D U S K ✔

Chapter Twenty-One

Thank you all for being so supportive and patient, I will try my best to get more chapters out a lot quicker, I love you guys so much, it's been so awesome to see everyone reading this. 

Comment on this where you're from? Any Brits in the house? I'm always curious about you guys XD Love you lots! Enjoy!

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{Unedited}

  "Stop stressing." 

  I sighed, turning my gaze back to Andrea, "I'm not stressing." I clarified, taking shoving a fist-full of fries into my mouth.

  "Right," she threw me an unconvincing look, "you may not be stressing, but you're definitely stress-eating, put the fries down." She ordered, sliding them closer to her. 

  I glared, despite knowing deep-down she was absolutely right, I decided to huff and cross my arms over my chest.

  "He'll come to his senses, just be patient." 

  I sighed, running a hand through my hair, trying to resist the urge to text him.

  "It's been days, Andrea--"

  "Yes. Gabby. It's been days." She emphasised, and I sighed once more, "Only days. Not years, or months. This is temporary. Just because you're in a rough patch now, doesn't mean you'll feel like this forever. Scars and wounds heal. His will too, you've hurt him. Maybe not intentionally. But it's happened. Let him lick his wounds." She advised, beginning to pick at my fries.

  "I should talk to him. Apologise."

  She hit her palm onto the sofa, next to me, not too loudly or violently, but enough to snap me out of my self-pity-mode.

  "Stop." She grunted through a mouthful. I grimaced, picking some up myself, and squinting.

  "You're right." I sighed, agreeing. I knew my cloud of guilt was washing away all my common sense, blocking me from seeing anything other than myself; so much so that I hadn't even though about Rob's perspective of all this. I had completely ignored his feelings.

  Just like he said. 

  He was right, about it all. I was too caught up in a fantasy that was never going to happen, caught up in the tangled, isolated mess known as Adam Valentino. And it had blinded me, to the point where I neglected my friends. My real friends. 

  And it was stupid.

  More importantly, I was stupid.

  I had decided to put all that Adam business behind me, he didn't want to know me. He made that painfully clear, and there was absolutely no sign of danger at any dark corner, so why bother. 

  Somewhere deep down, I knew this was never going to change, at the end of the day, he still wouldn't care, and in a few months or so. I wouldn't either.

  I sat up straighter. 

  "That's more like it." Andrea proclaimed, throwing me a heart-warming smile, with the addition of a few fries. I rolled my eyes at her. 

  School had finished, and we were sat at my house. It had became a common occurrence for her to hang with me for a while after school for the past few days, we would normally just do our homework and then she'd walk home, which apparently wasn't too far from my house either.

  I had really gotten to know Andrea better, I knew little things about her, not much but it was enough for me. I knew that her favourite colour was blue, and her least was grey, I knew that her mother was a lawyer and her father owned a small gardening business, I knew that she had a couple boyfriends in the past but nothing was too serious and that she moved here from West Austell, the largest city on the borderline of our town.

  It could've been a few hours that had passed before I saw headlights reflect through the window and splatter onto the wall. The sun had set a few hours ago so it was a blaring ball of fire compared to the darkness that surrounded us. 

  Andrea saw the light the same time I did too, "It's late," She began, not taking her eyes of the blinding headlights, "I should probably go." She stood, shooting me a small smile, I followed her to the front door.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," I called, resulting in her looking back at me and nodding, sending a small wave over her shoulder. Seconds after she passed, my dad appeared bustling through the door, a handful of papers almost tumbling out of his white knuckles.

  Immediately sensing his distress, I offer him a hand and grab the papers from his hands. Setting them down on the kitchen table, shutting the front door behind me. 

  "What's wrong?" I asked, tenderly. 

  Prominent lines on his forehead deepened; in the light I could see the harsh black circles that ran under his eyes. His pulled his lips into a thin line, shaking his head solemnly. 

  I placed a hand on his back, as my hands began to quake. He slumped into a stool by the kitchen island, and rubbed his hands on his face.

  My brows furrowed, "What's wrong, Dad?" I repeated.

  His voice wavered, hoarse and stale, but I heard the words clearly.

  "The church is being demolished."

  I looked to him as my heart launched itself into my throat, clogging the air and leaving a foul taste in my mouth.

  I wanted to say something, or anything but the words tumbled from my mouth as incoherent nothings. I shook my head, and pressed the heels on my hands until sparks glittered into the darkness. 

  After a moment, I finally spoke, "Why?" 

  He looked up at me from the ground, his eyes lingering with unshed tears. I felt my face crumple, and bit down on my lip as hard as I could.

  He sniffled, "It's built on the council's land, meaning the council owns it and they want to build something," he used air-quotations, "'more in-keep with the modern society,'"

  My mouth jutted open, "But the church is popular!" I argued, "Every Sunday it's bursting with people. It's part of our community, it's part of us. How can they do this? Are they even allowed? How can we stop it? W-what do we even do? I-I just..." 

  "I don't know either," He sighed as I felt a fresh onset of tears spring into my eyes.

  "Mum built that." 

  "I know." 

  I felt my the blood leave my cheeks, unleashing a wave of crippling emotion. My entire body was shaking and a raw, bitter taste stung the corners of my mouth. 

  My mother was a religious woman, her and my father had dreams of building a church, a community within this town. A safe haven. After a few years, before I was born, they did just that.

  My father always kept the church incredibly close to his heart, just like the memories of my mother.

  "You should get some rest, Gabrielle. We're going to need your help tomorrow." He stated, shuffling through the papers.

  My lips pulled into a line, "What's tomorrow?" 

  His head flashed up, a small smile was biting at his lips, "We're fighting this."