18. Cracks Of Gideon Bell
Cracks Of Gideon Bell
One Year Before That Night
A breathy giggle is what draws my attention away from my perfect Audrey, across the hall to the guest room.
A room that should be empty, the only one who sleeps there now is Audrey’s dad, and he left for work an hour ago.
The rustling in the room has me quickly throwing a glance at my best friend, assuring she’s still dead to the world, before I shut her bedroom door, hoping she won’t notice the hole in the wall anytime soon.
A kid I vaguely recognize from school stumbles out of the door across the hall, his cock wet and still half-mast. The mechanism on my switchblade clicks the moment Audrey’s mother comes into view from behind him.
Her eyes wide with shock, her tits red and puffy from use before she slams the sheet over herself.
As if I’d give a shit about them.
The kid, one of Trent Arborshaun’s brothers, stumbles again, but he doesn’t have a second to regain his footing on his way past me before his back is meeting the wall.
The light burning faintly in the dusty sconce flickers from the force of my slam, the blade reflecting it as I jam it against his throat. Not drawing any blood yet.
“The fuck, man?!”
Audrey’s mom makes a weird, choking sound before she rushes over the rumpled bed, making the smell of cheap candles and must billow from the room.
“There’s a fifteen-year-old girl sleeping in that room,” I whisper, my lips close to his sweaty forehead thanks to the height difference. “She doesn’t need to see your fucking cock.”
“O-okay, okay Gid, holy shit. I’ll get—"
“You’ll get dressed and you’ll fuck off, or I’ll drag you across the street and exsanguinate you like a corpse.
” My voice is low, just audible enough for Mrs. Fisher and him to hear.
He makes a choked sound only slightly manlier than hers as I press my elbow deeper into his throat.
“Is that what you wanted? You want Audrey to see your dick?”
“N-no man, Gideon… hey everyone knows she’s yours. I’d never—"
“You a fucking pedophile?”
“No! What?! No! I’d nev—"
“That’s right, you’d never. You’d never even consider walking around naked in a house with a fucking kid around.”
He nods, sweat rolling down his temple.
Her mother is silent, eyes still wide with fear as I turn my attention to her. The smell of liquor coming off the pair of them alone is nearly enough to inebriate. The moment I let him go, he buckles, foregoing his clothes as he runs into the living room, the front door slamming seconds later.
I don’t take my eyes off Mrs. Fisher’s. They’re so much like Audrey’s.
But somehow the miserable cunt still makes them look ugly.
I don’t speak as I close my knife, pocketing the blade again.
She’s trembling, and for a second, I debate killing her.
Audrey and her dad would be so much happier.
My hand twists on the doorknob to my best friend’s room as I lift my finger to my mouth, silently telling her to be quiet.
She gives me a shaky nod just as I step inside the dark room, only lit by the warm glow of her nightlight.
She stirs, her hair a mass of blonde, wayward curls as she leans up, rubbing her eyes. “Gideon?”
“Shhh,” I whisper, shutting the door behind me. “Go back to sleep.”
It takes no convincing, never does. Her head plops back down onto her pillow, her cheek smashing into the little wet spot from her drool.
Audrey is out cold before I even get under the blankets, but she snuggles into me all the same as I press a kiss to the top of her head.
I wonder if she knows I’d do anything for her.
Minutes later, the sound of the washer thudding with the sheets from her dad’s bed fills the home.
My eyes growing heavy, determined to get a few hours of sleep before I have to sneak out.
Only to show back up half an hour later to take her to school.
Somebody has to look out for Audrey. I’m glad I’m the one who gets to.
Audrey, Sixteen Years Old, 1983
The straps of my backpack snag my hair as I rush down the hall, the smell of freshly cooked bacon making my mouth water. I nearly lose my footing as I slide to a stop. “Mom?”
The knock on the door comes mere seconds before Dad’s loud voice booms from the couch, a plate of hash browns, bacon, and eggs piled high in front of him as he nurses his customary cup of coffee. “Come in!”
The door opens and closes before I manage to school my features.
“Morning, Gid,” Dad quips, but my best friend barely gives him a nod in acknowledgment before he heads deeper into the house, his eyes turning to my mom, who looks like she’s seen a ghost. All the while, a popping pan of bacon threatens to start a grease fire on the stove.
He walks over to her, snagging a piece of bacon from the paper towels on the counter.
“Are you hungry, Gideon? Help yourself,” Dad offers.
I don’t know why. Gideon’s mom always cooks him breakfast, unlike mine.
I don’t think I’ve seen her cook anything in months.
Until right now. My mouth is watering, but my stomach is twisted into tight, angry little knots.
Dad is back to paying attention to the TV, and Gideon is paying attention to me.
When he finally speaks, my mom takes a deep breath, flipping the bacon. “I’m good with this, thank you. Ready, Audrey?”
Everyone but me is content to act like this is normal. Like it’s not insane she’s even awake right now after another late-night bender. Not still three sheets to the wind. Like her cooking breakfast for us isn’t weird.
I stand here, my backpack slipping off my shoulder, staring at her while she avoids my gaze. Avoids everyone’s gaze. Pushing around the burning bacon in the pan, her body nearly sags against the counter. Hell, has she even been to sleep yet?
“It’s not even seven yet, boy. Auds just got down here.” Dad chuckles.
It’s his laugh, carefree, normal laugh that breaks me from my staring.
“I’ll eat at school.”
“Your mom made a—"
“She probably spit in it.”
“Audrey Emma Fisher,” Dad warns, making my cheeks flush in front of Gideon.
But Mom, no, she’s unusually quiet. No flipping her lid at my rudeness. No woe is me. Everyone is so mean to me. I have it so bad. I never asked to move here lecture.
“Sorry,” I murmur, stalking toward the front door.
I don’t even slow as Gideon reaches out, snagging my backpack so he can carry it for me.
He graduates in just a few months. I hate the idea of him not being in school with me, even if we are in different grades.
My tennis shoes hit the gravel as he steps in front of me, blocking my path.
He doesn’t speak, waiting, watching, and I don’t have the patience for it this morning.
As soon as I open my mouth to tell him to knock it off, he shoves the bacon in. The flavor bursting on my tongue, making my stomach let out a nasty little growl. Reminding me just how hungry I actually am. “You’re not eating the food at school.”
“How do you know?” I muffle around the bacon.
“You hate it.”
I chew, glaring at him as he leans forward, his hand snagging my wrist. “Starving yourself doesn’t teach her anything.”
I go to pull my hand away, ready to lay into him too, but he just tightens his grip, tugging me across the road. Instead of stopping at his car, I’m tugged up the porch and led inside the foyer, the scent of flowers and pine-sol warming me.
“Morning, Audrey!” Mr. Bell calls from his office as we pass.
I nearly choke on the meat as I swallow. “Morning, Mr. Bell!” We’re halfway up the stairs to the living area when his mom comes into view, lingering in her odd way. A watcher, like her son. “Morning, Mrs. Bell.”
“Morning,” she offers quietly, her eyes on Gideon as if waiting for some explanation for me being in their house, where I almost always am. Regardless, it’s the same confused, if not downright despairing look in her eyes, every single time.
“Audrey didn’t eat breakfast,” he offers, tugging me past her into the kitchen.
I’m barely in my seat at the small circular dining room table nestled in the far corner of the cozy black and white tiled kitchen before Gideon sets a plate of pancakes down, stacked four high. I try not to grimace at the one slathered in butter on top.
Gideon's chair scoots across the floor before he leans over, snagging that one off my plate for himself. I shoot him a grateful look immediately as Mrs. Bell finally follows us into the room. Her fingers wrapped in Band-Aids as she takes a glass from the cabinet and fills it with orange juice.
She doesn’t speak as she sets it down in front of me, none of us do, until the silence beats down too hard. As usual, I’m the first to break.
“Thank you. I smile at her; she returns it, although hers reads more like a nervous tic than anything remotely warm.
She’s barely out of the room when Gideon’s hands grip my chair, forcing me closer to him before he snags my legs under the table, depositing them on his lap. “Want to skip today?” is all he asks.
I just roll my eyes because Gideon can afford to skip.
He’s more or less just killing time until the end of the semester.
“No,” I respond, shoving a bite of fluffy pancake into my mouth.
I, on the other hand, am barely tugging along.
My cheeks heat as his hand rests on my ankle, his thumb making soft passes there.
I wonder if he knows… what he’d say if I told him he whispers my name in his sleep.