Gabriella Ch. 08

He was already late for their class together, but he couldn't stop reading over the words. He needed to talk to her, let her know that she didn't have to take these drastic measures. At first he panicked thinking she had dropped out of school. But when he checked her full schedule, no changes had been made to her other classes. Just his.

Simon leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He kept telling himself that each day would get better, when in fact they kept getting worse. Patricia hadn't uttered more than two words to him and he had no clue of Gabriella's whereabouts. She could probably go the rest of her life without ever talking to them again...something Patricia would never forgive him for. Something he wouldn't forgive himself for.

He walked into the empty lecture room and sighed. Fifteen minutes late and students bail. The only one who was still seated was Cory. He was reading over the text. Again.

Cory looked up. "Hey, Professor Graham."

Simon dropped his briefcase and sat on top of the desk. "Hey. Why didn't you leave?"

"Finals are coming up soon."

"I know, but I can't teach the class now."

Cory shrugged. "I like being in class."

Simon had too, once. Now it felt like there was nothing left to learn. History had already been played out. There wasn't the gut churning anticipation of the present, and the future was a big scary blur. "Well since we're both here, is there anything in particular you want me to go over again?"

"Well..." Cory hurriedly flipped through his notebook. "There was one thing."

Simon stared down at the braniac. He wasn't a bad looking kid, if he updated his glasses. Maybe a haircut to keep his floppy brown curls out of his eyes, and he could definitely stand to gain a few pounds underneath his buttoned up plaid shirt and khaki pants.

"Cory?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"You do know that you'll pass the final, right? I'm guessing with no less than an A plus."

Cory grinned. "I guess so. I just like to be fully prepared."

"What subject do you enjoy the most?"

"Well, the one I find most interesting is science," he answered. "Although I'm really enjoying history now because of the way you teach."

"Thanks. How do I rate as a professor? Average, above...below?"

Cory leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up. "Well, there are a lot of things to consider. Lots of different points to take in to give you an overall rating."

Simon folded his arms across his chest. He hadn't expected it to be so detailed, but he should have known Cory would make it such. He was ready to hear the truth. He felt like a lousy husband and stepfather, so might as well add in awful teacher to round out the list. "Alright, let me have it."

"Your syllabus could definitely use some work. It doesn't explain much and we've had fewer quizzes than you listed, which throws off the grading percentage. So for that, I can only give you average. But your teaching method is much different and rather enjoyable compared to all of the other professors I've had. You make class entertaining and you limit the amount of mindless eighties educational videos we're forced to watch. You keep the students engaged, which I must admit is hard to do, so you are above average in that respect. Not to mention you get extra points for being the "coolest" professor on campus. A lot of girls like you, or at least that's my understanding."

"So your tally is..."

"Well, I would definitely give you an A as a Darby professor taking into account all those things. And your PhD from Dartmouth definitely shines through in your vast knowledge of history."

"But?"

"But I would have to give you an A minus total because you seem distracted some days."

"Sorry. My mind tends to drift lately."

"And eyes," Cory said as he marked a page in orange highlighter.

"Come again?"

"You look at Ella Foster a lot. It's quite noticeable."

The hair on Simon's arms moved. "I—"

"I get it. I think she's pretty too." Cory kept flipping pages, making Simon wonder if he could read and talk at the same time.

Usually in an uncomfortable moment like this, Simon would have defended himself. Mentioned Gabriella was just his stepdaughter and he was keeping an eye on her. But there was no point. He would only be telling a half truth.

"So overall, I'm good, although I could be better with less distraction."

"Correct."

"I'll keep that in mind." He removed his lesson planner from his briefcase. "So, did you find what it is you wanted me to explain further?"

"Yep. I wanted to go over Cambyses II invasion at Pelusium during the Late Period. I think the text is misleading." He quickly scanned over the highlighted sentences.

Simon sighed and pulled up a chair.

**********

Patricia

Patricia slowly brushed her teeth back and forth as her eyes followed Simon's every move reflected from the mirror. He had carefully applied shaving cream to his five o'clock shadow and slid the razor along his jaw. She watched as droplets from his freshly washed hair rolled down his tanned skin, stopping at the towel wrapped securely around his hips. In the past, the view of his physical attributes was enough to drench her panties, but now it was a sharp reminder of his strength. Of the morning he transformed right before her eyes into a man she'd never seen before.

Their late night rituals before bed used to be full of laughter or meaningful conversations about their future. Now in the small tight space of their bathroom lay a canyon. An awkward silence had now become the placeholder for laughter and conversation.

"I quit my job today."

His eyes caught hers in the reflection but she lowered them as she spit out the toothpaste.

"Don't worry, I'm going to start looking tomorrow," she quickly added.

"I'm not upset about that. Take your time."

"I'll start tomorrow." She turned and walked into the bedroom. He sighed and followed behind.

They pulled back the covers at the same time and crawled into bed. Simon mumbled goodnight and Patricia pulled the covers securely around her neck as she slid to the far edge of the bed.

Hours passed as she watched the light of the moon create shapes on the wall. Her body ached because she couldn't toss and turn like normal when restless. She didn't want to disturb Simon and have him ask what was wrong, so she lay still as each passing minute felt like an hour unto itself.

When the clock on the nightstand read three o' five she slid out of bed. Simon's breaths remained a steady rhythm as she closed the door to their bedroom. She had walked down this hallway hundreds of times, but in the dark, it seemed cold and unfamiliar. She stared at the door to the right. Before the blowup on Sunday, she couldn't remember the last time she had entered Ella's room.

She opened the door and looked around. Hangers and clothes still littered the floor where Ella had pulled them from her closet in a rush. She straightened the trinkets that had been knocked over on her dresser. She turned over a picture frame and stared at the two most important things in her life. A photo of Simon and Ella that was taken almost two years ago at his birthday dinner. She remembered the waitress catching them off guard as she quickly snapped the picture. Neither of them was smiling as they stared back at her. The photo was encased in a thick purple frame adorned with colorful butterflies, and a pang of hurt twisted inside her. There were no pictures of her in Ella's room.

She picked up the clothes and neatly hung them back in her closet. She thumbed through several outfits, many of which were short or tight or both. Towards the back of the closet, she noticed a large black down jacket. She smiled. It was one of her gifts to Ella a few Christmases ago, and she was pleased to see it hadn't been tossed out. She pulled the jacket from the hanger and something hard hit the floor. Patricia knelt down and felt around until her hand connected with a book. She hung the jacket back up and stepped out of the closet.

She ran her hand over the slick cool leather binding. She never pictured Ella as a girl who would have kept a diary. Patricia sat down on the bed. She and her daughter were so private, so she knew violating that trust would be unforgivable. But this might be the closest she'd ever come to understanding the enigma that was Ella Foster.

She walked into the kitchen and placed the diary on the table. While the coffee brewed, she stared at it. There was the possibility that there were things within those pages she'd rather not know. Ella wasn't the pinnacle of innocence and Patricia was in no hurry to find how far she'd fallen.

"Patricia?" She looked toward the door as Simon entered. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. I just couldn't sleep."

"Me either." He nodded and pulled a mug from the cabinet. "What's that?"

"Ella's diary."

The glass slipped from Simon's hands and shattered on the kitchen floor. His reflexes were slow as he stared at the cabinet for a second before his attention turned to the mess on the floor. He quickly bent down to pick up the pieces, and she knelt down to help.

"No, I got it! I don't want you getting hurt," he said.

She moved back to the table. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just...clumsy." He deposited the broken glass into the trash and turned to her. "I didn't know she kept a diary."

"Neither did I."

He leaned against the counter. "Have you read it?"

"No. I was debating on whether or not I should. What do you think?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I can understand the curiosity, but she would be pissed if she found out."

"Yeah, like I need another strike against me." Patricia ran her hand over it. "But I'm also afraid I'll find out something I don't want to know."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, maybe she has a list of all the men she's slept with. I don't want to know that stuff."

"So, don't read it."

"Maybe I won't."

He nodded.

"You read it," she asked suddenly. She held it out to him before she lost her nerve.

Simon quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

"She always liked you more than me, so she wouldn't hold it against you. Just the first page or so."

He took the book and untied the lace bindings. After a deep breath, he opened it. His brows drew together as his fingers thumbed through several pages.

"What's it say?" Patricia leaned on the edge of her seat.

"Nothing." He looked at her. "It's blank."

"What?" Patricia took the book from him and scanned it frantically. Nothing. "Why would she keep it hidden?"

"I don't know. You coming back to bed?"

"In a bit." Patricia flipped through the book again as if words would magically appear. Disappointment settled in her stomach. She had believed she'd have a closer understanding with Ella. But much like everything else in their relationship, this had turned out empty as well.

Patricia poured out her lukewarm coffee and turned off the kitchen lights, once again in the dark.

**********

Gabriella

"Yeah, apparently she had sex with Bryan and Josh at the same time."

"Ew, she's so gross. I'm glad her boyfriend dumped her in front of everyone."

"Yeah, and he's cute. I wonder if he's dating..."

Or so went the tale of her wild weekend to the girls who sat a row behind Ella in Music Appreciation.

She waited behind her English building for her Classical Literature class to begin. They were reading The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and she hadn't read a single word. Instead she had spent the night watching PBS in a cheap motel on the outskirts of town trying to block out the strange noises through the thin walls that smelled like mildew. The room above her had produced a mix of moans and mattress springs and in the room beside her, a couple argued half the night. Then, after a few hours of fitful sleep, she got to face a day full of random girls speculating about what a whore she must have been on the night she was raped.

She had considered turning around and telling the two girls that their boyfriends were next, but after the initial high in seeing the shock on their faces, she would only leave class feeling empty and cheap. So she decided against it and pretended to ignore their gossip. She still wasn't sure if Josh was behind the rumor of him being included or maybe Rebecca, to take some heat off her boyfriend being the only one mentioned, but she didn't care. Apparently people were going to believe what they wanted to believe. Including Nolan.

She had only seen him in passing since his fight with Kyle on Monday. He didn't acknowledge her and she tried to act nonchalant about the whole thing.

The wind seized the smoke from her lips when she exhaled. She had wanted to kick the habit, but after being raped on Friday, humiliated by her boyfriend on Saturday, leaving the only man she'd ever loved Sunday and the entire campus thinking she was a slut by Monday, this was definitely not the best time for her to quit. But the weekend was closing in and she could eventually put all of this behind her.

She tossed her cigarette down and entered the building, with her professor's frumpy frame trailing not far behind.

"Good afternoon," Professor Moore said to the less than enthusiastic class when she'd entered the room.

Ella was walking to the back, passing by a group of guys when she heard her name whispered. She turned toward them. Rich, a guy with a closely shaved head who she knew hung around Nolan, made a phallic gesture with his hand and mouth.

She stopped in front of him while he smiled up at her. "Are you trying to tell me you like sucking dick?"

He looked confused for a second as the guy behind him burst into laughter and punched him in the back.

Rich's eyes narrowed with understanding. "No, but I hear you do."

She rolled her eyes and sat down.

"Alright, settle down. We have a lot to fit into this class period." Professor Moore shifted strands of her short gray coif behind her ear. "This is a really short book, people. You could have finished it in just a few hours, but here we are almost a week later still pushing through it. So to avoid most of you failing because you have more important things to do than read Mr. Stevenson's wonderful story, we'll just have to read it aloud like elementary kids. Alright. Volunteers?"

Ella shaded around the rings in her composition book in pencil. Simon was usually in his office at this time. She had cut this class more than once to meet him. She smiled thinking of his pissed off expression when she opened his door. She had never met anyone more about the institution of education than him, and missing class was 'missing an opportunity to grow' as he reminded her so many times. Sometimes he would push her out and she'd pout all the way to class. But more often than not, she was straddling him with his hand over her mouth and...

She glanced up at Professor Moore when she heard her name. "Excuse me?"

"I said, would you do us the honor?"

Ella avoided the stares of her classmates before answering. "What honor?"

Professor Moore tapped the podium and held up the book.

"Oh, I'd rather not."

"And for that, you must," she said with a smile. "Come on up."

Ella cursed under her breath and picked up her book. She walked to the front of the class and avoided eye contact with the guys who sat in the back. She turned to Professor Moore. "I really don't feel well."

"Reading always makes me feel better, so let's see if that works for you."

Ella glared at her.

"Pick up at 'I swear to God...'"

She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, scanned the passage and began. "I swear to God I will never set eyes on him again. I bind my honor to you that I am done with him in this world. It is all at an end."

She looked up at Professor Moore who had taken a seat in the first row. She nodded for her to keep going. Her skin was burning and her lips were dry. "And indeed he does not want my help; you do not know him as I do—"

Ella gripped the podium for support as the words seem to float off the page and no longer make sense. Whispers from the front of the classroom caught her attention. She swallowed and tried to find where she had left off.

"he is—" Those words haunted her. You do not know him as I do...

Her head hurt and her eyes stung like dry heat blowing directly into them. "he is—"

"Keep going," Professor Moore said.

She glanced at her, then over the class where all eyes concentrated on her. Every small noise, whether a shift in a seat, click of an ink pen or cough seemed to echo in the time she stood frozen.

"Ella?"

She heard Professor Moore call her name, but she couldn't answer. Instead, she turned and made her way to the door. The chatter started up, but she couldn't make out what people were saying as Professor Moore asked them to quiet down.

She rushed down the hall, dodging other students until she made it to the bathroom. Paint chips flew up as she shoved open the old small window. Cold wind rushed in, chilling her skin. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window seal.

You do not know him as I do...

So many times she came close to shouting those words at her own mother, but the thought of him hating her forever made her bite them back down and swallow the bitter jealous taste. And reading them aloud, her soul felt exposed.

Ella stayed long enough for two people to ask if she was alright, and one person that asked if she'd close the window because it was freezing. But she pretended not to hear them as she stuck her head further out.

By the time class was over, she shook the dust and dried paint from her hair and clothes and walked back into the empty lecture room to get her bag. But as soon as she made it to the back, she realized her stuff wasn't where she had left it. Instead, it was lying in the middle of the floor near where Cassie and Amanda usually sat. She picked it up to find the word 'whore' written in whiteout on the front of her backpack. She tried wiping it off, but it had already dried in big white block letters where everyone could see.

She stomped defiantly towards the front of the class, emptied her books from the bag and tossed it in the small trash bin. After a deep breath, she pulled open the door and headed out into the crowd.

**********

Patricia

Patricia screamed and toppled over on the sack of fertilizer she had tried to slide across the garage, ripping the bag and spilling powder everywhere. She quickly hopped up and shook her arms and legs out in a dance after seeing a large werewolf-esque black spider crawl across the bag, which caused her sudden clumsiness.

She had been in the garage for hours cleaning, and it still looked as though she had just started. And it wasn't so much filthy as it was cluttered. Rakes, hedge trimmers, a lawn mower and other gardening tools were on one side, while weight lifting equipment, mechanical tools and Simon's vintage motorcycle, the one he rarely let anyone even sit on, was on the other. This had always been his domain, but the inside of the house was spotless thanks to her unemployment, which left the last chore...the garage.

Patricia dusted off her gray sweatpants and stared at the monumental task she had set for herself. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day to clean. Saturday meant a whole day with Simon and not since the blow up almost a week ago, had she been alone with him to really talk. So excusing herself to the garage for most of that day sounded like a plausible justification.

She slapped away a lock of hair that fell onto her face and swept up the fertilizer, keeping an eye out for her new eight-legged tenant. Her strokes slowed as she swiped the broom beneath Simon's motorcycle. He often joked that his bikes were the third most important things to him, putting only Ella and herself above them. And although she rarely paid them any attention, she knew he spent several hours cleaning them and now particles of white dust clung to the tires. She knelt down to brush the powder off, but it smeared, turning the shiny black rubber to an ashy gray.