Wrecked

Gabe's POV

I woke up to music.

An arm dangled off from somewhere once I turned around; thirsty lips smacked soundlessly. My eyes jerked open at the sound of a shrilling, short-lived noise. I saw a near empty bottle of red wine and a pack of cigs on the coffee table that undoubtedly had red rings on it. Sharon would've killed me for not wearing coasters. A large breath pushed past my lips when I managed to get myself into a semi-seated position; whatever song was still playing was background noise compared to the blood tambourines pounding at my temples. And the doorbell racket… If that shit got any higher only dogs would hear it.

I threaded a hand through my hair.

What time was it? The living room was seriously bright, and it had nothing to do with several lights being turned on. I twisted my head, immediately squinting in regret as light plowed into my damn corneas—

"There better be some fucking Tylenol..." I didn't get to my feet without a series of grunts; my left shoulder wasn't acting up, but several vertebrae popped as I straightened, ambling across the room. I couldn't smack my finger on the intercom fast enough. "What?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holland, the cleaning crew is here. Can I send them up?"

The cleaning crew always came around at four pm. I threw a look over a shoulder, taking in the rumpled clothes on the floor, the wine bottle and—were those Reese's wrappers? I frowned, when the hell had I bought those? Last night had been pretty dope, got baked early, which also meant I didn't remember everything in detail. Obviously, I'd gotten drunk to top things off.

I spoke into the intercom, "Yeah, send them up, Ty." I dropped my arm, just standing there for a minute. I made my way over to the discarded clothing once the hairs on my arms and neck stood up, reminding me I was practically buck-naked. I pulled on my sweater and denim jeans, unconsciously buckling them as Dad's words to always look "put together" hit me upside the head.

The cleaning crew was composed of three people, all of them women. Two were in their forties and one was a little older. Marcia, Julia and Tatiana were used to seeing me disheveled, they never commented on anything, either the state of my penthouse or... me. Then again, commenting wouldn't get them paid, Dad would've said. There was no proximity between us, not like between Lawrence and Trip; that guy had been working for the Harringtons' since before Trip could aim at a toilet bowl. They worked for a cleaning company Dad paid for monthly and got the job done without fuss. After finding my phone wedged between couch cushions, I put an end to the music and disappeared upstairs to shower the funk off my body. There was a missed call from Dad's office. From way, way early in the morning; crack of dawn early. Because that was how my father operated: early bird gets the worm. Running a billion-dollar company sort of required that kind of commitment.

I faced the large mirror.

It was like staring into a perverse version of my mother. Not that Mom looked anything like a man, but most people said I was her spitting image; it was disturbing to fathom what Mom would look like if she partied hard and ended up with spiked hair and dark circles under her eyes. I tossed the clothes into the hamper. The shower was quick and throughout the whole mechanical process my thoughts were quiet; the bitching headache seemed to ebb a bit.

I strode across the bedroom with a towel casually wrapped around my waist. I opened the middle drawer of the large vanity to whip out a sweater and the first thing that stared back at me was a sweater too small to ever fit me. The proof that it belonged to Sharon came in the form of a stamped message: F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Once upon a time, she must've thrown this in with my laundry and the maids sorted it into my stuff. I grabbed the sweater underneath it; my thoughts weren't blank anymore, though. They gravitated to Sharon. She hadn't answered me. I was keeping cool about it, hoping she was doing it out of anger and not because she'd distractedly walked in front of a bus.

Last night, I'd smoked the last of my stash to ward off any and every reminder of the thunderstorm threatening to crack my penthouse like a cartoon mallet coming down on an egg. Thunderstorms and I didn't get along; I used to stay awake, shaking, waiting for the noises to end. As a kid, I had nightmares about thunderstorms. Whenever I woke up, sweaty and hyperventilating, I only saw flashes of white light and a dark Slender Man-like silhouette.

I licked my lips, hands pausing above the belt buckle. Mom had never understood my fear; Dad had scoffed at it. Sharon had been the only one who hadn't needed a "why", she'd never made me feel stupid over it. Nimble fingers resumed their buckling.

I still remembered being a terrified nine-year-old sleeping over at Sharon's house. I'd been so mortified about screaming myself awake or even wetting the bed, that I'd tried to keep awake until Share took matters into her hands and crawled into bed with me.

Instead of calling Dad's secretary, I left the penthouse and found myself at an expensive restaurant for early dinner. For me it was a very, very late lunch. Who gave a flying fuck? Nowadays, I didn't mind eating alone. Before, when I lived with my parents, meals had been scheduled. Let's just say my father didn't commend me for being absent or late. Between the main course and dessert, I called my mother only to be ignored—for the millionth time.

I should just visit her. Mom wouldn't lose her shit like Dad if I went to see her unannounced. She would be thrilled. Although, if the rejected calls were any indication, she wasn't in the mood to talk to her prodigal son.

I left the restaurant texting a supplier. I needed weed. I debated whether I should text Sharon or not… The dealer's text came through saying I should swing by his place. I stuffed earbuds into my ears and headed to the bus station; I was taking a trip to Brooklyn. I really missed my bike. I had enough cash on me to cover two ounces. Ky Haruka had been supplying me with weed and ecstasy for three years. Once upon a time, he attended college, until Ky decided that racking up four years of student loan debt wasn't worth a piece of paper. Now, he was an entrepreneur. His words not mine.

I plucked the earbuds, hanging them around my neck before ringing the doorbell. I rested a shoulder against the slim doorframe. I'd been coming to this place for years, so the yellowed corridor walls and ugly brown doors didn't make me uneasy, but the yelling on the floor above Ky's was hard to ignore. The distinct sound of slamming doors and a shattering noise had me gritting my teeth and pursing my lips.

Ky opened the door.

"Hey, man. How's it going?" I tore my gaze from the ceiling a minute too late. He snorted, "They've been going at it for hours. Can't even get through a fucking episode of Property Brothers—come on in."

Ky gave me a quick clap on the shoulder as I pushed inside.

"So, how much do you want?"

"I'm good for two ounces."

"Yeah, I got you." he yelled at me to sit while he disappeared into a side-room. I dropped on the maroon couch in a lazy slouch.

Once he came back, I focused on the dark sweatpants he was sporting.

"Do you own anything but sweats?"

"Ah, yeah, but only because I need to look nice when I see my Mom." He showed me two baggies. "It's the good stuff."

"I thought you didn't have bad stuff." He handed me a bag. I tore it open and the pungent smell I was acquainted with wafted from it; trained eyes did a quick check for any brown coloring but found only lime and darker green colors. Plus, there were plenty of trichomes—small, glimmering crystal-like appendages on the flower's surface. The more crystals the stronger the weed.

"I don't, but you know I keep the really good stuff for special customers."

I shut the Ziploc bag. I fished out seven hundred-dollar bills and offered them to Ky, who tossed the other bag onto my lap. He folded the bills, shoving them into a loose pocket.

"It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Gabe." I didn't doubt it.

It took me almost two hours to get home. The place was spotless. I tossed my blazer onto the couch and dropped beside it, arms widespread. There was an eerie quietness to the entire penthouse; two floors of vacant rooms, two ounces of weed in my pocket and next to the fireplace was a Chinese cabinet with liquor. All of it just for one person. I sniffed, rubbing my face with a feeling akin to weariness. People with a nine-to-five job would be thinking about going to bed, I was fantasizing about any distractions I could find at ten p.m. on a Tuesday.

Boredom was a dangerous thing.

I eyed the remote with scorn; I was going to end up watching TV, wasn't I? These were the moments when I genuinely missed Trip; I knew that was wrong, because the guy had been a horrorstruck mess of a human being, but he used to be my wingman for disastrous adventures. And Sharon used to be a bundle of fun ideas whenever we hung out. Things were dry now. Trip had gotten his life in order, he had college and Ava—and a dog. It was so… domestic. Sharon had Juilliard and was currently wishing for a piano to drop on my head. I could outsource, I was a popular guy. So why was I sitting alone? I almost felt compelled to check on the mid-term papers I needed to turn in.

What a depressing thought.

I could sit and think about weird shit to do but what I really wanted was make things right with Sharon.

Sharon's POV

Gabriel was calling for the second time tonight. The first time had been easy to ignore because I'd been about to step into the shower. I was currently sitting at my desk, researching for a paper on modern dance. I buried myself into the warm layer of cotton that was my robe. My gaze was persistently stuck on the vibrating cellphone. I was weak. I was an idiot. I was a weak, stupid, glutton for punishment, idiot. Because I decided to answer. Otherwise, he would just keep calling. You could just turn off the phone, a mean voice spirited in my mind.

"What?" Was my bland, passive-aggressive greeting.

"My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!"

I blinked.

"Gabriel." I deadpanned.

"For the first part of my apology, I'll read you the book and watch the movie in one night. For the second part, I'll bake you a cake with that bitter chocolate you're obsessed with."

Sure, my mother knew I loved dark chocolate, but not even she knew the brand I was currently in love with—it was such a minuscule detail. My brain all but yelled that this ungodly knowledge Gabe possessed was part of the problem.

"I can't just eat an entire cake. I have a diet to stick to. I already ate two pop-tarts this week." And that wasn't me being crazy about staying skinny, it was just me reading the damn box and knowing how many calories one pop tart had. My diet was balanced and inclusive of all food groups, I wasn't like so many girls I'd met, eating too little or developing an eating disorder. It helped that Mom had started me on a dietitian since I took up dancing. "And there's no way you can finish the book in one night."

"Ye of little faith," I rolled my eyes ignoring the shudder of excitement at the confidence in his voice. "And who said anything about eating an entire cake? You get one slice. I'll eat the rest." I couldn't stop a goofy laugh from barreling out of me. "That's a yes?"

I exhaled through my nose, touching my forehead against the desk table. Robbie's words haunted me. Not so deep down, I knew this should end. Hanging out with a guy you had feelings for wasn't healthy, especially since the feelings were one sided. And still...

"You can only come over on Fridays or Saturdays. Got it?"

"Aye, aye, Captain Stone." The cheeky grin in his voice was unmistakable. "Share? I really am sorry."

"I know, Gabe." Because I did know. Gabriel's apologies were few and far in between, mainly because he didn't feel bad about the majority of shit he pulled, but he always apologized to me. That's how I knew he was honestly hating himself for screwing up. "I liked the tidying up the apartment part of the apology." Although, the bed hadn't been well made.

"That's because you're a neat-freak."

"Or you're a slob."

"My apartment is immaculate."

"You have maids."

"Touché." There was a small pause. "What are you doing?"

"Research for a paper. Are you going out tonight?"

"Nah. I went to see Ky and now I'm back home." Bored out of his mind. I had no idea how Gabe managed to get through his days—err, his nights. It was more frequent to catch Gabe awake during the night than during the day since attending classes was a nonissue.

"You could do some college work. Just saying," I added over his pained groan. "Or read a book. I know you told me you were reading something from Stephen King."

"The Shinning. You refused to watch the movie adaptation with me."

"I get nightmares!"

"Whatever. It's not a faithful adaptation, some of the most iconic scenes from the movie aren't in the book. Like the blood coming out of the—"

I started singing a Christmas Carol because it was the only thing that popped into my head. I didn't stop until he gave up on describing the gore.

"And you call me random." He snorted. "Don't tell me you've already started with the Christmas songs?"

"No. I only do that after Thanksgiving. Speaking of Thanksgiving…"

"Do you want me to cook the Turkey?" he sounded like Mom once I told her I was throwing my first Thanksgiving dinner.

"No."

"Can I volunteer to cook the Turkey?"

I slammed a hand on my desk, "My Turkey's going to taste fine!"

"It'll definitely taste better than anything Trip can cook."

"I wouldn't let him near my kitchen." I leaned back into the comfy chair.

"Wise choice." To be fair, Ava told me he was cooking edible food lately.

"I want you to bring a pie."

"Homemade?"

"Duh. Otherwise, I wouldn't ask you to bring one."

"Fine, Ro. Anything else?"

"Nope. Can you please remember the pie?"

"Some of my brain cells are fritzing but I'll do my best."

The conversation ebbed as I read information for my paper, until Gabe started asking things about it. I put him on speaker while working. I knew these things were useless to him, they had to be, yet, he never sounded condescending while I explained or debated any concept. I shoved the warm, bubbly feeling into the pits of ignorance. As if I could be oblivious about this sentiment.

Eventually, I shut off everything, headed to bed, got under my cuddly covers and pressed the phone to my ear.

"Some of us need to sleep, mister."

"True. Not everyone can be Batman." He paused. "You used to be my Robin."

My nose crinkled.

"Isn't Robin a guy?"

"I'm pretty sure there was a girl Robin once." I had no clue. I knew zilch about comics.

I heaved softly. My eyes drooped as I snuggled into my pillow.

"Be that as it may, this Robin is retired and needs shuteye." He didn't say anything back. Before he hung up, I whispered, "FYI, I could be Batman."

That tore a loud laugh from him. I smiled, phone threatening to slip from my slacking fingers.

***

A rush of cold air slammed into me as I left the building. This felt like winter, not autumn. My nose and ears turned into glaciers from that burst of air. Jesus! I had half a mind to spun around and beg someone to let me crash at their dorm; it was only the thought of chocolate cake and a reading of my favorite book that made me brave the weather.

I didn't make it more than four steps when a weight settled on my shoulders.

"Robbie, I told you, I don't need..." an escort. The words died at the sight of a towering, familiar blond. "Gabe?"

"The one and only."

"What are you doing here?" I tightened my arms around myself. I'd checked my phone and there hadn't been missed calls or unread texts. "I thought you were at my place."

"Yeah, but I finished the cake early, so…"

He was wearing a thick black jacket, zipped to his neck, dark jeans that were worth a wad of bills and a black beanie. The strands of alabaster hair peeking out from under the woolen hat were plastered to his forehead.

"How long have you been out here?"

"Not long," Gabe shifted back and forth on his heels to the balls of his feet.

Liar, I thought, a secret smirk tugging at my mouth. I was tempted to slip off a glove and press a palm to his face just to prove him wrong. It was too cold, though, my breath kept materializing into cold puffs of air.

"I thought I'd drop by, walk you home... The yoozh."

I tittered, "The yoozh?" I stood on my tiptoes—instantly regretting it. Gabe's icy-blond eyebrow arched at my wince. "It was a long day."

Understanding skipped across his face, quickly replaced by a smile that would charm the pants off my mother. And she hadn't been Gabe's biggest fan in a while. It was so hard to remember he was supposed to be apologizing to me.

"I can be persuaded to upgrade my apology into VIP treatment. That package comes with a foot rub."

"And how much would that upgrade cost me?"

"Your company." Gabe's eyes twinkled with amusement. He leaned in, dragging the freezing tip of his nose just below my earlobe. "Like I said: the yoozh."

My shoulders drew inward. I tilted my face to the side, to lock eyes with him.

"That's not proper English. The word you're looking for is 'usual'."

Gabe barked a laugh, "You sounding like your mother is a serious turn-off."

"I wasn't aware that we were doing anything to turn you on?"

Gabe gave me a fleeting glance before undoing his jacket. What...?

"Almost forgot," he dug into the jacket's inner pocket. "I got you something. Since you're a little freak that forgets to protect her head from the cold." Gabe held out a beanie; the front and back of it were black, the sides were colored red—each with three black dots—and on the top of the beanie were two small antennas...

"It's a ladybug!" I immediately made grabby hands at it. Instead of handing it over, he dressed my head with it, making sure to tuck my tingly ears underneath. Gabe dug a finger beneath the soft material, stretching it and letting it bounce against my forehead—my eyes flinched shut for a split second. Gabe was wearing a satisfied expression once I reopened them.

"I saw it last week and it reminded me of you." Because he remembered I liked ladybugs. "Remember? Because when we met..."

"I remember." I was glad my cheeks were already red from the burning cold. "Thank you. I love it. I'll wear it every day."

"Yeah, that's the idea, Share-bear. I have no idea how you've managed to keep your tiny ears frostbite-free." My ears weren't tiny. They were proportional to the rest of my face, thank you very much.

I saw Robbie come our way. I knew he was going to get the wrong idea... Robbie slowed his walk, but thank God, didn't stop.

"Hey, Gabe. Taking Sharon home?" no comments like "weren't you supposed to be mad at him?" or "are you really that easy to sway?".

Gabriel flicked his head towards my friend, plastering on a half grin. It was inviting and friendly without him trying, something he got from Alexandra.

"Yeah, I was in the neighborhood." I had no idea if Robbie bought it.

"Cool. I offered to walk her home, but she threatened to throw my ass out of a window. Make sure she eats."

"I eat! And quit being condescending. I'm standing right here, asshole!" I yelled.
Robbie gave a wave without looking back while Gabe lowered an arm around my shoulders.

"Language, Ro. What would your mother say? Wait. I know this... Sharon Evelyn Stone, I didn't raise you as a foul-mouthed pirate!" I slammed an elbow into his kidneys. Gabe let out a rush of breath mixed with a laugh.

"She doesn't say that." Yeah, no, she kind of did.

He fastened me closer to his side.

"Come on, let's get you home. With any luck, a friendly Gremlin made you dinner with that cake." I tried not to show my soaring excitement at the news.

"I think you mean a friendly Elf?"

"Nope. I mean Gremlin."

"Fine, you're a Gremlin." I guess Gizmo was cuddlier than an Elf.

As we walked toward the bus stop, I told Gabe about the routine Ms. Devoe had us rehearsing for the New Dance. In the bus, we had to stand; at one of the stops, a man pushed past us to get off, Gabe instinctively pushed a hand against my lower back, flattening me against him. I let my head rest against his jacket, ignoring the humidity clinging to it. I knew how we looked to the people around us: like a couple. It twisted my insides in a hundred knots.

Because it wasn't true and because I was such a fool.

The warmth enveloping my head and ears whispered something so intimate to me. As did the food and cake waiting at home. He knew me so well. He knew I always forgot to buy beanies, he knew I loved ladybugs, he knew how exhausting my days were—he knew things I'd never told anyone else. How was I supposed to quit him? The sex wasn't the hardest part—it was amazing, but... it wasn't what I was afraid of losing. The only thing that rivaled my passion for dancing, was time spent with Gabe.

Gabe's POV

I was convinced I knew this book front to back. I could recite it, pass a quiz on it with flying colors. I had a fucking major on The Princess Bride. I tried not to imagine my father's dumbstruck face if he found out this was what I did with my time. His secretary had called three times in the last three days. On Monday I was going to swing by his office. I wondered if he could hire a firing squad to execute me.

Those thoughts were dashed by the time Buttercup and Wesley's kissing scene surged. I knew what the next words would be before my eyes followed up on them. Throughout this little reading session, though, I didn't feel the least bit bored. There was a pretty girl snuggling into my side, head pressed into my left shoulder, hanging on my every word even though she had to know this book by heart, same as me.

With the bittersweet taste of cake on my tongue I read on, on autopilot as my eyes secretly trailed across the slope of Sharon's nose, the path of two small beauty marks on the side of her right cheek, the plump underbelly of her lower lip.

Suddenly I wasn't reading, I was reaching with my thumb, wiping a chocolate stain off a corner of her mouth. Stunned green jewels glanced up at me.

"You had chocolate on your lips." I supplied, mouth dry. "It was distracting."

Her frown was an appropriate response. Because, yeah, what the fuck, Gabe?

"How the hell are you reading while staring at my lips?"

"I wasn't staring. I looked away for a second and saw it." Share's expression was still wondrous when I picked up the paragraph. Against better judgment, I spent the next two chapters hung over the first time I read her this damn book.

Sharon couldn't stop grinning. This was my fault. I shouldn't have bought a book she liked. She leaned into me, peeking at the words I was reading out loud.

My eyes slid her way. Her green eyes were glued on the pages. She was twelve, she knew how to read. Why did I keep doing it instead? Noticing I was taking a very long pause, Sharon looked up.

"Why did you stop?" To stare at your idiotic grin, I thought, dazed.

"My mouth's dry."

Sharon's face twisted in disgust.

"Maybe it's from all the smoking you've been doing."

I averted my eyes to the ceiling, sighing loudly. She was making it her mission to annoy me about my "bad" habit. She kept saying I wasn't old enough and that I was going to get lung cancer. She'd shown me scary pictures of people's throats on the web. My answers were: I'm almost thirteen. My Dad's been smoking for years and he's fine.

"Don't start," I reached for the glass of OJ on her nightstand. She gave me a panicked look with every gulp I took. She was super afraid I'd spill on her precious duvet. We were on her bed with about a hundred throw pillows. "Or I'll stop reading."

Sharon pouted. For some reason that made me stare at the book in my lap.

"Buttercup and Wesley are about to kiss after five years apart..."

"You only know that 'cause you read ahead."

Sharon pulled back, crossing her arms.

"You don't stop at the romantic moments, Gabe. That's just wrong."

I rolled my eyes.

"I don't get what's romantic about slobbering all over a person's mouth. It's like drinking a jar of saliva..."

The book slipped as my fingers spasmed; my eyes widened for a second before something warmer than Sharon's lips touched mine. Curiosity took over and my own tongue brushed hers, hesitantly. It was... strange. I jerked when she tipped closer, stabbing her nose into my cheek. Sharon backed up then, but I leaned in after her, instinctively twisting my head so that our noses wouldn't poke at any part of our faces. Our tongues flicked together a couple more times; I could taste leftovers of bitter chocolate she ate earlier.

Sharon yanked away, leaving my lips cold with wet saliva. My eyes opened to find hers. Her eyes were very... daring? It broke the second she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You're right. That was awful. Is that what kissing an ashtray feels like?"

Dumbfounded, I squared my shoulders, hissing, "I haven't smoked in hours!" Sharon's Mom wasn't home, only their housekeeper, but I wasn't chancing it.

Sharon turned innocent eyes on me, shrugging.

"Maybe you'll always taste that way. I don't think girls will want to kiss you..." with a huff, I slammed the book shut. She trailed off. "Oh come on, it was a joke. I thought you didn't even like kissing?"

I shifted away from the ballet maniac. Unlike Trip, I hadn't kissed anyone until now. I still didn't get what the hype was all about, but... I guess it didn't feel terrible.

"Do you always annoy the guys you kiss?"

Sharon folded her legs.

"No, just you." She grinned. "But you're the first boy I kissed. So, who knows? Maybe I'll make it a thing."

"You've never kissed anyone before?"

Her cheeks became puffy like twin balloons.

"Are you going to make fun of me?"

I ignored her.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. You're supposed to kiss someone you like. You're my friend, I like you..." Sharon glanced at the bedding for a split second. Her shoulders bowed, "Was it bad?"

I scratched the back of my head. My heartbeat sped up as I spoke.

"Not bad. It was... weird. But not in a bad way. I guess?"

Sharon's lips drew together as her cheeks became pinkish. For a while, we didn't speak or glance at one another. It felt like something bigger than us was lurking her bed, making us uncomfortable. This was stupid; Sharon and I used to share a bed as kids. According to our Bio teacher, kissing was just a more disgusting way for people to touch and exchange germs.

Finally, I broke the silence by cracking open The Princess Bride. I leaned back, sending Share a warm smile. Sharon's posture relaxed as she laid down beside me and I re-started reading.

If I could time-travel I would kick Twelve-year-old Me in the shins. Because nine years later, I was still reading to the same girl and worst of all, I did more than kiss her now. Share was my opposite in almost every way. She was driven, I was aimless; Sharon was passionate about dancing, I could barely stay awake in class; she rather fight through life while I took the easy road and drowned in drugs, alcohol and her.

Losing myself in Sharon was both a cure and a disease. There were moments when thoughts rioted against not seeing her every day, moments when it was just us and it was the warmest, safest place I could dream of, even my highs couldn't compete. There were other times, quieter times, when I wanted to leave her because I was a sinking ship made up of bloated, rotten wood, slowly coming apart. There were moments when the demons I kept adrift clawed for me, yelling this—with us—had to be put down faster than a rabid animal.

I was weak for her. I believed Sharon knew what we were doing, because she always knew what she was doing. I told myself she could be responsible for both of us, that if she thought I was dragging her down, she would put a stop to it.

I had to believe that.

I told myself all those things, but I never disillusioned myself by thinking that I was good enough for her.