Dylan (18+) [ON HOLD]

chapter nine: R E T R E A T

cw: vomit

. . .

Gabby

. . .

It's late when I get home.

Charisma had been heading for the apartment building when I redirected her to the police station.

Her eyebrows furrowed at me in the rear-view mirror, and something like uncertainty was plain in her expression.

Nonetheless, she drove me there, less speedy than she had been heading home, and parked us right out front.

Her eyes seemed to dart back and forth between the Cheyenne PD sign, and the glass door where police officers were visible inside.

I waited for her to exit the vehicle, but she made no attempt to move, her hands firmly planted at ten and two on the steering wheel as she gave leery looks at the building.

Seeing me look at her in the mirror, Charisma coughed, a dry, forced sound. "You go ahead. I'll stay here with Chapa."

I nodded sagely and watched as she called the puppy to the front seat, petting her gently with shaking hands.

Swallowing my fears-and unwilling to make Charisma feel bad about her own-I headed into the police station.

For nearly three hours, questions were asked; different ones, repeated ones, irrelevant ones. Again and again without rest until they were certain they could get Victor.

My memory of course was hardly enough for them to drag him to prison, but it was enough to warrant a DNA swab to see if he matched the... evidence found on me that night.

I walk into the elevator, later than I'd hoped and with lead-weighted legs, I somehow manage to drag myself to my apartment, Chapa following eagerly behind.

The second the door is open, Chapa bounds toward my bedroom but, I can't help taking a look around. Neither Luisa nor Ben is in the living room and from the stillness that fills the place, they aren't here at all.

But, I can't dwell on that for long.

I look around my living room. The apartment I've been working hard to keep up and afford.

It's no longer mine.

It's been taken over by my sister and her fiancé, as is evident in the Street Fighter game that shines brightly in the dimly lit living room.

Yet, that's somehow not what makes this space-my space-less than mine. It's the lingering traces of him.

The place he once stood.

Where he talked to me.

The spot along the back of the couch where his arm touched after I turned him away.

Even my wine glasses that hang above the counter tops.

Knowing that he was here, in my space causes my stomach to turn. Nausea claws at my belly and bile rises in my throat.

I rush for my bathroom, the sudden inexplicable scent of garlic filling my nostrils. I just barely make it to the toilet when chunks of nearly digested mall pizza spews out of me.

Coughing, I nearly choke on my own sick, my stomach contracting violently and forcing every last bit of food up and out.

I cough some more once my body releases its tension, sitting back on my haunches and preparing for more, though thankfully there's none.

Tears in my eyes, I stand and shakily make my way to the sink, brushing my teeth and splashing my face with cool water.

I can hardly recognize the girl who looks back at me.

Her cheeks aren't as apple-round as they should be, her plump lips ashen and cracked, her nose runny, and her eyes red rimmed from crying.

"We can't do this," I tell her, shaking my head at the pained reflection.

Pulling the door so hard I find myself checking if I've put a hole in the wall before I dart into my bedroom.

I grab everything I need, ignoring Chapa's little yips of concern, and make a mental note to send some people to come pack my things. I just can't bear to look at the defiled place that I once called home.

A backpack, a duffel bag, my largest suitcase, and Chapa's carrying case and I'm making my way downstairs once again.

Realizing I should probably make sure I have a way to wherever I'm going, I use the time I spend waiting for the elevator to call Charisma.

"Gabby?"

I sniffle, hearing the worry in her voice. "Are you still downstairs?"

"I- Yeah. Where do you wanna go?"

. . .

Charisma asks no questions as she pistons toward my mom's house, and for that I'm grateful.

When she parks, I tell her to ignore whatever instructions she'd been given regarding my safety for the night.

I feel safer with her, knowing that I could go just about anywhere with absolutely no fear. But, it's nearly two in the morning, and she's already spent three hours just sitting in the car with my dog.

It'd feel akin to murder if I didn't offer her some form of reprieve.

Charisma thanks me for the offer, but remains, waiting until I enter my parents' house.

I have a key, but I fear my fingers are too numb to use it, so I knock. Minutes pass and soon the door flies open.

My mom, clad in a flowery nightgown looks down at me in shock. "What's wrong?"

I can't bring myself to answer her, nor can I stand any longer. I drop my duffel, and place the carrying case on the floor before falling forward into my mother's arms.

Limp as a noodle, I place my chin on her shoulder, and begin bawling, unable to handle anymore from the world.

. . .

This is short. It was not planned. The length, nor the chapter itself.

I know to some extent, everyone talks to themselves. But why the fuck do I do it in different voices?... fuck it, they're gonna become characters in one of these damned books.

I'm sorry this is so late, I expected rain, and got fucking sunny skies, so I had to babysit.

Also, I don't think you guys know the way I almost cried when I thought my account was deleted.

Next chapter on Friday... if I'm not watching Cobra Kai, remember to stay safe. Extra safe in some places atm.♥

😊✌🏽