Page 50 of Battle Scars

Adrienne

This morning, I wake up expecting to be in someone’s arms, again. I know better, but I’m all alone and weirdly disappointed. After my disastrous date with Bobby last night and then coming home to an angry Gabe, who drew me a bath and then made love to me, my head is pounding and my heart hurts.

I can’t rationalize that a man I grew up with, one I’ve known almost my entire life, would speak to me so callously. I had thought he could be the one. Not necessarily the love of my life, but the one who could give me a good, honest life.

And the man I can’t seem to stay away from, the one who makes my body sing late at night in a way no one ever has, the one who takes care of me and protects me, is the one who will also never love me.

It’s quite a dilemma.

Maybe the solution is simpler than I think. Maybe the lesson is that, in the end, I’ll have no one. Maybe there’s no one who can love me. It feels selfish to have everything in the world that I could possibly want and be desperate for love, for passion, for companionship. I crave the one thing I don’t have—a partner.

So, I get up and brush my hair and teeth, wash my face, and pull on soft cotton panties—the kind no woman wants a man to see—and a matching bra. Maybe the ugly utilitarian underwear will keep me from getting naked for Gabe.

The annoying voice in the back of my head shouts Maury says that’s a lie!

I slide buttery soft leggings up my legs and layer baby blue and lavender ribbed tank tops. I slide my feet into a pair of worn Chucks and gather my hair into a ponytail on top of my head.

It’s a crapshoot what I’m going to find downstairs in the kitchen. If the status quo holds, Gabe will be rude and surly by the time I find him, and that thought makes me feel irrevocably sad.

He’s nowhere to be found, and hope blooms that maybe I can get out the door before he finds me. I need out. I need time away from him, away from Bobby, the track. I need to be in my car on the road with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.

I feel at peace when I’m behind the wheel. Before the death threats, I’d go for a drive when I felt the pressure weighing down my shoulders. Now, I can’t even remember the last time I was able to drive myself.

I walk through the first floor, and Gabe is nowhere to be found. Did he leave me? Usually, Manny or Eli are nearby when Gabe disappears. The thought of him finding me so unbearable in the light of day, that he has to physically leave my presence, burns—it hurts—but like everything else in my life, I choke it down. I push it so deep and lock it in a box and hope that it never opens.

Gabe’s not in the kitchen either, but my purse and cell phone are on the island. I sling my leather hobo bag over my shoulder and decide that since he’s not here, I’ll make my way to my mom’s on my own.

When I pick up my phone from the counter, it lights up. The screen shows one notification after the next: texts, missed phone calls, emails, and Google alerts. What in the world could have happened? I slide my finger across the glass screen to unlock it and… scream.

“What happened?” Gabe roars from the entrance to the kitchen, but I’m lost, scrolling through the Google alerts on my phone.

“No,” I mutter under my breath. “No, no, no.”

“Adrienne,” he shouts, and my head snaps up. “What happened?”

I force out a heavy breath. “Nothing.”

“That scream wasn’t nothing.”

“Well, it was. It’s a PR problem, but not anything deadly,” I admit. “Besides, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Where else would I be?”

“I have no idea,” I reply. I’m not his keeper. I don’t actually know anything about him other than he fucks like a champion and is emotionally unavailable.

“Where are you going?” he asks, changing the subject quickly, and I have just enough time to feel the tingle up my spine—the warning that I’ve wandered onto dangerous ground—but there’s no turning back now.

“I have a lunch date with my mom,” I answer honestly and do my best to keep my face open so he can see the truth behind my words.

“And were you going to tell me that you were leaving?” he asks softly. “Or were you just going to sneak out?”

“It’s not sneaking when I own the house,” I answer, rolling my eyes.

“That’s hardly an answer.”

“I didn’t know where you were, so I figured you’d left,” I tell him. “Manny and Eli aren’t here, and you know I doubt the seriousness of the threats. I’ve had angry letters before, and this won’t be the last time either.”

“Unreal,” he growls. “Did the last angry letters mention wanting to fuck you with a hunting knife?”