Gabriel and Breah

Chapter 15: Gabriel

In movies when guys get kicked in the balls, they make a manly grunt, maybe a slight grimace...and keep fighting. 

What a crock of shit that is.

As I knelt outside Breah's door that she just slammed in my face after kicking me in the balls, all I could do was hold my sac and hope I didn't throw up on her doorstep. Thankfully, after about ten minutes of dragging huge gulps of air in through my mouth, the urge to vomit subsided and after about another ten minutes I was able to get to my feet. Straddling a bike didn't sound like a lot of fun right now, but I had no choice. Getting home and throwing ten packs of frozen peas on my crotch sounded really good, though.

By the time I got to the clubhouse, I was able to walk inside. Slowly. Colt saw me walking carefully and started laughing.

Fucker.

"Gabe, I told you to watch your balls. Your girl is fucking feral."

I sank gratefully down on the couch. "Yeah, I've been finding that out lately. How did I not know about this side of her before?"

Colt sat in the chair across from me. "It's been my experience that girls are fine when things are going well. Happy. Smiling. Loving. That kind of shit. They show you the best side of them while life is good. Until...you hit a bump, and it's like that bump knocks loose the bitch and suddenly you're faced with a rabid wolverine that's eyeing the distance to your throat. I'm not afraid to admit they terrify me."

Slouching back onto the couch and stretching my legs out in front of me, I shot a look at Colt. "Gotta be honest here. The sweet Breah was a helluva lot easier to deal with. I knew how to talk with her, how to read her, how to soothe her after a bad day, how to make her laugh, how to get her to smile. This version of her...I'm wondering if she needs a fucking rabies shot. I have no idea how to get past her anger."

"What happened?"

So I sketched out my talk with Breah and the subsequent knee to the balls. I may or may not have left out the part where I was afraid I was going to throw up and that it took me twenty minutes to recover before I could get on my bike.

The asshole grinned at me like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "So, let me get this straight, Prez. You thought going over to her place, storming inside -- after she told you she didn't want you inside -- and holding her hostage against the wall to force her to listen to you was the way to go? Man, you are one dumb motherfucker. She pushed over one bike of yours, ran over another, demolished your bedroom here and made you think I was fucking her -- and you actually thought going at her hard like that would win the girl and make her jump your dick?"

He was assuming there'd been any thought going on. I'd seen Breah, wanted to talk with her, she didn't want to talk with me, so I reacted the way I usually do in situations like that: I ignore everyone's wishes but my own and work to make myself heard.

"It sounds bad when you put it like that --"

Colt laughed again. "It is bad, no matter how you put it. I thought you were better with women than I was, but I'm re-thinking that now because what you did? That is not the way to go with a girl like Breah. Read the room, man. As long as she's this mad, there's no talking with her. You've got to defuse her anger first, then get her to where she's willing to listen to your sorry ass. And you've got to apologize like you mean it. Not some bullshit I'm sorry and that's it."

 "What's wrong with saying I'm sorry to her? I am. I've apologized and there's not much more I can do."

"I'm telling you, if you think that attitude is going to win her back, you're going to be one lonely-ass man. Some girls, true, all it takes is an I'm sorry, a special, sexy smile and they're ripping their clothes off. Breah is not that girl. It's going to take a lot more than an apology with her."