Forgiving Gia (Rocker Series Book 2)

BOOK: Forgiving Gia (Rocker Series Book 2)
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Forgiving

Gia

 

By Gina Whitney

 

 

 

Copyright © 2014 Gina Whitney

All Rights Reserved in accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
[email protected]
. Thank you for your support of author’s rights.

 

FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison along with a fine of $250,000.

 

This book is a work of fiction, and any resembelance to persons, living or dead or places, events or locals is purely coincidental. The characters are a reproduction of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

ISBN 978-1-63452045-4

LCCN: 201491185

 

Table of Contents

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

Books by Gina

Acknowledgments

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.

BOOK: Forgiving Gia (Rocker Series Book 2)
4.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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