Page 24 of Gabriel's Salvation

The motel only has about twenty rooms so it doesn't take me long to find the room. As soon as we get inside I head to the vending machine and buy a cold can of beer, placing the metal can to her cheek, the one that's already a lovely mixture of red and purple bruising. She winces in pain but I hold her head steady, knowing that as much as it hurts now, the cold will help the bruise. After all, I've spent most of my life dealing with the effect of being hit by people much bigger than me. “Hold steady baby, I know it hurts, but I'm helping you.” Baby? Did I just call her baby?

“Thank you, Gabe'' she whispers, as she takes the can from me and places it back on her cheek.

“It's fine, Stacey.” I shrug, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“Stacey?” she repeats like she doesn’t recognize the word. Shit, does she have a concussion or something? Should I take her to the emergency room, maybe?

“Do you need a doctor?” I ask. Suddenly feeling completely out of my depth. Which makes no sense since I've spent my whole life either causing the injuries or dealing with the aftereffects of other people causing injuries.

“No, I think I just need sleep,” she says sleepily as she stands up.

“Can you turn around?” she asks shyly as she begins to undo the buttons on her skirt.

Any other time I’d tell a girl to fuck off. Heck, I’d be the one taking the skirt off. Yet for once I oblige and cover my eyes.

“Ready,” she says a few moments later. I half expect to open my eyes to find her naked or in her underwear on the bed, trying to seduce me. But instead, she's snuggled in bed, with the blanket pulled right up to her chin.

I turn to leave, not liking how weird and coupley this suddenly feels. These rooms are not used for cute romantic getaways, they're made for cheap, nasty sex, with cheap, nasty whores.

“Wait, don't go, please.” she pleads. I can hear the fear and desperation in her voice. She’s not saying it in a way like she wants to get laid. She genuinely needs me to stay.

A feeling in my chest is swirling around, but I don’t quite know what it is. I take off my shirt, kick off my shoes, and unbutton my jeans, then lay down awkwardly beside her wondering what the fuck is happening. I don't do this. I don’t do cute, and cuddly. I don't do snuggles in bed. I don't do stupid pet names. And I definitely don't do whatever this shit right here is.

She shuffles herself closer so that her head is on my bare chest. I make no attempt to hold her though; instead, I just stare up at the ceiling. What the fuck am I doing?

I hear her breathing soften, and soon after soft sleepy snores. Now I know she can't see or feel me any longer, I begin to stroke her hair. The way my mom used to when Nate and I were younger. I hear soft murmurs escape Stacey's lips, so I stop. But once I realize she is still fast asleep, I continue.

I don't know how long I lay there stroking her hair while staring down and watching as that bruise on her cheek gets more and more pronounced. I run my finger over it ever so gently but it still causes her to flinch and suck in a breath.

I may be a selfish, heartless bastard, but even I would never cross the line and hit a woman like he did. My anger continues to rise as I think about what happened until I can no longer keep it in. So carefully I get up from the bed, sneak out the room and onto my Harley.

Unfortunately for him, I know exactly where he lives. I pull my bike off onto one of the bushes nearby, and slowly with the cover of darkness make my way to the house. I sneak past the gate and can hear the sound of a man’s voice. I stop to listen, trying to work out how many people are here, and how many I may have to fight. What the fuck am I even doing here? I'm not some knight in shining armor, the hero, here to rescue the princess. Heck, normally I wouldn't even care enough about anyone to walk ten steps let alone go across town but this is different. She makes it different somehow.

I try to tell myself it's just because I hate men being violent towards women and not some leftover trigger from childhood. That seeing Stacey knocked to the ground doesn’t remind me of what my mom went through at the hands of my father. But deep down, I know there's more to it than that.

I continue to listen and it becomes apparent the asshole is alone and on the phone.

“Where the fuck are you, baby? I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was the booze talking. You know that's not me.”

I can't control the way my hands instinctively curl into fists at his words. I've heard those same words more times than I can count.

Flashback- Age Four

Mommy is snoring on the sofa, so I play quietly with my truck. This is my favorite truck, Mommy bought it for me at the store.

I hear a loud noise outside and know that means Daddy is home.

Daddy is home and he’s sad. I always know Daddy is sad when his car door makes that big bang.

The door flies open making another bang against the wall behind it. This makes Mommy wake up.

“Sofia? Where are you, woman?” my dad bellows as he storms through the front door.

Mommy stands from the sofa and makes her way to the door to greet him.

“Hey sweetie, we’ve missed you,” Mommy says, leaning up on her toes to kiss daddy.

“What's for dinner?” he demands and pushes past her.

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