by Gina Whitney
“Your little sub isn’t who you think she is.” She lowered the window.
“Get out! Get the fuck out right now, you sick bitch.” I hit the intercom.
“Yell all you want. Call me names. I don’t fucking care. But she’s a grifter. Her and her mother. They go after wealthy men for money. Not love. Never love. Just fame and fortune.”
“What the fuck are you going on about now? You can’t handle it because I’m with someone else. You have to ruin it. You ruin everything. You are so fucking ugly to me right now. How in the fuck did I allow myself to get involved with you? How?” I hollered. I was done. Of course, she’d attack Gia.
“I swear to God, Abel. You can call me whatever names you want to make yourself feel better. But facts are facts. Ask her. I had a chat with her yesterday at Band Aid’s. Did she tell you?” she asked. No, I had to admit; she had not told me.
“She promised to tell you within a week. Or, I told her I’d tell you. But the little bitch thought she would run off on tour with you before I could get to you.” She smirked. She loved this, loved seeing me in pain.
“Get out now! Don’t you ever contact me again!” I screamed. I was pissed, about to lose my shit. The screaming drew attention. Ender knocked on the window. I rolled it down.
“Oh, fuck,” he said, walking away.
“Ender,” I called out. He turned around. “Escort this piece of shit off the tarmac, please.” I closed the window. Morgana frowned. Fuck her.
Ender hauled her away—but not before she tried to profess her undying love for me, one more time. If she were a dude, I would have killed her then and there. My stomach was sick, my brain confused. Was it true? Was it even possible? I took in as much oxygen as I could. I felt dizzy—lightheaded. I exited the limo, forcing myself upright despite my stomach cramps. I walked to the gate. I needed to talk to Gia. She’d tell me all this was just a ruse Morgana had made up to come between us. The boys boarded Lethal Abel’s jet. I waited, leaning against the brick wall for her to come down the ramp. I heard the wheels of a suitcase squeaking along as it rolled. She rounded the corner and jumped.
“Fuck, you scared me!” she shouted, then relaxed into her usual, bright smile. She walked over to kiss me. I put my hand up, halting her. Her eyes widened. A frowned played with her face. She looked down to the ground.
“Tell me it’s not fucking true,” I boomed, walking over to her. She backed up against the wall. She closed her eyes. Fuck me. My heart exploded into a million tiny pieces.
“You know. I can explain. It’s complicated. But once I explain it, I hope you’ll understand, and you’ll forgive me.” She stepped forward with tears in her eyes. I closed mine, running my fingers through my hair. I didn’t know what to do with them. Finally, they came to rest, balled up at my sides.
“Please.” She reached out to me, grabbing my hand. I winced at her touch.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” I huffed, backing her up into the wall.
“Please, Abel. Let me explain. Give me—” She couldn’t even get the words out before my hands were on her throat, my thumb pressing on her larynx.
“Do it. Hurt me. I deserve it,” she cried, sobbing, her voice barely audible. Oh, I thought about it; I wanted to choke that bitch to death. I hated her. I wanted to crush her lying throat in my hands. I moved away from her, staring into her tear-filled eyes.
And then I moved in real close, so there would be no misunderstanding. “You. Are. Dead. To. Me,” I gritted through my teeth.
“No! Please, Abel—please. Oh God, please don’t do this. Please. I beg you.” The spasms rocked her body. She fell to her knees in front of me, reaching for my legs. I stepped back. I turned and walked away, boarded the plane—and never looked back.
The End
This band was my lyrical voice for Abel Gunner.
With their permission, I used this band not only as a muse for Saving Abel, but for their stance on anti-bullying. You will find hyperlinks to the band’s YouTube videos throughout the storyline. If you love them (as much as I do), please show your support by liking their video and or purchasing their music on ITunes.
To buy Oak Island EP on iTunes: http://full.sc/1hsXn4d
Join us and The Bully Project to help end the bullying problem. Our collaborative tee shirt is available at: http://www.teespring.com/olntbp
100% of the proceeds will go straight to The Bully Project to continue their efforts to end bullying and make this world a kinder place. Also, please watch their powerful award winning documentary called Bully, available on Netflix and on their website!
http://www.thebullyproject.com/
https://www.facebook.com/bullymovie
My biggest thanks is to my PA/PR chick LadyAmber aka Amber aka biatch. You hit the ground running with me every day. Tediously, you listen, read, reread, pimp, promo, blitz, blog, make teasers, and support me continuously support me. For that there are no words only actions. I think you know how much I appreciate and adore you. You’re my shoulder to lean on, an ear, and all heart. This has allowed me to muck my way through the murky waters of fictional publishing. Thank you!
The mother of all thanks to BookChick BlogReviews. You are master Yoda. You’re ridiculously talented (I’m not going to say patient…lol), lent me an ear when needed. Gave me great advice, and many laughs. Also, hands down the best teasers and trailer’s known to man. I am in awe.
An enormous thanks to Elizabeth Llewellyn a talented author with editing skills of a Jedi. Email: [email protected] or check out her blog: http://ellewellyn.blogspot.co.uk/
A shout out to Regina Wamba at Mae I designs for my beautiful cover.
Huge hugs & kisses to Deena Rae of E-BookBuilders you’re epic chic.
Heartfelt thanks to my NY AITC Chicks. You guys are there every morning, afternoon and night. We have a great support system that just works. You truly are my sisters of smut.
video1 “Dark Horse” written by Max, Martin / Gottwald, Lukasz / Perry, Katy / Walter, Henry Russell / Hudson, Sarah / Houston, Jordan
Listen to OLN’s version of “Dark Horse” here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKVknRFEhpc
video2 Clarity written by Robinson, Porter / Bair, Matthew / Zaslavski, Anton / Hafferman, Holly
Listen to OLN’s version of “Clarity” here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_JgNNBX2bw
video3 Stay written by written by Parker, Justin / Ekko, Mikky
Listen to OLN’s version of “Stay” here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Aufxr0Y0-g
My Beauty~Abel Gunner
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Saving Gia’s Playlist
Acknowledgements
My Beauty~Abel Gunner
I long to feel you slide, across my thighs…was that a sigh?
Your soft skin a whisper of something akin to sin, my beauty…
Feel my fingers against your heat
my engorged tip…your lips…draw out
something deep…
An ache, a need, that laps against my shore,
come let us open the door
Show me the way
past the waves…past the walls.
Pull it from my balls baby…
It won’t recede, it is my burning need
that feeds this moment of atonement.
Down on your knees! Don’t you see what it is
To kneel to me…to please…
My hand outstretched
The sharp crack against your ass
Don’t hold back your tears
They are mine, Beauty…
~Elias Raven 2014~
There was no life after death. I knew that after everything. There were no bright lights. No welcoming loved ones. No beautiful rolling hills. No sun, moon, stars— no nothing. Only darkness. The kind of darkness that you’d get down on your knees and pray to God you never meet again. Seconds turned into minutes, into hours, and finally into days— which felt like weeks, months even. Living in a shell with no soul. The only sounds that remind me of my life were the swooshing of blood going through my veins and the steady beep of the heart monitor. I didn’t know how long I stayed on that tarmac with my knees bleeding. My heart bleeding. My soul screaming.
Woody phoned 9-1-1 before takeoff and then called Cindy. The plane took off without a glance back from him. That’s all I knew. He. Never. Looked. Back. Oh, God. I couldn’t put into words the pain I felt. Death was welcomed. Cindy left the office, changing from heels to sneakers as she ran to the car. Too late… I already took the entire bottle of sleeping pills. When she found me, I was an unconscious puddle of heartache and vomit. Incoherent sobs wreaking havoc on my body. She finally cajoled me into her lap while EMT’s worked on me. You see, I was gripping on to life, or what little I had left. And that little bit prayed to be in his arms.
My life had quickly turned into a series of wishes. I wished I were with him. Wished that all this fucked-up shit never happened. Wished I were on the plane with him. Wished I would be under him that night. But that wasn’t the case. From a mere touch, I knew it wasn’t him. My body knew. My heart knew. A familiar scent reached my nose, but I couldn’t place it. The body holding me was warm, comforting, supportive, and cooing sentiments. My heart prayed he’d came back for me…begging me not to end my life as he named all the reasons he needed me. However, it wasn’t him. That was why I wanted to stay there in the depths of hell, never to return to my old life again. I wanted to be left for dead.
As I plummeted deeper into the abyss, my voice became lost. I was unable to mutter a single word or plea— my brain superseding my mouth. I didn’t have anything worth shit to say, anyway. It was a bit late for that. If you had asked me if I thought I’d ever be pushed this far in my lifetime— I’d have hands down said, no! But I’d been pushed far enough to understand the type of pain my brother felt when he ended his life. I never understood it until now. The hopelessness you feel when you are literally living for someone. Or rather, when you start living because of someone. I finally understood. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone— ever.
The thought of going home was terrifying. It was the last place I remembered being happy. The last place I was before the gates of hell broke open. I still craved darkness. I surrendered to it. Let it take me under. My eyes remained closed for what felt like years, unable to tolerate any source of light. The sensitivity had a sneaky way of making it to the pit of my stomach…knotting me up. Light was too visceral. Too bright. Too happy. Too alive. Without him…I was dead, inside and out.
Who could have an appetite when you lost the love of your life? When you fucked up so badly the thought of food made you physically ill. How could I take any pleasure in eating when I was so lost? So cold. My thoughts always returned to that paper bag that had gotten caught floating in a gust of wind. Effortlessly cascading over and over again.
God, why? Why was my life so hard? Why couldn’t I have been cut any breaks— ever? Where were my chances? Where? My frustration caused a primitive reaction. It wasn’t something I could control. In fact, my doctors said if I couldn’t stop palm planting my head, they’d tie me down. I just couldn’t get past my fuck-up. It was killing me. Have you ever been unable to face what you’d done? When you think back on it, it’s so fucking painful you hit yourself, trying to relieve the pain? That’s where I was. They didn’t understand. They wanted me to share in group. Fuck group! I became a window watcher, watching the birds by day and the fireflies by night. That was my new reality. My songbird was singing, but I couldn’t hear him anymore.
I became a series of metaphors. And all I wanted was for someone to tell me how to get him back. Preferably, step by step. I was good at directions. What. The. Fuck. Was. So. Hard. About. That? Why couldn’t they just give me the instructions? I’d take my meds— as promised. I needed the formula to getting him back. Why wouldn’t they help me?
No. Instead, they went on and on about obsessive-compulsive disorder and break with reality. They put me on Risperdal. An antipsychotic medication to change the effects of chemicals in my brain. Fuck. Most commonly used for schizophrenia and extreme bipolar disorder. I was quickly becoming a commercial for psychiatry. We’ve all watched those annoying commercials about medication you’ve never heard of ever.
A side effect of the medication was that it was extremely sedating. I slept for days. My tongue was thickly laminated to the roof of my mouth. I was put in a wheelchair for five minutes while they changed my sheets. I didn’t speak. Didn’t think. Didn’t eat. But what it didn’t take away from my consciousness was the nightmare that was on a constant replay loop. The day he left. The day he wouldn’t listen. Nothing took that away. Nothing took the wrenching pain from my heart. Nothing.
However, I was the only one at fault. I wished I could’ve blamed someone. I couldn’t. It was all me. I destroyed us. I listened to my mother. Took part in her plot. Exercised without caution. I never thought in a million years he’d be my forever. No. I never thought I’d ever feel an ounce of what he’d given me in such a short time. Certainly, not a man with all his attributes and possibilities of love everlasting. Possibility, a word that was never in my vocabulary growing up. It’d been a while; all that fucked-up shit in my life had disappeared while I was with him. Sitting there…I could still remember the way he tasted. His essence. His touch.
All I wanted to do, more than anything, was to say sorry. But that was the story of my life. What I created. He left me with nothing— just my lies.
Self-loathing was a word I was very intimate with. It slithered its way in and out of my veins…feeding and nourishing my brain with antipathy. I was fucking overdosing on it. If I wanted him back, I needed to try. I could do that. I could try for him. It couldn’t be worse than this…could it?
Dawn broke over the mountaintops, giving way to a blood orange sun warming the valleys below. Green foliage draped the mountainside like a curtain of wild beauty. Gerber daisies painted the countryside, begging to be picked. I sat in my favorite chair, nestled up to the window and breathing what little fresh air I could. A gentle hand firmly squeezed my shoulder. Cindy?
“How are you feeling today, Gia?” The timber in his voice stuck to me like glue.
I turned disbelievingly. “Mr. Gunner?” I croaked. “What are you doing here?” For a moment, I let his voice float over my skin, caressing me…comforting me.
“I came by to see how you are. We’re all worried about you, Gia. You’re still an employee, are you not? But I think of you as more. I have a vested interest in you as well as your health and well-being.” He came around and sat in the chair next to me. He grabbed my hand and squeezed, never letting it go. A show of solidarity. Why though? After all the pain I caused.
“Look at me, Gia,” he commanded.
And I did. It took everything in me, but I did. Shame still had its smarmy hands all over me. But he was every bit as dominant as Abel. My body responded at once.
He took my chin his hands, gently directing my eyes to his. “Do you love my son?” He waited. “I mean…really love him?”
I blinked a few times trying to comprehend the question. Of course, I loved him. He already knew that, didn’t he?
“Yes, sir. I really, really love him.” A small smile broke across my face. I couldn’t help it. His name elicited happiness soul deep. It was contagious, too, because he smiled brightly. An honest to God, genuine smile.
“Good! I wa
s hoping you’d say that. How about we go get our boy?” His beautifully sculpted eyebrow rose, waiting for my answer. His hand gently squeezed mine as he coaxed my answer.
“We?” I stuttered. “I looked around my hospital room. It was drab. All be it, but the flowers Cindy brought every day. Feeling self-conscious, I pulled at my hospital gown.
“Stop, Gia. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t second guess yourself. I need you to be the woman I know you are. The woman you’re meant to be. If you’re to be by his side, you need to be confident. He needs you and you need him. I’m just offering you a vessel back to each other.” He was as dark and foreboding as Abel.
All I could do was nod. I had so many questions and no fucking answers. I was taking a big risk. Risking everything, as well as my fucking mental health. Could I afford to be dropped on my head again and left for dead? No, I couldn’t. But…there was a big fat fucking but there…It was Abel. I couldn’t deny him anything— ever. Was I risking my own sanity, though? Fuck yeah I was. Was he worth every last ounce of me? A resounding fuck yeah. I could rise above my insecurities to try to get him back. After all, his father was helping. That had to mean something, right?
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked. My eyes roamed the floor for any miscellaneous particles. “I’m embarrassed and feel self-conscious. I can’t help but think what your opinion is of me…what I did. Why would you want me to be a part of your son’s life?” I asked and made sure to look him in the eye. It was true. If I wanted my Dom— my Abel— I needed to get my shit together, and fucking quick.
“My doctors have been taking care of you since you arrived. I’m a good judge of character, Gia. You, my dear, are just a product of your environment. I can empathize with that. My son doesn’t know this, but I grew up in a similar circumstance. We had money. That was the only difference. But money doesn’t take away the ugliness of it all. I know my son. I know what’s good and what’s not. Something real. Something that’s tangible…that’s what he needs.” He ran his hand through his hair, much like Abel.
