is dead.
     After a month of keeping him in the basement of the Hampton house, chained up, bloody, and beaten to a pulp, I finally decided to end it. Not for his sake, fück no. For Mae— it was hurting her more than it was helping; to know where I went ever day at the crack of dawn.
     I don't feel guilt. I don't feel remorse.
     I don't feel much of anything as the quiet echoes around me, pressing down on my chest and making my ears throb.
     Coming out of my daze, I walk to the kitchen sink to wash the blood off of my hands. Removing my shirt, I start to scrub at the dried red liquid tainting my skin.
     I know I'm not a good person— it's always been a fact of my nature. Werewolves are meant to be ruthless and dangerous, so although the angelic aspects of me should have balanced them out, the haven't. They've only made me more aware of what I am capable of. So as I bled him dry and broke every bone in his body I felt no remorse or hesitation. I only felt satisfaction that he was getting what he deserved.

     But I still hear his screams as I watch his blood wash down the drain.

     The sound of soft footsteps coming from the hallway into the kitchen let me know she's awake. It's already nine in the morning so I'm not surprised. She notices the change in me immediately— it's not like I'm hiding it.
     "Is it over?" She asks monotonously from the doorway. I told her what I was doing and where I was going. It didn't make sense to her. She didn't know why at first. But as much as I'd have loved to have kept her blissfully ignorant to this part of myself— and to the cruelty this piece of me would bring upon this man— secrets would only hurt our relationship. I would suffocate from the inside out as it ate me up. The decisions we make and the secrets we keep cannot interfere with our relationship, or everything we've worked so hard for with all amount to nothing.
     "Well?" She urges, emotion seeping into her tone. I give a slight nod of my head and she says nothing. I turn and look at her.
     Truly look at her. Her blond curls catch in the morning rays of sun floating through the window, and clothes only in one of my pale blue undershirt she looks like a goddess.
A broken goddess.
She leaves the room without another word. The past month has been hard on her, and I just hope that the torture is finally over, that she no longer fears what held her back from her full potential for so long.
Drying my hands on the dish towel hanging on the oven handle, I followed her into our bedroom and move to take a shower, ignoring where she lay in bed. The tension is thick enough and neither of us want to acknowledge any of this. She's not old enough to have to deal with this shít.
"Are we ever going to talk about this?" She chokes out, causing me to stop at the entrance of the bathroom. I grip the door for support at her words.
"He's dead. And that's that", I say coldly, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me gently. Stripping and stepping to the stream of hot water, my tense muscles relax.
A few moments later I hear the door open and close, then the sound of the shower door sliding open as she joins me.
I don't bother turning as her hands tightly squeeze my shoulders, rubbing out the knots and easing the stress from my body. She stops, placing a chaste kiss to my back. I turn around and embrace her, burying my face in the junction of her neck and shoulder, breathing in her wonderful scent as my hands run across her back to grip her tighter.
This not only satiates my beast, but brings me comfort and pride in the knowledge that this wasn't an easy step for her— just jumping in the shower with me like this— but that she still did it anyways.
"What are you thinking?" I ask after a moment.
"Closure. Just about how wonderful this feeling is."
I hum in response, content to just hold her beautiful body in my hands even though they are the same hands that killed a man not hours ago.
—
She still hasn't gone back to her regular self, but she's better.
It's been two weeks since I came home with the news, and I've really been trying to spend as much of this time with Mae as possible. Although she noticed this change in my schedule, she didn't comment on it, and so as we spend our lazy Saturday afternoon on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a stupid movie I smile at her.
"What?"
"Nothing", I respond childishly to her accusatory tone. She cracks a smile at my playful antics and sets the popcorn down on the table so she can crawl onto my lap, facing me. I haven't kissed her in over a month, giving her room and trying not to force her to do anything, so her initiation catches me by surprise her lips press to my own hard enough to bruise as her nails dig into my shoulders. I groan against her mouth and she bucks her hips against my own tomorrow.
     "You know... tomorrow's a special day", she hints, pulling her lips away but still straddling me. I crinkle my brow in confusion, trying to think of something. Anniversary? Birthday? Easter? But coming up blank, I frown.
    "Valentine's Day, you know the kind that people celebrate when they're with someone special. Hearts, flowers, the whole nine yards", she says jokingly. I just nod.
    "Oh, sorry I forgot. I've just never celebrated it before. It's sort of an unspoken rule that you're not supposed to be with anybody but your mate on that day", I explain.
     "Neither have I! We should do something since we're both Valentine's virgins", she says cheekily.
     "Okay", I say with a chuckle, still not understanding her change in attitude.
     She replaces her lips and I get lost.
     —
    With her out shopping with her friends the afternoon of, I have time to set up the bedroom with candles and rose petals and all that other romantic shît that she would dig. Ruffling through my shirt drawer for nice but casual attire, I feel a scrap of paper at my fingertips. Confused, I pull out a red, long strip of cardstock. Turning it over, her cute writing in black pen reminds me where I got this: for Christmas. The striptease coupon was original just supposed to be a joke or maybe something to boost her confidence, but I completely forgot with more pressing matters at the time.
    Smiling, I stick it on the middle of the bed amino the rose petals and head to the kitchen to get a nice dinner ready. As much as I thought going out would be fun, I know she would be more comfortable at home, with just the two of us. So, setting out a candle and nice plates, I start on a fettuccine alfredo and salad. I also check the fridge for whipped cream and chocolate sauce... not for the dessert. Why eat dessert when I can just have her instead?
    Just as I finish setting everything out on the table, I hear the door slam shut. Checking the clock, I see it's six o'clock on the dot. She comes through the doors to the kitchen, huffing and puffing while balancing a load of bags and boxes in her arms. A smile lights up her face as she sees the setup.
     "Awww, this looks amazing!" She exclaims. I rush over to take some of the bags before they fall. She mutter a quick thank you and giggles. There's the Maeve I know.
     "I might have gone a bit overboard", she mutters as I help her with everything. Remembering the suppose in the bedroom, I stop before we reach the door.
     "Ah... How about I take everything in? I'll but it all in the closet so you can organize it later", I suggest hurriedly.
    "But Gabe, I-" but she stops, catching on.
   "Ok, just set everything on my side of the closet", she continues with a sigh. I peck her cheek before taking everything from her. I motion with my eyes for her to leave. She rolls her own and stalks away, back into the kitchen. I quickly dump everything where she instructed and go back into the kitchen, placing the dirty dishes in the sink to clean later and heading back out to the dinning room.
     I find her in the living room scrolling through her phone, completely absorbed. I take this time to admire her in a plain white shirt and white-washed jeans with her signature black docs. She looks up, feeling eyes on her and smiles shyly, setting down her phone.
     "Food's ready", I say, tilting my head in the direction of the dining room. She nods, walking over to me and taking my hand. We walk together back to the dinning room making small talk. I sit down across from her and she looks at the food before us with surprise.
    "Wow, I'm shocked— you cooked!" She says.
    "Yes, I can actually do things besides look hot and run a multi-million dollar company, I say sarcastically. She laughs before speaking again.
     "But seriously, thank you, this looks amazing!" She says, grasping my hand over the table. I smile slightly.
     "Well, the food isn't going to eat itself!"
     We chat about everything and anything, consciously ignoring the deeper topics and keeping the conversation upbeat. We talk about everything from narwhals vs. unicorns to marriage to college.
      "So, the real question is... will our kids be werewolves, Angels, or human?" She asks jokingly before tensing at her implication. These are realistic things, not just fantasies of a superficial couple. The air fills with awkward silence and she opens her mouth to apologized, but I speak before she can.
     "Werewolves; it's definitely the dominant gene, but maybe human", I answer lightly. She relaxes and nods.
     "How many kids do you want?" She asks with quiet curiosity. Her question doesn't stump me like I thought it would. Before her, I had no fûcking clue what I wanted to do beyond work. Women were a hobby and marriage was a curse word. But kids? The thought made me cringe. I had no thoughts on the matter besides the absolute no. But the last couple months with my amazing mate not only dissuaded that opinion, but encouraged the concept. The idea of a diamond on her finger and a swollen stomach as little curly blond girls run around a country house sends my heart reeling.
    "As many as you can pop out", I say with a cheeky grin.
    "God no!" She says laughing hard and shaking her head.
     "Give me a number", I demand playfully.
     "Umm... three? Four?" She says unsurely.
     "I know that it's unrealistic to hope they'd all get along but it's better than being alone", she says certainly.
      "But not that or marriage any time soon... Dear god no", she says with a disgusted shiver. I chuckle at her dramatics but nod in agreement.
      "When would be the perfect time for you?" I ask.
      "Is this a future proposal, because if so I will whoop your ass for being so cliché to propose on Valentines Day", she threatens. I huff and roll my eyes.
     "Fine, fine. I don't know... The real answer is probably "when I'm ready" but maybe in a few years. After college, or I feel like I've done something. Like traveled or written a book...", she muses, getting lost in thought.
     "Or maybe I'll get bored of you and go marry another handsome dude", she jokes. Part of me was to growl and lash out, so does my beast, but I don't want to ruin the evening with my temper.
     "Oh, but haven't you heard? Once you go black, you never go back", I smirk, running hand through my hair because I know what it does to her. Drawn to the movement, she licks her lips and rests her hand on her chin before huffing in exasperation.
     "You're not even fully black so that statement doesn't count. Besides, you just look like really tan white bread", she jokes. I put my hand over my mouth in fake shock.
     "I'll have you know that I am fifty percent African American!" I say with fake indignation.
     "Sorry I didn't mean to offend you", she says with worry, and I realize she thinks I'm being serious. Deciding to get back at her for her 'running off with another man' comment I play off her fear.
     "My people", I start dramatically,"did not suffer for generations at the hands of white bread just so you could make jokes about my racial orientation."
     "No Gabe, I really didn't—", but she stops because I can't keep myself together from the look on her face of sheer horror.
     "You-you moron!" She exclaims but I'm still cracking up too hard to respond. She huffs, pushing her empty plate away from her so she can stand.
     "Aww, don't be like that! I was just having a bit of fun", I defend. But instead of leaving she just comes around to my side of the table and grabs my hand.
     "Okay, okay, now come on! I want to see my surprise", she exclaims happily.
     "Yes m'am."