With You // J.G

Chapter 3

Gabrielle's POV

Hayes doesn't seem like such a bad guy I guess. If anything, he seems annoying. But then again, everyone's annoying in my opinion. He's been trying to talk to me. I refuse. I either shrug or just ignore him completely. I want to know how he got kicked out of his old school.

Him and that girl Amber are in my homeroom, 1st and 2nd periods. Too bad Jack and Kate are in all but my unified arts classes.

Later that day I walk home. The front door was slightly opened. I push the door, it creaking louder as it swings open. I shush the door acting as it can hear me and obey. It doesn't. That scares me.

I freeze for a few seconds before pulling out my cigarettes. I light it and then breathe in the smoke. Before I can exhale the smoke out of my lungs, I feel something hit be in the back, knocking the wind and smoke out of me. I start choking. What was that? No. I slowly turn around to see my father with a knife in his right and and his left balled into a fist. His eyes are bloodshot and the veins in his forehead are buldging out. His hair is greasy and he looks like he hasn't showered in weeks.

I've learned not to show when I'm scared. It makes them feel like they control me. It makes me seem vulnerable. I can't have that. The cigarette is still between my index and middle fingers. I stare into my father's dreadful eyes. Beathe in. Breathe out.

"Why are you back?" he asks, his voice rusty as usual. I slowly shrug and flinch a little. He hasn't even moved.

"Why do you keep coming back?" my dad asks in a louder, more stern voice. I blink slowly.

"You're not wanted here!" Thanks captain obvious. He slightly slurs his words. That's when I notice that he's drunk. That just makes things worse. When he's sober, he hurts me bad. But when he's drunk, everything's worse than the worst.

He walks slowly towards me. I try to move my feet but my brain isn't connected to my legs at the moment. My brain is focused on what I'm going to do if he stabs me. The adrenaline is pumping and I feel like I could run 50 miles. My feet still don't move once again. I'm stopped dead in my tracks, half because I'm scared and half because I'm thinking about what my next move will be.

When he's less than an arms-length away from me, my feet finally cooperate. I step back a few feet. Just as I'm about to run out the door, he shoves me into a wall and places his huge, left hand around my neck. His face is flushed from all expression. He's like a robot. No emotion. He holds the knife up. My eyes widen at the sight of it. Think Gabrielle. Think. As the knife begins to make its way towards my face, I crush my, still lit, cigarette into his left forearm.

He lets go of my neck and I kick him away from me. I run out of the house and down the street. It's not until I'm three blocks away from my house that I realize that the knife got me. There's a searing pain in my right cheek. I brush my hand against it and feel the deep, bloody cut that I never even noticed until two seconds ago. I try opening my mouth, but that just makes it worse. I feel the cut open up even more.

I wish I would just bleed out right here right now. I'd love to die right now.

I'm not even afraid anymore. This was the fifty thousandth time something like this has happened. I'm used to it.

I say that now, but when I'm actually living in the situation, it feels like it's the first time he's ever done this to me. I freeze completely and forget how to react. I let him get to me. I can't let it happen. But, what's the point? I'm going to die one way or another.
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I use the neighbors' ladder to get into my room through my window. I lock my door and push my dresser against it.