“I’ll take her to dinner this weekend and end things gently.”
That’s how I know I’ve done the right thing, because if Gigi were mine, I would have punched me in the mouth ten minutes ago and told me to go fuck myself.
“Nah, it’s better if you just disappear,” I tell him.
“I can’t do that.”
“I think you can. It’s easy. I’m sure you’ve done it a dozen times before. Just don’t call her, don’t text her and don’t return her calls. It’s called ghosting and I’m sure you’re real good at it.”
“Fuck you, I’m not doing that.”
“But see, this is the thing, Matt-Matt. If you break up with her in person and make a whole big deal about it, then Gigi will get upset and when that happens, I get upset. You should see me when she cries. It’s never a good thing for the person that’s responsible. So, if that happens, then I’ll have to come around and make you upset and possibly make you cry. You feel me?”
He looks down at the pair of practical shoes he's wearing.
“I got it.”
“Great, then we’re on the same page.”
“You and Gigi can go have a very happy and twisted life together. I’m done.”
“We appreciate the well wishes. Now go be well.”
“Asshole.”
I chuckle to myself as I shut the door to Gigi’s apartment.
“The feeling is mutual.”
Adios, Matty.
Damn, that was a lot of fun.
Seventeen
Knox
* * *
I decide to take the scenic way home from the amphitheater and ride Gigi and I on the highway along the Delaware River. There was a hesitancy I could feel in her body when we left for the show, but now I sense that she’s holding onto me without any reservation. It feels so good to have her curves flush up against me and her arms tightly around my waist as if they belong there, soothing my raw nerves in a way that therapy, exercise or liquor never has.
Before our evening out, it took me less than twenty minutes to find that asshole Ben aka Jake, and when I did he was exactly who Gigi said he was, a resentful relative out for revenge. It was obvious why he rattled her cage. He tapped into every insecurity she has about being a King. In her mind, his hatred of her family is probably justified.
“I don’t regret one damn thing I said or did to her today,” he said with a puffed out chest. “She’s the daughter of the man who ruined my life. Why should I care about people who profit off the misery of others? My brother is a shell of himself after the things that happened to him in prison,” he added. “And her father is to blame.”
“Yeah, well, my father had a little something to do with it too and your displaced rage doesn’t really work for me especially when you’re threatening someone I… someone I love,” I replied, realizing in that very moment that my intense feelings for Gigi (good, bad or indifferent) have always come from a place of deep affection.
Only people you care about can rattle your cage the way she always has. And since that kiss, that deep affection I have is morphing into possessive greed.
“Gigi has nothing to do with what happened to your brother,” I told him. “And if you weren’t such a pussy, you’d have gone directly to the source and not bothered someone completely innocent of any wrongdoing.”
I’m not sure if the kid is mentally unbalanced or didn’t take too kindly to me calling him a pussy, because in that moment he came after with me with a pocket knife, slicing one of my hands open, and then all bets were off.
I went there intending to give him a strong verbal warning to never talk to her again, but I don’t take kindly to bodily threats unless they’re the futile ones attempted by Gigi with sneakers.
“You fucker!”
In an effort to channel my penchant for fighting, my father taught me several self-defense techniques for disarming an armed assailant, but my baser instincts were urging me to snap that fucker’s neck and call it a day.
