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time out of therapy, who used to screw Romeo, and who is still
friends with Romeo and Riley. Like I said to her, it’s just too weird. And
beyond the weirdness, I don’t think I can admit all my dirt with her sitting
across from me. The wannabe slut, the jean picker, and even the spoiled douche
bag I can handle, but the princess?
    Nope.
    She’s so calm, cool, and collected, gazing down her
nose at the rest of us. With her back stiff, her hands clasped, and her
expression smooth, she makes me feel dirty merely looking at her.
    Yet, out in the parking lot she lost some of that
cool, her blue eyes flashing angrily, her mouth twisting in fury. She didn’t
look like the ice queen then. And my previous assumption, that her icy, cool
beauty was a turn off, changed in an instant. Cracking her cool, bringing out that
fire, became a hot, sexual fantasy in an instant.
    And fuck that.
    Fuck my dick and its fantasies. I will never go there . I force my features to smooth and
glance back at the music sheet. “Yeah, I’ll definitely have to talk to her at
the party.”

Chapter 5
    ~April~

 
 
 
    Although I loathe group
therapy, following my little talk with Dr. Medina, I left myself with the only
option of participating more. It doesn’t matter that Gabe stoically sits across
from me or that people may find out about me being in therapy. I have to make
it appear that the therapy is working to some degree because I have to get into
the program. Therefore I sit in my chair, listen attentively, and wait to
participate.
    After his usual introduction monologue, Jeff asks
Chad then Misha to share. Apparently, he wants to get the usual crap out of the
way in the beginning. Next, he turns to Jason. Thumbs tapping on the sides of
his thighs, Jason tells a short story of his mother giving him a surprise
birthday party when he was ten. We’re all intent on listening since Jason never
says more than two words. And even with the shortness of the story, it’s
apparent that the memory is a fond one.
    “I always wanted to give someone a surprise party,
so that was a great memory, Jason,” I say, wanting to participate with a bit of
honesty.
    Jeff waits for other comments until the stale
silence has him giving Jason an exuberant thanks
before he asks Gabe to share.
    Gabe’s eyes flick to me so quick that I almost miss
it, making me wonder if I missed any glances last week.
    Though he casually leans back in the chair, his long
body is ridged steel. “When I retaliated against my father that first
time”—there’s no need for him to elaborate given that we all clearly remember
him announcing that he beat his father’s ass—“it wasn’t because I was defending
myself. I never tried to defend myself. It was because he hit his girlfriend
who had been living with us since I was thirteen. She’d been taking care of me more
than my father did the moment she walked through the door. After he hit her, I
lost it, snapped, and jumped on him, fists going wild.” He crosses his boots.
“He hit me from time to time after that, but he never hit her again.”
    Misha looks at him with wide eyes. “And you were
only fifteen?”
    Gabe nods.
    “Did you ever beat his ass again?” Chad asks.
    Gabe shakes his head. “He turned to threats more
than fists after that.”
    “How much?” I blurt out in a demanding tone.
    Gabe’s brow rises in question.  
    “How much d—did he hit you?” I almost said does.
    His shoulders shrug. “Every now and then.”
    “Well,” Misha sneers at me. “For someone who doesn’t
say much, you’re awfully intrusive.”
    I actually agree with her. The question had come
more from the future counselor in me. I’m betting that Gabe has grown to
consider getting knocked around every now and then as acceptable. And as usual
when Misha is being aggressive, my gaze finds the
floor. I mumble, “Just curious.”
    I glance up to find Gabe watching me, most likely wondering
why I backed down from Misha and not him. I