Page 37 of Bad at Love

Chapter Sixteen

Storm

Gabe spends every Sunday evening with his family. They have dinner together, and though his mood is foul before he leaves and he’s shut off when he returns, I envy him. Envy the fact he has a normal family who wants to see him, wants to have dinner with him, and who cares enough to speak with him—check in on him.

The only person in my family who cared enough to speak to me is my mother. And well, look how that’s going. The last time I saw my father was on my twelfth birthday. I thought he stopped by to surprise me; pick me up and take me out, considering I hadn’t seen him in years. Turns out, he just wanted to bitch at my mother for forcing him to pay child support, even though he never sees me. Why the hell should he pay for a kid he doesn’t know? Those were his words.

When I was sixteen, I found out that I have two siblings from my father. They have the same mother and are two and three years younger than me. Both boys. I learned that fun tidbit by listening in on a phone conversation between my mother and father. I’d hoped I’d learn he wasn’t as much of a jerk as I thought he was. But nope, he was still an asshole. Still complaining about how he’s supposed to survive if he has to pay child support for three kids. Turns out their mother is just as shitty as my father, though, because she forbade them from knowing me and speaking to my mother. Don’t know the drama around that, but I never caught their names, or the mother’s, so I wouldn’t know where to begin looking for them. Not sure I would want to, but I’d thought about it. If I had their names, I’m sure I’d have searched them up during one of my drunken nights. I’m my mother’s only kid, so it’s just been me and her. She did the best she could, but she certainly isn’t inviting me over for family dinners every week.

She dedicated her life to taking care of me, though. Through all her own issues, I was fed, had clothes on my back, even if they were used and had holes in them. The food may have been generic, but it was hot and cooked. She did her best. And now I’m trying to do mine—for her. I should take this time to go visit her, but honestly, I can’t handle it today. I’m in a mood and don’t feel like doing a damn thing. I don’t want to bring my bad energy to her; she doesn’t need that. So I take my book, the same one I’ve been trying to read, and head to the backyard to lounge. I read until the sun goes down and I can’t make out the words on the page. Instead of going inside, I put the book down, close my eyes, and just breathe. The air is fresh, the breeze slightly chilly. I love the weather out here—when it isn’t raining, that is. Though, I don’t entirely hate that either. There’s something refreshing about it.

I drift off into a half-awake, half-asleep state, until I’m startled awake by screeching tires followed by shouting. I jump out of the lounge chair and hurry around the front of the house, expecting to see an accident in the street. What I see is Gabe’s car parked with one tire on the grass and him storming up the steps. He barrels into the house, still shouting, and I hurry after him.

He’s already upstairs when I get inside, and his shouting is loud enough to carry down here. He’s mad about something, that much is clear, but I can’t make out what he’s yelling about. It’s frantic, though. He isn’t just angry, he’s upset about something.

When I get upstairs, he’s walking into the bathroom, still growling and grumbling to himself. He doesn’t even see me. Just starts scrubbing his hands in the sink. He does this when he’s overwhelmed by something, I’ve noticed. Scrubs his hands until they’re raw.

“Gabe?”

His words are still mumbled, and I can’t make them out, so I walk closer.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask when I reach the door, but he’s shaking his head, scrubbing his hands under the hot water. They’re red and look like they hurt. “Gabe,” I demand this time, and when he doesn’t answer, I step into the bathroom and shut the water off. “Look at me,” I snap.

His brow is furrowed when he whips his head toward me. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand any of them,” he says, looking at me like he sees right through me. “Nothing makes sense. I’ve done everything they wanted, except for one thing. One thing. Why should it matter so much? Why am I always picked on when I go there?”

I raise a brow, putting my hands on his shoulders. “You’ll have to start from the beginning.”

“My family!” he shouts, throwing his hands up and getting out of my touch, then shoving past me and moving toward his room—theno-enterzone.

I wonder what he would think if he knew I’d already been in there?

“What about them?” I call after him, ducking my head inside to make sure he’s okay. I’ve seen him upset enough times over the last month, but nothing like this.

“I’m just not good enough. Nothing I do will ever be good enough. Why don’t I deserve to be happy? What is wrong with what I want? Why should that come last? Who cares what people think?” He’s pacing his room, hands in his hair, shaking his head.

“Gabe?” I call, taking a step into his room. “Are you okay?”

Stupid question, I know. But I don’t know what else to say to him. I’m not good at consoling people.

“They tell me what to do, and I do it. One mistake, just one freaking mistake, and I can’t live it down. Not that it even was a mistake because I didn’t do anything wrong. I only did what they wanted. I knew it was a bad idea the whole time, but I couldn’t say that. Never say that. No, don’t ever go against what they say. They’re always right.”

His voice is cracking, and I’m afraid he’s going to explode. Or worse, break down.

Not giving a shit about his space right now, I move the rest of the way into the room and stop in front of him, putting my hands on his shoulders again. Seems like a safe space. The look he gives me devastates me. The sadness I see in his eyes makes it hard to breathe. Instinct kicks in and I pull him to me, wrapping my arms around him.

“Why isn’t my happiness enough? Why isn’t anything I do enough?” His words are muffled against my shoulder, but it does nothing to hide the pain.

He isn’t pushing me away or disgusted that I’m touching him. He’s stiff though. He’s not okay, and maybe this will make him feel better. I don’t know how to comfort people. It’s not my forte. Doesn’t seem like his either. Gabe seems like thepoke someone with a broomto see if they’re okay, while I’m more of aoh my phone is ringing, I’ve got to gotype of guy.

“Your happiness is enough,” I say. It sounds cheesy as hell, but he’s upset, and I don’t like it. It’s making me feel weird. A strange mix of needing to run away and wanting to punch whoever did this to him.

“No, it’s not,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not, it’s not, it’s not. Not enough.”

“Hey, look at me.”

I grab his face and lift it so he has to look at me. His eyes are bloodshot, watery—empty. I’ve never seen a single human look as defeated as he looks right now. It breaks my damn heart. And all in just a couple of hours?

What happened to you?

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