Page 16 of Gabriel
"Yeah. One,” I tell her. “His name is Gabriel.”
"Ooo, a boy." Mom's eyes spark with interest, but I don’t miss Dad’s frown. Probably should have expected that. Even when I was more outgoing, and had friends, he always encouraged me not to hangout with boys.
I’d like to say he’s just your typical overprotective father type. But I’m not naive. Dad’s the Mayor of Richland and I’m well aware that what I do and who I spend time with is always up for scrutiny.
"Is that a good idea?—"
"Hush, Joe,” Mom says and smacks him lightheartedly on the chest. "Our daughter is making new friends. Be supportive."
He mashes his lips together and grunts, but otherwise doesn’t comment.
I peek at him through the curtain of my hair and give him a wink, letting him know it's not a boy he needs to worry about. Seeing the gesture he nods and steps back, leaving Mom to do enough hovering for the both of them.
"I'll let you catch up with your mother. You can find me in my study if either of you need me."
"Alright, dear. Let me know if you need anything." Mom doesn't take her eyes off me. I know she's about to grill me for any and all details she can manage about Gabriel, but before she dives in, I head her off.
"I was actually just popping in to drop off my school books. I made plans tonight, so I'm going to head back out after I change real quick.”
"Oh." Mom's brows pitch forward, and she plays with the strand of pearls around her neck. A nervous gesture I’ve grown used to seeing more and more often these days. "Are you?—"
"I'll be fine, mom. New friends. Remember?"
She perks back up and slaps on a too-bright smile. "Yes. Of course. You'll call if you need anything?"
I wave my phone in her direction. "Will do."
"And ..." She hesitates. No one likes to talk about the elephant in the room. It's that nameless phantom that's just waiting to strike again. Seeing the masked worry on her face makes me want to scream or maybe even snarl a bit. But I hold it back. It’s better to pretend. That seems to be our family’s new M.O.
Mom thinks I’m struggling with depression, and sure, maybe. But that’s not why I did it. She’d know that if she ever worked up the nerve to ask me why. No one has. Not her. Not my dad. Not even my therapist. Everyone just assumes I have some sort of mental illness. I almost wish that were true.
If Mom wants to know what I’m dealing with, the signs are all there. I don’t wear revealing clothes anymore. I don’t party. Alcohol and I aren’t on good terms, and I don’t hang out with any of my former friends. I spend my weekends reading in my room or swimming laps in our pool and I don’t smile anywhere near as often as I used to.
I’m almost angry she’s never asked. That she’s never even suspected what happened to me. One in four women are sexually assaulted while in college. Google told me that too. Gotta love the magic of the internet. You learn all sorts of things.
Hell, she could have typed my shift in behavior right into the search bar and I’m betting it’d give her the correct answer. So, it’s not a far leap when wondering why your daughter tried to off herself, right? She should know. And I hate that she doesn’t because I’ll never have the nerve to tell her.
She’s my mom. She’s supposed to know.
I exhale a breath. I’m getting worked up and it’s not going to help anything. “I’ll check in, okay?” I tell her, brushing past as I head up the stairs to my bedroom.
“Okay, honey. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Once I’m safely tucked inside my room, I drop my bag and lean against the door, letting my feet slide out from beneath me until my butt hits the carpet. There’s one small problem with what I told Mom. I don’t actually have any plans. But I’m not about to stay here and be on the receiving end of her tenth degree either. So without a plan, I ditch my long-sleeved, purple shirt and jeans for a short sleeved-maxi dress and slip a thick bangle on one wrist and a velvet scrunchie over the other. I hate having my arms exposed, but this way, when Mom sees me slip back out, she’ll believe the lie that I’m meeting people. Someone I’d bother to dress up for.
Slipping my feet into a pair of sandals, I quietly slip down the stairs and out the front door, grateful she’s not hovering like a wraith in the hallway.
I exhale a relieved breath and take a few minutes to consider what I’m doing before starting my Jeep. My swimsuit in the backseat catches my eye, and not letting myself think too much about it, I head back toward campus. Back to where it all happened.
I haven’t gone to the campus pool since that day, but it’s the only place I can think of going where I’ll be left alone.
Where I can just beme.
CHAPTER 8
CECILIA
