“Somewhere that isn’t here,” I mumble. “Don’t mind me. I’m just in a funk.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Gabe nods, and I follow him to the kitchen. He gets out two plates and places them on the countertop. “You want to talk to Rob, not me.”
I hesitate. “I don’t know I it’s worth talking about to Rob even.”
“Huh. It’s not good to keep shit bottled up inside.”
I suppress the urge to give him a hug. He has to be thinking about the time when he and his best friend had been kidnapped. He escaped, but his friend had been killed. The amount of guilt he must've felt.. Yeah, I bet he knows firsthand about how not good it is to keep shit bottled up inside.
But yeah, no hug. Even if it would be totally innocent, I've learned my lesson. No affection toward anyone else. The last thing I need is for Rob to walk in with Gabe and me hugging all alone in their house.
Gabe hums to himself as he grabs some stuff out of the fridge. I watch as he makes two sandwiches loaded up with all kinds of meat. It's only after he hands me the second plate that I realize he made us lunch.
“Thank you.”
“If you aren’t gonna talk to me about whatever’s eating ya, I figured I might as well give you something to eat.”
We cross over to the living room and sit on opposite ends of the couch. The first bite is amazing, and I grin at Gabe.
“Delicious.”
“Only the best.”
“Do you not have to follow a special diet because of all of the track and field stuff?”
He jerks his head to the side, flipping back his longish black hair. It’s always parted in the middle, and it hangs down almost to his nose. I hate that sometimes it covers his green eyes.
"My diet is to eat what I want, drink what I want. Might I be a little faster if I eat cleaner? Possibly, but my metabolism can handle what I'm throwing its way."
“Yeah, but that won’t always be the case.”
“And then I’ll adapt, but for now, I’m good with sandwiches and cheeses and bacon and anything and everything. I don’t tend to drink heavily, though.”
I flinch.
“What’s that?” he asks. “You drank some last night?”
“Yes.”
“With Rob?”
“Yes.” I release a sigh. “And no.”
“What does that mean?”
“Some drinks I had with Rob, and some I had later, when I was alone.”
“They say you shouldn’t drink alone.”
“I know.”
“I think they don’t know shit,” Gabe says frankly. “What’s the harm?”
“It might not be good if you drink until you pass out and the hangover…” I rub my temple. My heightened emotions with my father’s unexpected visit made me forget about my pounding headache. The shower helped, but now, the headache is back, worse than ever, and my stomach’s churning, but I want to finish my sandwich.