Just the thought or the theory that she could be fucking someone else fills my heart with pain. Makes me feel empty and hollow. Makes me come so fucking hard.
Even though I’m alone in this house, I try to stay quiet as not to wake Morris.
My load is thick.
It’s all over my stomach, the rag I pulled out not having caught all of it.
Releasing a satisfied breath, I clean myself up with the rag, using some of the bottled water I have on my nightstand. Then I settle on my right side.
It’s so dark in this house.
So lonely.
So very lonely.
-??-
Chapter 26
Gabrielle's POV
It’s so busy at Macady’s.Everyday around 6:30 this place just goes haywire.
People start flooding the gates like someone announced a free buffet. I’m already sweating, hair sticking to the back of my neck, but I keep moving. Busting tables, running plates, clearing empty glasses. Even though it’s my birthday, it doesn’t feel like it.
I’m 29 years old today.
Happy birthday to me, I guess.
Macady’s is one of those restaurants that pretends it’s fancy, but it’s only fancy on thelowend of rich. It’s dimly lit, fake marble everywhere, sort of, and the menu has that “expensive” cursive font even though half the ingredients are straight from bulk suppliers. But still… people love it, and I make a decent amount of money for it. Decent enough to keep me here, anyway.
So there's that.
But it stresses me the hell out. Ten-hour shifts, back-to-back, for three days straight. I’m tired down to mybones.
“Gabby, Table 4 wants water refills!” one of the girls calls out as she rushes past me.
“Okay, I’ll get it,” I answer, balancing three plates on one arm while handing another girl the order slips sticking out of my apron. “And tell the kitchen to hurry on the medium-rare salmon. They’re already complaining.”
“I already did!” she shouts back.
Another server pops her head out from behind the bar. “Gabby, what’s the order for Table 9 again?”
“Uhhh, two steaks, mashed potatoes, and that stupid side salad with no onions,” I call back while sliding the plates down in front of a couple who barely look up from their menus.
The noise isconstant.
Silverware clattering, people talking too loud, chairs scraping the floor. The shift doesn’t end; it just blurs.
I’m clearing another table when Danny waves me over, breathless.
“Gabby! Can you get that couple that just got seated at Table 16? I have to take another.”
I nod. “Yeah, I got’em.”
I feel like I’m being stretched in every direction tonight, but I take the table anyway. My feet hurt, my head hurts, and mybirthday feels like just another damn shift at Macady’s. Still, I grab my tablet, steady my breath, and walk over to Table 16.
I put on my customer smile and start my usual introductory script.
