Healing Gabriel: Chapter Forty-One
※(*)※Gabriel's POV※(*)※
I wasn't feeling entirely better the following day, but staying home was a no-go since my mother was set in her decision to not let me miss another day of school. I didn't bother changing my clothes that I'd been wearing since Sunday or brushing my hair either as I saw no purpose in pretending to look good while my life was the farthest thing from it.
I didn't feel like being around anyone that morning, especially my parents, so I decided to drive myself to school for the first time since my dad forced me to get my lisence. At first I never wanted to take driver's ed, never wanted to be stuck inside a small vehicle with a stranger watching my every move, but now that I did have a license I felt a lot more relaxed with just being by myself for a couple minutes. Nobody could hurt you in a car. They couldn't bribe you out of your seat and drug you and take you somewhere you didn't even know existed. The only way you could get hurt in a car by someone else is if another car crashed into you, which really wouldn't be all that bad because there's a chance you'd die and what's so bad about dying on accident instead of seeming cowardly by wanting to die on purpose?
That's a stupid thing to think, the voice of Evan and Sixx chided.
"But it's my personal way of thinking, so leave me alone with my self-loathing thoughts of accidental suicides," I replied aloud, because this was my car (actually my mother's; I may have wanted a driver's license, but I had no interest of having a car of my own. Besides, most of my parents' money went to all the hospital and specialist bills, which would've added up to the cost of at least two used cars) and since nobody was in here, I could say whatever I wanted.
I walked into school by myself, feeling terribly awkward and vulnerable. I was fresh meat in the jungle that high school was all over again. There was no tall, leanly-built varsity football player next to me to veer other jerks from messing with me. There was also no humorous, confident and beautiful boy holding my hand to remind me that I wasn't totally worthless, that I could be just like him if I kept my head held high enough.
This realization of loneliness didn't last long, though. I arrived at the beginning of the hallway mine and Evan's lockers were located in to see Alana standing in front of my locker, her bookbag still hanging from her back. Obviously she'd been waiting there since she'd arrived at school, not even bothering to stop by her locker first.
I paused next to an area of unoccupied lockers when I realized she was most likely waiting for me. I didn't really want to talk to her, didn't want to face any possible confrontation from last Thursday or questions about Sunday night. I was actually still embarrassed because of Thursday; I'd snapped on her and the rest of the group pretty rudely, and while I was thinking over the weekend, I'd realized I had been pretty rude to them. Evan was their friend, too, and they were just as concerned about him as I was. I wasn't the only one who cared about him; many people did. Evan had many people who cared about him, so what did it matter if I did or not?
I decided that I couldn't hide from her forever, so after I edged my way out of the beginning of some sort of mini-panic attack brought on by paranoid thoughts of the whole group shoving me into lockers and saying that I wasn't allowed to be their friend anymore, I lowered my head so my bangs would cover my eyes and made my way to her.
"Gabriel," Alana said as soon as I was in earshot, her voice an ironic mix between relief and worry. "We were looking all over for you yesterday. Jurnee told us that she saw an ambulance at your house on Sunday, and Evan hasn't responded to any of our texts or calls, so we thought you were hurt--" she was speaking quickly, hands opening and closing nervously by her sides. I had to cut her off or else she'd be fretting until graduation day.
"I-I'm fine," I told her, lifting my head up a little so she could see and comprehend the lie as the truth. "I wasn't hurt, it was Evan. He was supposed to be in bed--he'd gotten really worse, he looked awful and seriously ill--but he snuck over to my house and almost stopped breathing, so I called 911 and all I've heard was that he isn't dead, which could mean anything, like he's in a coma or he's almost dead but he still has a few days left, or--" I was speaking hurriedly, my eyes burning and my hands scratching hard at my wrists from behind my back. Now it was Alana's turn to cut me off before I passed out from the build up of anxiety I hadn't realized had accumulated.
"Jesus," she breathed, pulling me into a hug that she probably needed as much as I did. I didn't specifically need her hug, though; I didn't want to be touched by someone that was supposed to hate me for selfishly saying they weren't as important to Evan as I was. I tensed up to the point where I was even beginning to sweat; Alana realized that I wasn't comfortable and quickly pulled away. "I can't believe he ended up in the hospital! What a da--fu--friggen idiot! I'm glad you're alright, at least. I felt awful because of Thursday. We all did. We know how much you guys mean to each other, and we hadn't meant to seem insensitive to your relationship, you know?"
I nodded my head, unable to pull off a realistic fake smile so I settled for giving her a shrug of my shoulders. "No, it's alright. You guys were right; just because we're dating doesn't mean he can't have other friends that care about him as much as I do. I hadn't meant to seem like some controlling, obsessive boyfriend or whatever. I just get really moody for no reason sometimes, and I miss him a lot, and it's almost embarrassing how much I forget how to act around other people when he's not with me."
Alana gave me the smile that I couldn't give her. "Alright, so we were all in the wrong. The rest of them were too chicken to talk to you about Thursday because they felt like they'd really offended you. They'll be glad to hear that you're not mad at us anymore, though."
"I never was mad," I answered truthfully. "The only thing I was mad about was that Evan isn't okay, so why was everyone else acting like we were?"
She furrowed her eyebrows. "Gabriel, just because someone isn't well doesn't mean that you can't be okay, either. That's not how it works. You're supposed to be strong enough for the both of you until that person gets better enough to be strong by themselves again."
Deep down, I knew she was right. It was stupid and selfish of me to want to die just because someone I cared about wasn't with me right there and then. But I was still reliant on Evan at that time, didn't see the purpose of life if it was being taken away from the very thing that shared the view of goodness with me. So I simply disregarded her advice, not wanting to start another fight or whatever. I pretended to nod my head in agreement while switching things out from my locker. She seemed satisfied with my reaction, so she gave a nod in return.
"Alrighty then. I have to get to class before the minute bell; see you at lunch, Gabriel."
"Okay," I answered weakly, not bothering to look at her as I shut my locker and trudged my way to first period.
By the time lunch rolled around, I'd already had a panic attack and nearly bursted into tears in front of my entire art class while presenting my stupid, trashy painting of my aquarium that reminded me of the day Evan promised to help rid of those terrible paintings stored beneath my bed. I'd kept thinking about how maybe he'd never get to help me, never get to uphold his promise and I'd be forced to live with those dark images for the rest of my life while continuing to just get worse and worse until I was back at square one and probably ended up drugging myself to sleep every night until I overdosed and died.
Stop thinking of situations that lead to your death, the voice crooned, a picture of Evan's concerned expression blurring my vision for less than a second. I considered drowning myself in the boys' bathroom sink just to make the voice mad. I was too lost in my own thoughts to realize that I'd taken a wrong turn into a nearly empty hallway. Nearly.
"Hey, where's your boyfriend, cocksucker?" a loud, demanding voice snarled from next to me before a beefy hand grabbed my arm and dragged me backwards towards the lockers so that my back slammed roughly against the metal.
I froze up immediately, caught too off guard to even scream or gasp. I felt my breathing quicken as my heart banged a deathly quick beat against my chest. My vision didn't unblur until after the same loud voice hissed against my ear, "Because of you two assfuckers, all of us got suspended from the basketball team while all of you are free and merry to do whatever the fuck you want. Does that seem very fair to you?" I couldn't answer; my brain was still too shocked to catch up to the situation. "Does it?!" he shouted again, ramming the back of my head hard against the locker again, finally resulting in a cry from somewhere inside me. "Shut the fuck up!" he snarled, turning me around and shoving the side of my face achingly hard against the hinges of a locker. I immediately quieted my groans of pain, far too use to the familiar demand after months of the same treatment and training as was being repeated now.
That didn't mean that I couldn't cry on the inside, though; in fact, I was more upset due to the memories of what these actions, this position of being pressed against a wall with someone behind me, controlling me, rather than the actual throbbing, stinging pain in my cheek and bridge of my nose.
Suddenly, the heavy hand against the back of my head released its hold on me. "What the fuck," the previously booming voice now breathed. "Dude, what the fuck--stop it, dude, holy shit, that's so weird, fucking stop you goddamn homo."
I hadn't been aware of what I'd been doing until my brain finally snapped back into the situation and I realized that I had my legs spread and my arms pressed against the metal above my head, my wrists folded over each other as if they were bound in rope or someone was holding them together. My bottom was pushed outwards, almost touching the attacker's jean-covered crotch.
It was a position I hadn't been in since I was thirteen. It was a position I'd been forced to replicate far too many times that on command, I could immediately set myself up in the position the way I'd been taught without so much of a flick of a whip against my lower back.
I quickly got out of the position (which would've resulted in at least ten whips because I didn't wait for someone to tell me to stop), my blood pumping so fast I could hear it behind my ears. "I-I'm s-sorry," I whispered, blinking hard to repress the threat of tears. "I--I--I d-don't kn-ow--I--I--"
Treyvon just shook his head, backing up from me, a disgusted look on his face. "You fucking faggot, I should break your stupid face for trying to come onto me," he growled, a heated, despising look burning throughout his dark eyes.
I coward against the wall, unable to stop nodding my head in agreement, anything to make him think he was right so he'd leave me alone. "S-sorry," I whimpered pathetically, nearly mouthing it since my voice was so shaky, "I-I'm so-rry, I-I d-didn't m-m-mean t-to . . . "
"What the fuck is going on?" a familiar, authoritative yet not totally adult voice demanded from the end of the hall. "Gabriel? Is that you? Why're you in the senior wing?" It was Donovan.
"This fucking fag tried to come onto me," Treyvon spat--literally, spat. A big, dripping loogie on the front of my shirt.
"Why don't I believe that for a goddamn second?" Donovan retorted, quickly making his way over to us. His narrowed navy eyes locked with an area of my cheek and his eyes widened a bit before narrowing into even deadlier slits. "Did you do that to him?"
"What else was I supposed to do? He was trying to press his ass against my junk--"
"You are so fucking lucky Evan isn't here," Donovan immediately cut in, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wait until he sees this, you fucking animal. Why don't you come pick a fight with me instead of someone who wasn't even involved in last month's shit? Is it 'cause you know I'll kick your ass? Or is it just 'cause you can't wait for the taste of Evan Ricci's cleat shoved so far up your digestive system you'll be tasting leather for the rest of the year?" The whole time Donovan was speaking, he was getting closer and closer to Treyvon's personal space, shoving at his shoulders and chest. I briefly feared for his well-being instead of my own until Treyvon simply shook his head, an actual look of fear in his eyes, and went the opposite direction Donovan had come from.
As soon as he turned the corner, Donovan neared me, blue eyes losing some of the anger and instead replaced with actual worry. For me. Donovan Slater was worried about me.
"Jesus, Gabriel, are you alright?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the growingly painful area on my cheek. When he got too close to me, I immediately jerked away, a terrified cry that I tried to muffle behind my hand escaping. "Calm down, hey, I won't hurt you, man. Come on, follow me. Coach passed out the team's sweatshirts yesterday and I think I have Evan's in my locker. You can change into it so you don't have to wear that asshole's saliva all day."
I didn't recall the walk to Donovan's locker as my mind was much too busy processing everything that had happened. I had been accused of something that I didn't even have direct contact with, I'd been grabbed, shoved against a locker to the point where even Donovan looked taken aback by whatever mark was continuing to form on my face, and to make it all worse I had resorted to the position he had always demanded me in, humiliating myself in front of someone who wouldn't hesitate to tell the entire school about how I'd "tried to come onto him."
"Here, change in there. I'll wait out here," Donovan mumbled. I hadn't even realized we were inside the boys' locker room until the fabric of a thick sweatshirt brushed against my hands. I took it without hesitation, my mind set on autopilot as I locked myself in a stall and distantly listened to Donovan's attempt at whistling some sort of show tune.
I stripped off the wet shirt for the dry green and yellow sweatshirt that had Evan's last name and jersey number plastered on the back. I left the stall and tossed the balled up, spit-covered shirt into the garbage can; it was a plain blue t-shirt anyways. I didn't want it anymore. I'd find another one like it, without the circle of spit in the center.
"Here, I grabbed this from the coach's office," Donovan said, handing me a paper towel-wrapped ice pack. "You should keep that thing iced for a good hour or so."
I didn't look at him as I placed the pack against the aching area of my cheek. From the corner of my eye I saw him straddling the bench separating the locker room in half, evaluating me for several seconds before clearing his throat.
"I'm sorry about that. I hope he didn't frighten you too badly. I totally would've socked him in the face if I wasn't already assigned waterboy for the next two games because of beating up Lee."
I just shook my head. "It's f-fine," I mumbled. "I t-think you s-scared him with j-just the threat of Evan f-finding out al-alone."
Donovan grinned his award winning white smile before frowning again. "Man. Evan. I wasn't kidding when I said that about him; if he were here, he totally would've slit that guy's throat. He's really protective over you, you know? You're all he ever talks about during practice. It's always, 'Gabriel this' and 'Gabriel that'. I never knew you could talk to fish, by the way."
I blushed, still shaken up from earlier but easing up a little towards Donovan. I couldn't find it in myself to respond to him, just sat down at the end of the bench with my hands resting in my lap as I stared down emptily at them.
"When I saw Treyvon overpowering you like that, I got this, like, surge of anger. It was so weird. Not the same type of anger I got when I found out about those guys bothering Jurnee, but it was more . . . like, wanting to put that asshole in his place. To protect someone weaker from getting hurt by someone obviously stronger. I never felt that way before. It was weird. And to think that I used to be that same asshole to you not too long ago," he scoffed the last part softly, probably more at himself than to me.
I dropped my head even lower. "I remember," was all I whispered.
He was quiet for what seemed like hours. "Yeah. Me too. I was a real jerk to you. And I'm, um, y'know, sorry. About that. It was all fun and games for me, picking on this hopeless target, but looking back, I realize I'm just as much of a pansy as Treyvon. I'm so stupid for doing that to you. You're like, the nicest guy ever, and I'm just this giant asshole bear trying to go after a little honeybee or something." I cracked a grin at the last part, making him chuckle at himself. "Yeah, I'm not the best at comparisons. But. Yeah. I'm sorry for being a dick to you, man. You really didn't deserve it."
You didn't deserve it.
I raised my head at that, looking at him with disbelieving eyes. "Really?" I whispered.
"Yeah. Or, no. I mean, you really don't deserve to be treated like shit by anyone. You're just a nice kid who doesn't do anything wrong. I'm actually glad Evan poured my Pepsi all over me after I said something about you."
An actual smile creeped onto my face at that. "He did?"
"He did. I have the stains to prove it."
I giggled at that, a broken noise that sounded like an attempt at rediscovering humor. I missed Evan so much. "I miss Evan so much," I told him and the air around me, simply speaking the only thought I could ever fully comprehend anymore.
"Me too, man. All of us were talking, and we decided to go up to the hospital after school to visit him. Wanna come?"
Despite the earlier events that I knew would drag me down into an anxiety attack that would last for hours later on, I regained a bit of pep in my attitude by nodding my head quickly and nearly bounding off of the bench. "Yeah, yeah, I'll come with you guys. Thanks."
"No problem," he said, rising from the bench and taking the now melted ice pack from my outstretched hand. "But if he tries to break out of the hospital to kick Treyvon's ass as soon as he sees the bruise on your cheek, you're gonna have to help us aim tranquilizers at his ass."
"Deal," I agreed fondly, wanting more than anything than to curl up against Evan's side and have him protect me from anymore psychotic, vengeful basketball players.
The rest of the day passed by quickly after that, mostly because I was stuck in an emotional state between oh, my God, I got beat up and tried to give myself to Treyvon Weatherly, and oh, my God, I miss Evan so much he's all I can even think about and I just want him to hold me and remind me that everything's going to be alright.
While exiting the school, I received many side glances and index fingers pointed my ways. I didn't know if it was because little Gabriel Adams had a massive, dark and scratched up bruise on his face, or if it was because Treyvon actually kept his word about telling everyone I tried to come onto him. Just the thought of me voluntarily giving myself up to someone as temperimental, angry and vile as himself made me sick to my stomach. I tried hard to simply think about Evan, his welcoming smile, the way his voice rumbled against my ear whenever I had it pressed against his chest, the way his hands felt combing through my hair and down my back, the way his lips dusted over my face that convinced me he'd never have the capability of marking up my skin in such a destructive way.
In the end, the thought of seeing Evan be okay again was the only thing that kept me from falling too deep into the ongoing panic attack that had refused to leave me ever since Treyvon had grabbed me and shoved me against those lockers.
It was weird, how before meeting Evan, that situation probably would've destroyed me. I probably would've bursted into tears, screaming for help and sobbing and begging him to leave me alone. To think that I had threatened to call the police on Evan for simply wanting to use my bathroom, yet months later, getting manhandled by a big bully only left me in this constant state of hyperactivity, like this anxiety attack was on pause and it wasn't getting better yet it wasn't quite getting worse.
I didn't trust myself to drive in this state, so after everyone was done fussing about the bruise on my cheek caused by Treyvon, I asked Alana if she could drive instead. Which almost resulted in a car accident similar to one I'd described earlier.
To both the surprise of me and my pessimisstic thoughts, I actually feared going through the windshield and getting more than just a bruise on my cheek. I was terrified of Alana not putting on the brakes fast enough, of dying before I even got the chance to see if Evan would ever be okay again.
But who knows; maybe the next actual car accident I get into will end with me in the hospital bed right next to Evan's.
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Note
Well, that was a dramatic chapter. Excuse any spelling/grammatical errors; it's 4:08am and I'm way too tired to fix this chapter. I will definitely get too it over the weekend (maybe).
The picture on the right (or on the top if you're on mobile) was drawn by the amazing Angel_Chi! She did an awesome job and I honestly can't get enough of the expression on Gabe's cute wittle face! Thank you again! (:
Please leave a vote, and don't forget to comment about what you think is gonna happen next! I'm always interested in hearing about your ideas!
(PS, I may not be on as much lately because school has started back up again and the workload is ridiculous so I don't have much free time to write. And also, if you guys could keep my mom in your thoughts/prayers over the weekend, that'd be awesome. She's having a surgery and going through chemo again and since I don't feel connected with God anymore, I'd really appreciate it if someone with faith could talk to 'him' for me. Thanks.)
--xocici
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