Chapter 9
Gabriella
I feel giant hands gently grab me off the moving boxes that Emma had turned into a makeshift coffee table. “Hey, I’m dancing, damnit!” Wow, whoever said that is shitfaced. I try to focus my eyes, but everything starts spinning.
Am I in the air? Is that my voice? Ooooooh, I’m floating…
What’s that smell? Mmmm, smells like fire, and oranges, with a splash of gasoline?
No, oil. Like a mechanic shop. Hmm, like home.
That thought makes a smile start to spread across my face.
The smell envelops me, and I relax, snuggling closer to it.
“Good night, guys, see you all in the morning.” A deep, sexy voice vibrates my body. To whom, though? Oh, the girls. I try to say goodbye, but I’m not sure where the words are stored in my brain at the moment, so a lift and shake of the hand will have to do.
Lifting my head and opening my eyes, I see a pair of pale blue eyes staring at me. Wow, smells good and has gorgeous eyes? How am I so lucky to…Wait, I squeeze my eyes shut and open them a few times, trying to focus more on the features of this beautiful man who smells like home. “Vic?”
“Yes, Gabbi, it’s me.” Is he smirking? I groan.
I feel it when Vic deposits me on my bed. My eyes are so heavy, like they’re pillow cases full of sand. Why do my arms weigh so much? Light tugging makes fabric crawl across my skin, then it is dark.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Ugh, my head hurts so much.
Ew. Why does my mouth taste like a cat shit in it? I don’t even have a cat.
Lifting my hand to my head, my eyes squeeze shut while my brain knocks against my skull. I realize I’m in my room, in a t-shirt and panties. I snuggle harder into my fluffy, warm bed. How did I get here? What the hell happened?
Between the massive headache and my churning stomach, the fog starts to lift a little, and some flashbacks of last night emerge. Did I really tell Emma all of that last night?
“He doesn’t want me anymore, Em. To be honest, I’m not sure I want him anymore.
Everything is just so… fucked up. It’s like he came back from Africa, and I was a different person.
I mean, I guess I am different, but so is he.
We’ve been sleeping in separate rooms since he got back.
What is that, like 3 years and some change?
I mean, jesus, that’s not normal. Of course, what can I expect when I’m four sizes bigger than I was when we got married, and he looks like a warrior king?
Why would he want this?” I motion my hand up and down next to my body.
Emma just stares at me with sadness emanating from her eyes, “I hear what you’re saying, and I’ve definitely been in a similar place where you are.
You went through a lot during that deployment.
Plus, Gabbi, love, you grew two humans. It’s been 17 years since you all got married; bodies change.
You need to be gentle with yourself and don’t let that teenage angst part of your brain take over the strong, beautiful, confident woman I know. ”
I remember crying and telling her that the only time I feel like I’m not losing my shit is when I’m cleaning, working, or organizing life around the girls’ soccer and school schedules.
I vaguely remember her saying something about me needing to be in control or something along those lines.
I don’t remember, I wasn’t really listening.
A knock at my door interrupts the thoughts swirling in my head, and a groan falls out of my mouth in response, “Ssshhh. Come in,” I mutter.
Poking my head out from the comforter burrito I’ve rolled myself into, I meet Vic’s eyes.
Is that pity? Maybe disappointment? “What, Vic? If you’re here to give me shit, please… ”
Vic puts his hand up, effectively stopping my words. “I came to check on you and bring you something for your head.” He sets down two pills and a giant glass of water. I can’t read the look on his face.
“Oh,” it comes out as almost a whisper. “Thank you.” I sit up and take the pills, while Vic turns to leave the room.
As he moves away from me, the scent of oranges and fire enters my nostrils, sending tingling sensations all over my body and spreading warmth into my belly.
Instantly, I remember something else. “Did you…Did you carry me to bed last night?”
“Yes.” He curtly tosses the response over his shoulder, his bare feet trailing soft steps across the plush cream carpet, toward the door.
“Did you change my clothes?”
Again, tossed over his shoulder as he steps out, “Yes.” Then the door lightly closes, and he’s gone.
Tossing myself backwards on the pillow and grabbing my phone, I see a text message that makes my stomach swoop like a rollercoaster.
Emma: I thought a lot about what you said last night. I think I can help. First, I need you to do something. I want you to really look at Victor and figure out what you truly want.