Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [142]
“So she told me to forget about you, that I should throw everything away that reminds me of you. And to help me along, she took my phone. So I no longer had our texts or all the pictures of you that I took on my phone’s camera. And also she took away my computer and erased all my old e-mails, so I didn’t have any of the e-mails we sent each other. And then she canceled my Facebook account so I couldn’t even go online and look at your pictures or see your posts. Nothing personal should remain between us. She wanted everything that reminded me of you gone . . . destroyed.”
A new batch of tears.
“But I still had my watch—my beautiful silver watch with the blue face that I loved so much. So every night I used to hold my watch in my hand and cry myself to sleep, thinking about how much I loved you. But then one day when I was gone, she went inside my room and took away my watch. So now I don’t have anything.”
Her crying became audible.
“So now when I cry myself to sleep, not only is my heart empty, my hands are empty, too. I have nothing to hold on to. And all I think about . . . before I fall into a wretched sleep is you . . . having . . . sex with other girls.”
Yasmine clamped her hands over her face and sobbed.
Gabe reached over and pulled her fingers off her face. “Look at me.”
She wouldn’t.
He said, “Yasmine, I am not having sex with other girls . . . or with other boys for that matter.” His humor fell flat. “It’s all I can do to get out of bed in the morning.”
“You’re lying!” she sobbed.
“No, I’m not lying!” He tried to get her to look at him, but she refused. “I’ve never, ever lied to you. Take that back!” Nothing. “I’m serious. Take it back.”
She continued to sob.
“I’m not this callow person,” Gabe told her. “The whole thing was very traumatic. I still have terrible nightmares. From what you just said, it sounds like you’re just as plagued as I am.”
She was still crying. “It’s . . . horrible . . . just . . . horrible!” She wiped her eyes. “I take it back . . . the lying part.”
Gabe cracked a smile and shook his head. “Are you seeing someone to help you?”
“I tried for a while.” She wiped her wet eyes and runny nose on her sweatshirt. “I stopped. I didn’t like it.”
“God, I couldn’t live without my therapist,” Gabe said. “You’re stronger than I am.”
“I didn’t get shot.”
“I didn’t get kidnapped.”
Silence.
Gabe said, “Yasmine, I don’t want you to be mad at your mother, okay. I’m just telling you this so you’ll know the truth. I wrote you at least six letters. Actually, I probably wrote you like fifty, but I tore most of them up. Your mom must have gotten to the mail before you did.”
She still wouldn’t look at him, but her face suddenly darkened with anger.
“Don’t be mad at her,” Gabe told her. “She’s just being a mom. I know you can’t ask her because then you’ll have to explain your being here. But I swear to God that it’s the truth. I mean, the last time I saw you was right after the surgery and I was loopy from all the drugs. I don’t even remember what we talked about except that I said lewd things that made you blush.”
She didn’t say anything, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore.
“I was zonked.” He shrugged. “Sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“I think that was the worst day of my life.” She glanced at him—a start. “Do you ever get scared?”
“Like nervous? All the time.”
“No, I mean scared . . . really scared about . . . you know. That he’s coming back.”
“You mean Dylan?”
She shuddered when he mentioned his name. “Yeah. Doesn’t he scare you?”
“No, he doesn’t scare me. Anger me, yes, but there’s no fear.” He paused, trying to organize his thoughts. “I lived with my father for around four months before I moved to New York. Actually three months because I was touring in July. Anyway, my dad is a total lunatic. Mostly I stayed out of his way and everything went okay.” He bit his lip. “My dad did three major-league things for me while I was with him. He got me a piano . . . he got me a car after I got my license . . . and he told me that he had my back.