Page 14 of Gaming with the Gargoyle in Hallow's Cove
I have a notification that I have a new email, and I see that it is from Sydney, Brooks’s wife. She moved here after coming as an auditor for an organic certification agency, but really enjoys photography, so that’s most of what she does now.
I scan the email, and it seems like she’s a little annoyed with Brooks that he didn’t provide me with any evidence for what he knows about Preston’s other wife, so she has provided me a link to a folder that has compiled information and evidence. I know that I probably don’t need to click it. I trust Brooks, and I know he wouldn’t lie to me about something like this, however, sometimes I can’t help but self sabotage—please see my marriage to a ridiculous asshole.
The folder opens and it is organized by photographic evidence, links to news articles, and it is organized by year.
The folders start the year we got married, and the date on the first picture is shortly after my first miscarriage. It’s Preston at a party and he is licking up the side of some girl’s neck. She is gorgeous, of course. She looks like the skinny expensive version of me, or like I am the generic brand of her that “we have that at home.” I flip through the evidence, compulsively clicking, even though I know I should stop and feel increasingly nauseated. I don’t understand why he didn’t just leave me for this girl, because she’s so pretty, and she looks rich too.
When we get to more recent years, there’s an article about their wedding, which looked like a pretty big deal, and I do remember Preston having to go away for a business trip for like a month during that time.
I should feel worse about this, I think. I should care more. And I suppose I do, but instead of being hurt, I’m just angry. I’m angry at Preston for being such a liar, I’m angry at this woman for being so pretty and successful. I’m angry at myself for not. I’m angry at her, Cecelia Lake— even her name sounds rich—for not noticing that our husband was leading a double life.
But more than anything I’m angry at myself for being so stupid. I can’t believe I have wasted so much of my life on this garbage heap of a man.
So of course, instead of being hot and sexy, when Gabe comes in, I am ugly crying in front of my computer. It’s not the first time he's seen me cry, and it’s definitely not the first time he’s seen me cry about Preston, and it probably won’t be the last. He crosses to my couch and picks me up, sitting me down on his lap and wrapping his wings around us. He has seen me cry, plenty of times, and comforted me plenty of times, but sitting me on his lap is definitely new.
He knows me so well, because Gabe doesn’t bother to ask what’s wrong. I’m too worked up to answer right now, so instead he just sits with me and rubs my back. I lean into his warm strength, grateful that at least I didn’t fuck this up. Gabe is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, he’s the best person I know.
Maybe I have horrible taste in men, but I have pretty amazing taste in friends.
Gabe rocks gently back-and-forth, and between that and him rubbing my back. I eventually calm down to the point that I can speak.
“Sydney sent over evidence of Preston’s relationship. As you can probably imagine, it’s not good.”
“Oh?” He asks.
“As far as I can tell, he started dating her right after I had my miscarriage—” I cut off because Gabe has started growling. “Calm down Gabe, the guy is dead.”
“I wish he wasn’t, so I could kill him.” He starts toying with a strand of my hair, and it is ridiculously relaxing. “So, how do you feel about it?”
“Stupid. We both know he was a dick, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he pulled something like this, I’m just mad that I didn’t see it. Gabe, they had a big ass society wedding. It was in the papers, they owned a business together. It feels like everyone else on earth except for me knew about this, except for you. You didn’t, did you?”
Gabe shakes his head. “No, you can bet your ass he would’ve been dead a long time ago if I did. I think we were both learning what he was really like at the same time, but this would’ve been the last straw for me.”
We are quiet for a moment, as I continue to process. It’s frustrating, because I almost wish that this Cecelia woman had looked more different from me, but it seems Preston had to type.
“And of course she is skinny and gorgeous,” I whine. I know I’m whining. Nor am I being fair to her. I doubt she had any idea that he was married or that I even existed. I can’t imagine what excuse he gave her that he was gone every weekend, because at least being gone during the week for work makes sense. I allow myself a moment of smugness, about that.
“Gwen, you are gorgeous. And I, personally, am incredibly grateful that you aren’t skinny. If you were, I wouldn’t be able to see those gorgeous dimples on your ass.”
I giggle as his hand travels down to my ass and squeezes.
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“Hell, yeah.” He moves his hand under my chin. “Do I need to show you just how stunning you are? How stupid Preston was to ever treat you like anything but the goddess you are?”
I’m dizzy with his words, the heady rush of arousal floods me full of endorphins, and I’m grounded by his hands touching me. I nod, because I need what he’s offering, an escape, a release, and to forget.
He lifts me up, and I can’t help but think how easily he stands. He doesn’t even notice my weight.
He walks me into the bedroom and this time instead of depositing me on the bed, he turns around and sits. He releases me so I'm standing in front of him and smiles up at me.
"Now," he says with an air of finality, "I am going to unwrap my gorgeous little gift and you, are going to listen. I don't want any objections, because I am not a liar, and you know that anything you say against yourself is an insult to my taste, and we know that my taste is better than yours."
"Marina wasnice."
“We all know that my taste in women is better than your taste in women, because your taste in women is shitty.”
He's referring to my high school girlfriend, which is honestly a low blow. Because it's not like he was paying any attention to the fact that I had a crush on him, so I moved on, and who can blame a girl for wanting to get with a girl that has a shit ton of tentacles? Did I stay with her longer than I needed tobecauseshe had a shit ton of tentacles? Absolutely. Was she not especially attractive? Maybe, but it was night school and I didn't have a lot of options and she was very nice.