Playing Games with The Player: GAME OVER (Sequal to PGWTP)

Chapter 7

"What's wrong?" Both of them look at me concerned.

"Nash..." I can barely speak his name as my stomach drops, before finally finishing.

"We're done."

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Nash's POV

Gabby. All I can think about is her, and how sorry I am.

She's beautiful, considerate, with a golden heart and I'm trouble. That's why I have to do this. Let her go, accept this and finally do something good for her.

I crank up my car, click my seatbelt on and head home.

The sunset beams over the entire metropolitan area of Greensboro, one of my least favorite places to be at this hour. Rush hour always consists of heavy traffic, backed up at least two miles.

I groan in irritation as officers merge the three-lane highway into one, I'm assuming because of a wreck.

My phone rings, and I quickly pull it out of my pocket and look at caller ID.

'Hazey Boo'.

"Hello?"

"Hey, they're about to discharge Gabby. She's doing fine, just a hit to the head. But we need to talk, as soon as possible."

"Well actually, right now is a really bad time." I beep the horn at the person in front of me as they continue slamming on their brakes.

"Okay. Well, meet me somewhere tomorrow." I sigh in irritation before finally agreeing.

"Okay. Well I'll talk to you later."

"Okay bye."

I throw my phone in the passenger side seat and finally comtinue to my drive home.

----

Gabby's POV

"Finally home." I mumble under my breath before sighing.

I throw my shoes off to the side and toss my hoodie to the couch before heading upstairs to change.

I take off my bra, and choose a white sleeveless side-cut top, and a pair of leggings.

In the process of pulling my top over my heart I hear a door slam from downstairs, sending me into a near panic attack.

Someone's breaking into my house!?

I pray for my life as I hear another thud from downstairs and search for a weapon to safeguard myself with.

SHOE!
Wait...seriously? A shoe? Gabby, what the heck are you going to do with a shoe?!

CLOTHES HANGER!
Bless it, forget the weapon. I think these are getting worse the more I look.

I open my bedroom door, very silently, to ensure safety of not giving the intruder signs of my presence.

My heart pounds so hard, it feels like it's ripping my chest open as I imagine the worst.

I debate with myself for a few moments about weither to go downstairs and get face-to-face, or stay put upstairs and brainstorm defensive strategies to protect myself.