Withdrawals

Summer

We stand outside a typical brick walk up apartment building. The type where they can charge four thousand in rent for the location, but the apartments look no better than the shit in the projects.

"For some reason, I thought the killing business would be a little more lucrative," I say, as I gaze up at the red brick building.

"No. It's only a step up from homeless prostitute."

I swing my head to look up at him. His face is stoic as he too looks over the building.

"That was a good one," I say, chuckling. "You can add standup comedian to your list of things to do when the killing gig tanks."

His green eyes land on me and his lips lift a minuscule of an inch upward. I guess that was as close to a laugh as I'll ever get.

He turns back to the building and heads inside. I follow. We skip the elevator and go straight for the stairs. I think he gets a kick out of making me suffer. By the time we make it to the 8th floor my body is on fire and I'm sweating like I've been running a marathon.

Gabriel looks over at me and frowns.

"I'm alright. I just need to sit down," I try to explain.

He opens the door to his apartment and steps aside for me to enter. The size of the place doesn't shock me. I've lived in New York most of my life. I know how tiny these apartments can be. This is a studio no larger than 400 sq ft. As soon as you enter, you're in the galley style kitchen. The dark oak cabinets and faux granite counters are bare.

The kitchen lets out to the main area of living space. A simple couch is placed against the wall with a plain rectangular coffee table in front of it. There is no other furniture in the room. Not a television, side tables, not even a plant in the corner. I would say it's the bare minimum, but this isn't even the minimum.

"Were you robbed?" I don't turn to look at him, but I feel him pressed up behind me.

"No," he replies, before walking past me to the folding doors on the other side of the room.

When he opens the doors, I can tell it's a closet. A few measly shirts hang on hangers along with a large hoodie and some shorts. There is no way this is his true apartment.

Gabriel yanks his shirt up over his head, exposing his wide back with all its cords and muscles. Damn! I didn't realize they made backs like that. Not even the crisscross of old scars can detract from the beauty of this man.

He quickly replaces the old shirt with a black long sleeve thermal. He grabs the hoodie off the hanger and then picks up a pair of black combat boots and turns to me.

"Put these on," he says, tossing the black fabric at me.

It smacks me in the face. He then tosses the boots at my feet.

"This thing is going to swallow me whole," I hold the hoodie up and it looks as wide as a bed sheet. "And there is no way I'm fitting those boots."

"You're very picky for someone in a borrowed dress."

I widen my eyes before looking down at my dress. "How did you know it was borrowed?"

His brow quirks up, and even though he doesn't say anything, I can read the word ‘really' loud and clear.

"Whatever," I grumble, putting the large hoodie on.

As suspected, it swallows me. The bottom hits me right below the knees. After kicking off the heels, I put on the boots. I have to wrap the string around the ankle a few times to get them to tighten.

I look like a child playing dress-up in her daddy's clothes. Holding my arms out at my side, I drop them back down as I glare at him. He eyes me up and down before grimacing.

"I told you."

"Take off the shoes," he says, before turning back to the closet.

While his back is to me, I discreetly bury my nose into the collar of the hoodie and take a whiff. His scent is all over the fabric. It's a clean smell, with undertones of oak and sandalwood. Nothing overpowering, but I wouldn't expect anything else from him.

"Tell me about the guys in the diner?" he asks without turning to look at me.

He moves the clothes to one side in his closet, exposing a fancy keypad. Clearing my throat, I shift my weight from one foot to the next in order to take the heavy boots off.

"There's nothing to tell." I slide my feet back into my heels. They aren't the best, but at least they fit.

"Who is Nic?" he asks as he presses a few buttons on the keypad.

The back panel of the wall slides open. Oh shit. This man has a wall of weapons. There are guns, knives of all sizes, a freaking sword, and almost every power tool you can name. He opens the duffle bag and starts adding in a few more tools along with a couple of knives.

I'm so wrapped up in his arsenal that I forgot he asked me a question until he looks back at me over his shoulder.

I cringe. Would it have been too much to ask that he didn't pick up on anything that was said during that incident.

"I guess you could consider him an ex-boyfriend." I mean we were together for six months. That's a lot longer than any other relationship I've had.

He zips the bag up and starts out of the hidden room.

"Why are you afraid of him?"

"What?" I ask, rubbing the back of my neck, stalling. "Who told you I was afraid of him?"

He lifts one of his dark blond brows at me. I'm starting to get really irritated with that look. Sighing, I drop my arms by my side.

"I'm really starting to hate this talent of yours." Taking a seat on the couch, I lean back. "I burned down his stash house by accident and now he's determined to kill me."

With his arms folded across his chest, he only stares at me silently. Unlike him, I don't have the talent of reading people, so I don't know what he's thinking. I push forward.

"Sorry to spoil it for you, but you're not the first person to want to kill me. I have people lining up to do me the favor."

"Is that why you're so agreeable now?"

I wanted to argue that I'm agreeable because his big ass keeps chasing me down, but that wouldn't be truthful.

"Honestly, I was supposed to be dead a long time ago. I've been cheating death since I was a kid. I'm not surprised that bitch finally caught up to me. I guess I figured, why keep running when it's going to happen anyway. Might as well be you that does it."

After my first overdose at fifteen, doctors told me I was lucky to be alive. With the amount of Tylenol in my system I should have died. I feel like ever since then I've had one foot in the grave. If I'm being truly honest, death has had its stink on me since I was a child.

Gabriel hits the computer panel on his wall and the secret door closes. He steps out of the closet and shuts those doors too. He carries the black duffle over to the kitchen putting it on the counter. He then turns to the microwave.

"What happened to you when you were a kid?" He asks, without looking over to me.

"You're asking a lot of questions about someone you're going to kill."

Those seafoam green eyes turn to me briefly before going back to his task. After pressing a combination of five numbers on the keypad, the entire front of the microwave pops open. There's another hidden compartment. It's not a microwave at all but instead what looks to be a cool looking safe. Clearly, this shitty apartment is a lot more than it seems.

Gabriel pulls out a stack of money that has my eyes bugging nearly out my head. He places the stack into this black duffle. He then pulls out a computer that he places on the counter as well.

"Answer my question," he demands.

I roll my eyes. "No."

He gives me another one of his brief warning looks.

"Since you're in a talkative and sharing mood," I say, sitting up placing my elbows on my knees. "Who do you hear in your head when you're having an episode."

His entire body goes still. The fingers that were once flying across the keys on his laptop stop moving as well. For the longest time, he doesn't speak nor move. It lasts so long, I start to feel bad about even asking the question.

"Never mind. You don't have to answer—"

"My mother," he says at the same time I speak.

Silence once again surrounds us. I wasn't expecting that answer, but I'm not shocked.

I shrug and lean back on the couch. "Yeah, well mothers can be bitches sometimes."

If I wasn't sitting here watching his shoulders jump, I never would've believed that he could actually laugh.

Standing to my feet, I look for a door to the bathroom. I spot it in the kitchen. Before I can take one step in that direction, Gabriel turns to look at me.

"Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," I answer as I continue to my destination. "You can't hold a girl hostage without giving her a piss break."

"There are no windows in the bathroom."

I stop in my tracks and turn to him.

"Well, that's a fire hazard." When he doesn't react to my joke I sigh, and say. "Relax, Gabriel. I'm not trying to run. You and I both know I wouldn't get far." I continue my trek to the restroom closing the door behind me.

I press my back to the hard surface and take a few deep breaths. As cool and casual as I'm keeping it, this shit isn't easy.

There is a bit of level headedness that is required when you are facing your mortality. Knowing that tonight could be my last night on this earth, I start to reflect back over my life at all the things I would have done differently.

For instance, I wouldn't have asked my mother to let me stay with my father that night when I was eight. Some of the blame is on her. She knew he was in the midst of a psychotic break. I'm a hundred percent sure she wouldn't have left Raina in his care if she'd asked. Another thing I would have changed, was this outfit choice for the night.

Pushing away from the door, I quickly do my business and then wash my hands. However, nausea coils my stomach causing me to dive back for the toilet. I release everything I've eaten in the last few hours which honestly isn't much. Clutching the toilet as if it's a lover, I lie my head against the seat. I've officially hit the middle stage of my withdrawals.

Suddenly, a cold rag is pressed to my head.

"You have vomit in your costume wig," his deep voice rattles my chest.

I chuckle. "Don't make me laugh, my throat burns."

He pulls the wig off showcasing my two cornrows underneath. If I was even remotely trying to seduce this man, all that went out the window. I look like an extra in the Color Purple.

"I usually don't take the wig off, at least not until the third date," I try joking to relieve the embarrassing moment.

Gabriel doesn't respond. Instead, he tosses the fake hair onto the counter and continues to wipe my face.

"You should have eaten," he says.

I snort. "Food's not going to cure this."

"What's wrong with you?"

Taking the rag from his hands, I wipe my mouth before standing.

"Nothing," I say. "Let me finish cleaning up and I'll be right out."

He doesn't move at first, just watches me closely. I wouldn't be surprised if he could read every secret I'm holding. His gaze, no matter how short, gives you the feeling he sees you. Truly, sees you.

Gabriel leaves, and I finish cleaning up. Thankfully, I find a bottle of mouth wash under the sink and rinse out my mouth. I forgo the wig, there's no saving it. I walk out of the bathroom to find him waiting for me with the duffle bag in his hands.

He slings the bag over his shoulder. "Let's go."

We walk out of the apartment, again with Gabriel in the lead and me following behind him.