Page 12 of Gabriel
GABRIEL
Seeing her again is a shock to my system. When I found her lying on the floor of the girl’s locker room, blood all around her, I thought she was a goner for sure. She was pale. Lifeless. But seeing her now, she's none of those things.
She has color in her skin. A healthy tan that compliments her dark brown hair and equally dark brown eyes. And she’s definitely not lifeless, though I don’t think panic stricken and terrified are what she should be after.
Is she worried I’ll tell Holt how we know each other? I wouldn’t do that. I figured she’d catch on after I played it off like we hadn’t met. I was hoping she’d stick around for a minute so we could talk to her.
I've worried about her. And seeing her now, it looks like I still have reason to worry. Shit’s still eating at her, that much is sure.
She was small then. She’s even smaller now. I remember how little she weighed when I lifted her in my arms and ran to my car. How limp she’d been as I’d hauled her into the waiting room of the PacNorth emergency clinic.
I don’t think I’ve ever been that freaked out in my life. Not since Carlos, and back then, I knew it was too late. The dread wasthe same. That all-consuming feeling ofhell noandwhymixed with a fewfuck you’sdirected to the big man upstairs.
But unlike Carlos, she was breathing. She had a chance to pull through, even if it was a slim one.
Knowing that is what put the panic in place because calling 911 wasn’t an option. Richland is a small town. The closest hospital is close to forty minutes away and the nearest fire station is even further. Paramedics never would’ve made it in time.
Thankfully, the campus clinic is well staffed with doctors and med students. They had everything they needed to give the girl a fighting chance. Only it doesn’t look like she’s doing much fighting. She’s lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose, and her dark brown eyes are dull. Haunted.
I keep my gaze trained on her retreating form as she turns the corner, barely listening to Austin as he goes on about some party happening this weekend. I have zero plans of going, so I don’t bother to listen as he rattles off a time and directions to some dude’s house that I’ve never heard of or met.
Austin knows I don’t do the party scene. And I don’t kick it with outsiders. So I don’t know why he bothers to tell me about any of this, but I pretend to give a shit anyway. For his benefit, at least.
Austin is one of those guys. You know the type. Comes from too much money, born with too much privilege. He kicks it with me and my boys sometimes because he plays soccer with us, but he isn't one of us.
He's a Greek. Something no one in my crew would ever think twice about being a part of.
Fraternities are for boys still struggling to become men. They think they’re part of some cool kid club when really, they’re just the assholes hanging on to the memory of high school, where popularity makes them feel like a special fucking snowflake.
They haven’t realized that none of that shit matters in the real world. No one cares who you’re dating or where you buy your clothes. If you’re rocking Skechers instead of Adidas or higher priced shit.
But guys like Austin live for the attention. Dressed up in his Abercrombie & Fitch polo with blue plaid shorts. He’s even got the puka shell necklace that the early two thousands called and want back.
I swear the dude has more gel in his hair today than I use in an entire month. But despite all that, he’s not all bad once you get used to him.
He has a killer elastico on the field and he works hard. Puts in his time at practice even though he’s not trying to go pro. Soccer is just a game for him. A way to pass the time until he gets his degree and follows Daddy’s footsteps with the family business.
He’s pre-law. Not that I think he’ll make it to graduation, let alone go on to law school. The guy isn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean.
Rumor has it his Pops pays some of his teachers off. Austin’s joked about it on more than one occasion so it wouldn’t surprise me if it were true.
"Yo, what's her deal, man?" I ask, interrupting whatever it is he's saying, not that he seems to mind.
Austin looks over his shoulder as if he expects to catch a glimpse of her even though she's long gone.
"CeCe?" he asks.
I nod, remembering she corrected me. Cecilia. That’s what she wants to be called. It fits. Pretty name. Pretty girl.
"No clue. She's a hot piece of ass. Me and a few of my brothers sampled her over the summer.” My eyes narrow, but Austin doesn’t seem to notice. “She’s a good lay, but too much drama, if you ask me.” He shrugs and the fact that he talks abouther like that, like she’s a piece of meat to try and throw away without any thought or consideration, it makes my blood boil.
Does he know what she’s been through? That she tried to kill herself? If he knew, no way would he talk about her like that.
I bite my tongue and remind myself Austin isn’t the only guy at PacNorth who acts like a dickhead. Most of the jocks behave the same way.
It’s a big part of why Julio, Felix, and I keep to ourselves. Our mothers raised us never to disrespect a woman like that, and we don’t need to lose our spot on the team because some asshole runs his mouth where he shouldn’t. Coach has a strict no fighting policy. He’ll turn a blind eye to drinking, and he’s been known to overlook the occasional recreational drug use as long as it doesn’t affect anyone's performance. But fighting, that's where the old bastard draws the line.
“She seeing anyone?” I ask just to keep him talking. Austin’s got that look in his eyes. The one that says he’s spinning his wares. He’s a slippery fucker and I know he’s not telling me everything.
