My Name is Gabby Simpson (The Vamps Fanfiction)

Gone

“No,” I said, laughing. It was a nervous laugh. The kind of laugh you’d laugh if a person led you into their house, and you just saw on their TV an escaped murderer with their exact same face, and you were going to tell them that you had to go home and walk your dog.

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” one of them said. I couldn’t have come up with anything better.

“Are you serious, Brad?”

“You only have one sister!”

“Holy- She actually- kind of looks like him- Like a little Brad.”

Bradley stared at me with the same upset eyes. He wasn’t playing a joke on me. The only other option was that he was a stalker.

And so, by this, I did what any reasonable girl would do.

I ran.

My feet, always swift and nimble out of years of practice, were quick. Hearing others breathing and feet pounding behind me, I let the adrenaline take over. I moved over the sidewalk, past the shops, and bolted toward the alleyway. Jared and Nia, they could help, they could get these insane people away from me, or at least they’d be able to help me escape-

But I stopped short. The lean blonde boy again. He lurched in front of me, posture tense, so suddenly that I stumbled into him.

“Tristan, stop her.” Bradley’s voice.

Let’s just say, I was very, very upset.

I tried to push around this boy, Tristan, but he wouldn’t give. He moved when I moved, even flung his arm out when I almost squeezed past him.

Heart pounding like crazy, I swung around, realizing I was trapped.

Bradley was right there. He stared at me, eyes wild. “Gabrielle,” he gasped, slightly out of breath. He stood in front of me, in the middle of the other two, blocking my way out.

It was only the five of us, in the alley. My sleeping bag was there, along with my days earning, my small pack of clothes, and a few scraps of food. They had left me, probably the moment they saw that I had been caught.

My friends were gone.

“Get out of my way,” I growled, trying to cover up how helpless I felt.

“Your real name is Gabrielle Simpson, isn’t it? Gabrielle Lily?” At the sound of my name, my heart twinged. He was right, and he could see it in my eyes.

“I’m Bradley Will Simpson,” he said anxiously. Like he wanted me to know, to understand, now. “I’m nineteen. You are… You must be seventeen.”

“Yes,” I murmured. As of a few days.

Like he read my mind, he said, “Happy birthday. October fourth, right?”

I nodded. My head was groggy, not understanding. It was as if I were in a dream. Not a nightmare, not a paradise. The kind with anticipation, with suspense, and, despite thrilling, settled inside me uncomfortably.

He’s my brother. I have a brother? How?

How how how how-

He laughed to himself and ran a hand through his hair. “You look so grown up.” His eyes flicked up and down, from my split knock off Chuck Taylor’s, to my hunger treated body covered by a thin hand knit sweater, to my pale dirt smudged face to my wild, wide eyes. My hair, dark and curling, probably looked like an explosion. I wouldn’t even have been able to express the awkwardness, judgement, intensity, and emotion in the air if I’d tried.

After a few moments of silence, he finally said, “I know, uh, I know you’ve never met me, never even know I existed, probably. But, I mean… It looks like…” He faltered. I knew what he wanted to say, and I could sense his discomfort. “The least I can do is help a little bit.”

Now I had no idea what he was talking about.

He looked embarrassed with what he said. “So,” he recovered quickly, “here.” He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. The same one I had just tried to steal. He opened it up, showing me clearly multiple hundred dollar bills. My mouth almost watered at the sight, and I felt my eyes get bigger. I knew he wasn’t, but to me it felt like he was flaunting.  

I shook my head. I wasn’t going to take his money.

“You can have it, and we’ll get on our ways.” He waved it at me. He was being incredibly kind, but… It was almost as if he wanted to be rid of me. Or, at least, he didn’t want to deal with me.

Again, I shook my head.

“Here, take it,” he said again, a bit more impatient. I realized his accent was familiar and beautiful, but I couldn’t place it. “You earned it, you know. I just have quick hands. Something I guess we both got.” The tension and pity level increased.

“I don’t need your help,” I told him. “And I don’t want it.”

“Can I have your phone number, at least?” He was quiet, like he didn’t really want to ask it, but he felt obligated.

“I don’t have one,” I replied honestly. I stared him in the eye. If he was telling the truth… I didn’t want him to do this. The dream of having family, somewhere out there who wanted me, had been in my head ever since I could remember. I had thought maybe my mother died, and no one else knew I was born. Or maybe I was lost, somehow. But it looked like, if it was true, that he- a brother- had already known I existed. And he didn’t want me.

He looked shocked. I suppose it was strange. Everyone these days had cell phones. Well, except teenage runaways with absolutely no money.

“Alright.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What’s your address?”

“I-” I swallowed. “I don’t have one.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

I didn’t reply.

I hadn’t even done anything, but he put two and two together, and with both anxiety and fear, I waited for his reaction.