Chapter 68
Gabriella
The door flies open, knocking my bag off my arm, and causing the bells to jingle super loudly.
“Ugh, fucking wind.” Once I bend down, grab my bag, and pull the door closed behind me, I fling my hair back out of my face, only to meet the inquisitive stares of every patron in the coffee shop.
Shit. I give a half smile, hoping everyone will just go back to their business, then I see her in the back.
“There’s my best friend!” I hear her voice launch from the back of the shop. Trina is waving her arms around like a mom at a peewee football game. I feel the heat of embarrassment creep into my cheeks. Putting my head down, I make a beeline for her table.
“Hey Mama-sita!” Trina stands and gives me a warm hug. “How are you doing?” She releases me and nudges a mug toward my side of the table as she settles back into her seat.
“Hey, T.” Huffing a breath, I sit, drop my bag, and take a giant sip of the waiting latte. I set the coffee back down and let a little stress roll off my shoulders. Mmmm, hazelnut. “I’m good.” Liar.
Trina leans forward, “Mhmm.” Wrapping both hands around her mug, she squints her eyes at me and tilts her head.
“What?”
Her eyes widen at my question. A fake look of surprise pops across her face, “Oh, me?” She palms her chest, “Oh, I’m just waiting for your nose to start growing.
” Her voice drops a little lower, and she leans further into the table, whispering, “Ya fuckin’ liar!
” A spurt of coffee flies from my lips as I laugh-slash-cough at her comment.
Just reason number 472 that I love this woman.
“Come on, G, tell me what’s going on. It’s been two weeks since you got back from the funeral. Talk to me, girl.”
I don’t want to talk about it. It feels like the more I talk about it, the more real it is that my husband doesn’t want to be with me. “It’s okay, T. I’m fine.” Fake it ‘til you make it, right?
“Yeah.” Trina sits back, folding her arms. “Okay.” I continue sipping my coffee, hoping she’ll move on.
Trina abruptly pushes her chair from the table, throwing on her jacket and snatching her bag off the floor.
Next thing I know, she swiftly pulls my chair out and leans into my ear.
“I love you bitch, but I’m done with you lying to me.
You are not fine. You haven’t left your house except for work since you got home.
You spend about 30 seconds on the phone with me, refuse to go out, and barely talk to your daughters…
You are turning into a recluse, and I’m fucking worried about you.
” Trina softly grips my upper arms and gives a loving squeeze, “Now, get up. You’re coming with me. ”
Trina cuts off the car in the parking lot of what looks like an abandoned warehouse. “Trina, where are we?” I’ve asked her where we were going over a dozen times, but she still hasn’t said a word.
Trina keeps her eyes laser-focused on the building, still not saying a word. I follow her when she gets out of the car, through the empty parking lot, and further through a heavy steel door, leading into the large warehouse. When we step inside the building, I stop to look around.
Long tables line the walls with several rows of similar tables across the middle, laid out like church pews.
The tables are covered with old office printers, computer towers, fax machines, and other old electronics. Like an office equipment graveyard. Weird.
“Bruno?” Trina yells through her cupped hands. The response is immediate.
“My beautiful Katrina? Is that you?” A gruff voice calls out from behind a row of giant copy machines lined up along the floor. Trina waves me over to follow her.
“Hey B, I have someone who needs a little therapy sesh.” Therapy what? Trina looks back at me and winks before continuing to yell into the open space, “She’s gonna need the VIP treatment, my dude.”
At that, a short, burly man with a balding head and a full beard rounds the corner of the exiled machines and greets us with a big, toothy grin.
“Ah, Katrina, you get more beautiful each time I see you.” I assume this is Bruno, and the way he reaches out for a hug with Trina tells me he’s comfortable and familiar.
Trina laughs at his compliment and hugs him back, then swings around to me. “B, this is Gabbi. She’s got a lot going on up here,” Trina taps her temple, “aaand not a lot going on here,” she points to her mouth. Bruno nods in understanding as he approaches me.
“I hear you loud and clear, Kit-Kat,” Bruno’s hands raise, grasping my biceps.
When he swings his gaze from Trina to me, he briefly squeezes his hands into my arm flesh, smiles, and nods.
“We’ve got you covered, Ms. Gabbi. Wait here a moment while I get your things.
” Bruno turns to walk away, but stops and turns to Trina, “What kind of tunes?”
Trina folds her arms across her chest and looks over at me.
Lifting a hand and tapping a finger to her mouth, I can see the wheels turning in her head.
“Ah.” She snaps her fingers, “Late 90’s alternative.
Rage Against the Machine, Godsmack, Stone Temple Pilots, you know what I’m talking about. ” Bruno nods once and keeps on moving.
“Trina, what the fuck is going on?” I’m so confused.
“You’ll see.” That’s all I get. Well, that and a shit-eating grin with a wink.
SMASH.
I bring the Louisville Slugger down on the HP computer tower on the table, pieces go flying, and a surprised laugh shoots from my lips.
When Bruno came out of the back room with two pairs of coveralls, safety glasses, and baseball bats, I was even more confused.
That is, until Trina explained that this is the dumping ground for several corporations.
Whenever they’re getting rid of old equipment, Bruno has a deal with them that he’ll come pick it up and dispose of it for them.
He figured out that allowing people to take a bat to this old equipment could be quite a lucrative business.
So, here we are. Trina thought that I could get some of my frustration out here. I feel a little silly, but a couple of these hits have kind of released some of the stress.
A quick pause between songs allows me to look over at Trina, who’s watching me. “How am I doing, coach?” Trina shakes her head and walks over.
“Bruno! Hold the music for a sec.” She hollers into the air before the next song starts.
“You got it, Kit-Kat.” That toothy grin is still shining bright.
Trina grabs my hand and walks me over to the table full of keyboards set across from one of the rows of industrial printers. “G, I want you to think about everything that has happened between you and Vic.”
“T, what the…” A feeling of betrayal creeps up my spine.
“Stop! Listen to me, Gabbi. You are not okay. I can fucking see it.” I see the concern in her eyes, causing a tightness in my chest. “You can’t just shove all this down, girl. It’s gonna eat you alive.” A tingle spreads down my nose and across my cheeks.
“When you bring this bat down? You think about everything, shit that has happened at work,” she snaps her fingers and points at me, “That fuck-face stalker lawyer guy. Everything that has brought you frustration over the years. Home shit, stuff with the girls, stuff with Vic, shit with your mom. Then I want you to think about how you feel, having to hold in those frustrations, having to keep up the perfect facade you were raised to have. That is what I want you to swing at. Fucking hit it out of the park, G. Leave everything on the field.”
My lip quivers as I back away from her, my chest tightening, then the music comes back on.
Bodies, by Drowning Pool, blares throughout the warehouse.
I can feel the thumping in my chest, goosebumps covering my skin.
Lifting the safety goggles back onto my face, I walk to the line of industrial printers and take a deep breath.
I take a minute to think about all of it.
The shit with Chad, the frustrations of trying to help kids who just can’t help themselves, society’s bullshit judgements, mom and her expectations, Cookie, D, and Vic.
The frustration and sadness morph into rage and burst through my arms. As the bat comes down on the first printer, pieces fly and tears start to fall.
Katrina
I watch my friend bring the bat down on various pieces of equipment. Even though the music is insanely loud, I can hear her gut-wrenching screams as she continues to swing the bat. My heart hurts watching the rage and grief leave her body.
Gabbi continues to swing with everything she has. Screams and sobs fly from her mouth when she brings the bat down on the table of keyboards, letters flying everywhere. I feel helpless, watching my best friend emotionally bleed all over the floor of this warehouse, but I know she needs it.
Twenty minutes pass, and Gabbi’s swings start to slow, but are no less impactful.
She’s made her rounds to different tables, and plastic is strewn everywhere.
Gabbi lifts her bat again, but stops with her arms outstretched directly above her head.
The music continues to blare, but Gabbi’s quiet, almost frozen in place, minus the heaving of her shoulders.
Without a word, her hands fall to her sides, dropping the bat on the floor, and she collapses. Shit.
I wave my hand at Bruno to stop the music while running over to her. “Gabbi,” Falling to my knees next to her, I scoop her into my arms and hold her tight. The music cuts off, and the only sounds reverberating off the walls are the tortured sobs of my best friend.
“T, I c-can’t keep doing th-this. I w-wont do this without h-him, but he just gave up an-and stopped f-fighting.” Gabbi’s breaths are choppy. Her face is red, splotchy, and wet from her tears mixed with sweat.
I rub circles on her back to help calm her crying. “I know sweetie. I know.”