Between the Lines (4 page)

Gabe – 4

Thank
goodness Mateo came home when he did. It was taking every ounce of will not to
slip my hands up Ellen’s shirt before removing her pants. I’m just glad she
wasn’t in the skirt anymore, I’d probably would have already be inside her when
Mateo walked in the door.

I just
met her. I’ve never had sex with a woman I just met, not that I didn’t want to,
but you just don’t do that. But, I’m not sure I could have stopped myself if we
would have remained alone.

At least
I know Ellen wanted me just as badly. Did she even realize she was pressing her
pussy against my cock? Grinding against me as if she wanted the clothing
between us gone as much as I did. I could have buried myself in her so easily
and I know hardly anything about her. Knowing she’s from Nevada, moved to New
York and went to Columbia qualifies as nothing!

Mateo
pulls himself from the chair and goes to the fridge. “I need a beer.” He opens
it as Ellen searches for her shoes, finding them under a pillow, and quickly
slips them on her feet.

“What’s
for dinner?”

“The
uneaten one is yours.”

“The
bottom one,” Ellen calls out.

Mateo
pulls the container and pops the lid. “Nice!” He scoops the shrimp scampi and
linguini onto a plate and puts it in the microwave and presses a few buttons.

“I should
go,” Ellen whispers.

“What are
you doing tomorrow?”

She
shrugs.

“Breakfast,
lunch, dinner?”

“Either,
any or all.” She grins.

“Give me
your number.” I hand my phone over after typing in the password.

She types
it in then calls herself. “Now I have yours.”

“I’ll
call in the morning.”  I pull myself up off the floor, cursing under my breath
as pain shoots up my thigh and down my leg. I should regret sitting on the
floor, but I don’t. I’d rather endure weeks of physical therapy again for the
chance to make love to Ellen in front of the fireplace.

I grab my
cane and walk her to the door. “I can see you upstairs.”

She rolls
her eyes. “I’ll be fine.” With that she goes up on her tiptoes and gives me a
quick kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

I watch
her go up the stairs and wait until I hear her door open and close before
returning inside to my own apartment. “So, what happened at Baxter?” I ask
Mateo before he can question me about Ellen. I’m not sure why things moved so
quickly between us, and I’m sure as hell not ready to talk about it. Mateo may
be one of my best friends, even if I have only known him less than a year, but
some things you don’t discuss, even with your best buds.

“Evan
Danes broke into the infirmary,” he says before taking a bite of the linguini.

I wait
for him to finish chewing and swallowing. I know who Evan is. He’s in my second
hour English class. An artist and musician.

“He cut
up his arms pretty bad on the glass, trying to get to the meds.” That explains
why Cole and Kian were there. Kian O’Brien is a county deputy and the school
liaison. He shows up whenever anything happens at Baxter, good or bad. Cole
Harper is with the fire department and moonlights as an EMT on his days off.

“He was
after the meds?” This shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is.

“He just
wants to sleep. He can’t take the nightmares.”

“Is he
one of yours?” Mateo is one of a dozen therapists at Baxter who work with the
troubled youth. Baxter could probably double that staff and they’d still all be
busy.

“Yeah,
and I so did not see this coming.” He sets the plate aside. “I saw the kid on
Friday and he didn’t once mention fucking dreams, nightmares or not sleeping.
If he had, he wouldn’t be in General right now being monitored.” He picks his
plate back up and starts twirling the pasta around his fork. “His psychiatrist
is going to do a drug screen and possibly alter the amounts. The kid has been
losing weight, which I reported like three weeks ago but nothing was done about
it. All I can do is listen and help. When a kid’s weight starts changing then
the doc has to double check the meds, which apparently he didn’t do.”

Mateo is
telling me more than he should, but he knows I’m not going to say anything and
I can feel his frustration. It isn’t like I don’t already know that Baxter is a
special school, filled with kids who have all kinds of emotional and mental
issues they are trying to overcome or at least try to have some control over.

“Has
anyone tried to break in there before?” There are a lot of drugs on Baxter’s
campus. All locked away, but needed for each kid’s specific condition. A nurse
oversees the dosage, but it is up to each student to report for their
medication. If they don’t, a note is sent to the therapist. They want each kid
to start being responsible for their own care, at least with the juniors and
seniors. They’ll have to be responsible for their own meds once they graduate
anyway, and this is the next step in that independence, trust and
responsibility.

“Mag says
there’re usually one or two, but nobody’s broken the glass before. She’s going
to ask the board about a full-time nursing staff around the clock.”

They only
have one full-time and one part-time nurse at Baxter. The full-timer is there
Monday through Friday, eight until five, to treat any illness or minor injury a
kid may have. And, she monitors the meds. The part-timer works on the weekends
and when there’s a full moon. Yep, it’s a real thing. The full-moon does weird
shit to people.

“She wants
someone twenty-four seven for incidents like this.”

“What
could a nurse have done?” It isn’t like the nurse can make the decision herself
to give a kid extra meds. She’s not the doctor.

“If a kid
comes in troubled, she can call his therapist or psychiatrist and explain the
situation. Sometimes a kid needs a little adjustment in the meds if they aren’t
working the way they should. This way, the kid doesn’t have to wait for their
next scheduled session, if things are really bad. Otherwise, they need to be
taken into the ER, where the staff knows little to nothing about the condition
and just drug them up to get them calm.”

Mateo
takes a big bite of the linguine, groaning. 

“What do
you think will happen to Evan?”

Mateo
shrugs. “He’ll be monitored, meds probably adjusted, have sessions with his
psychiatrist and then sent back.”

“Do they
ever not send a kid back?”

“There
have been a few.” Mateo frowns. “Those who need more intense therapy and
intervention than we could ever provide, but didn’t realize it until they are
living on campus among the other students. There are some scary psychoses out
there, and those kids need to be kept in a place where they can’t hurt
themselves or others.” He’s shaking his head. “I hate that kids need to be sent
to a mental facility, but sometimes, that’s the only choice we have.”

“At least
it’s not a juvenile prison,” I offer hopefully.

Mateo
narrows his eyes and his mouth hardens in anger before taking a swig of beer.
“If those kids would have gotten the help they needed at lot of them wouldn’t
be behind bars. My brother included. But, we live in a country that think it’s
best to just charge them as adults and lock them up for good than to try to
rehabilitate or find out what’s really going on.”

Shit, I
probably should have kept my mouth shut. Mateo’s anger is growing and, if there
is one thing he is passionate about, it is the juvenile justice system, which
in his mind, has no justice.

I didn’t
really appreciate what I was getting myself into when I went to work at Baxter,
but I’ve learned a hell of a lot in the past ten months. It’s a good place,
full of good people, and kids that just want a decent chance.

Ellen

What the
hell was that? I lean back against my door. If Mateo would not have walked in
when he did, I’d probably be naked, going at it with Gabe in the middle of his
living room floor right now. I just met the guy and I just don’t do that.

I blow
out a breath and lock my door.

What got
into me?

I grab a
bottle of water and wander back to my bedroom.

It’s not
like I haven’t had sex before, but usually that happened in a relationship,
after I’d gotten time to know the guy. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ve ever kissed
on a first date, but I was more than willing to let Gabe rock my world within a
few hours of an introduction.

Thank God
Mateo returned when he did or I might have woke up tomorrow to a world of
regret. Worse, I could have been doing the walk of shame up the stairs into my
apartment tomorrow morning.

Yet,
would it have been regret? I’ve never wanted a guy like I wanted Gabe, but it’s
way too soon. What do I even know about him?

Will he
even bother to call? And, if he does, will it be because he wants to get to
know me better or just to finish what we started before moving one?

One
thing, if he does call, I’m putting the skids on the physical, at least until I
know more. Yet, that doesn’t exactly cure my current need. My clit’s throbbing
and I’m not sure it’s going to die down without a little assistance.

It’s not
like I haven’t taken care of myself in the past, when the need arose, but I
don’t make a habit of it. But, I’m really going to need something tonight, or
I’ll be jumping Gabe the first moment I see him.

Okay,
maybe not, but I’ll want to.

Quickly I
change out of my clothes and into a comfortable, long nightshirt before opening
the top drawer of my nightstand. The little lipstick friend is right there. I
reach for it when I realize the light on the burner phone is blinking at me.

My blood
runs cold and any need for the vibrator disappears. My hands are shaking before
I can even grab the phone.  I press the button to see who called. I know the
number too well. It’s been memorized for at least six years. I type in the
password and click on the voicemail. “Shit!” It was sent ten hours ago.

“The
judge has allowed Victor Krestyanov to be retried. There is talk about more
motions regarding yours, and others, testimony from the last trial, and wanting
you to appear. We’ll fight it but I wanted to give you a heads up.” The phone
goes dead and I delete the message.

“Shit!” I
say again, and my shaking increases. 

I turn
off the phone, debating on where I should dump it, but it’s getting late, and I
did have three glasses of wine. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow and pray to God
they’ve given up trying to find me.

Shutting
the drawer I go to the closet and grab the box off the top shelf and remove the
next phone and plug it into the charger. They are numbered so I know which one
is next. All burners, purchased from different stores in Nevada six years ago.
I usually keep the active one with me, but today I left it in the drawer. I’ve
gotten lax over the years, when nobody came after me. I’m not about to make the
same mistake again.

Grabbing
my thick robe, I put it on as I slip my feet into the warm slippers and then
check the locks on every window in the apartment. I check the door again,
making sure the deadbolt and the chain are set.

My hands
will not stop shaking and I’m freezing. It isn’t cold in here, but I’m chilled
to the bone. And scared. My chest feels like there’s a vise around it, but I
know the pain isn’t from a heart attack, but panic. Taking deep breaths I
stretch and go through my routine of reaching up to the sky then to the floor.
Anxiety meds are in my purse and I haven’t had to take them in a long time. I
need one now but can’t. Not after three glasses of wine. The combination
wouldn’t kill me, but it will knock me out and I can’t afford a deep sleep. Not
right now at least. But, I can’t pace and stretch in my apartment all night
either. I’ve got to relax.

Just
because Victor, or his attorneys want me to testify in person doesn’t mean the
courts will make me. They already have my testimony. A very thorough testimony.
It was used before and can be used again.

“I’m not
going to let some little girl ruin my business and my life,” Victor hissed at
me the one time I encountered him at the courthouse. Victor and my father had
been friends and business associates. I called him Uncle Victor for as long as
I can remember. Until I learned the truth.

No, I
mustn’t think about them, ever. It is the past. They can’t touch me now. They
don’t even know where I am.

I glance
at my laptop sitting on the counter. “Work!” I need to work. That’ll get my
mind off of everything. As long as I focus on the task at hand, which is
presently Baxter Academy of Arts, I’ll be fine. Work has always pulled me back
from the ledge of an anxiety attack before and it will tonight.

Before I
begin my research, I plug my ear buds in and click on Sergei Prokofiev’s
Cinderella
.
If the research doesn’t calm me, then the ballet will.