The Library Book

#37 - The Bruise

Chapter 37 - The Bruise
published: Wednesday, 1 July 2020

The door clicked in a telltale sign that Gabe was home. Percy suppressed the dread that never failed to settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Gabe?" he raised his voice tentatively. "I'm making lunch. Are you good with the usual dip?" His mother was at the candy store, covering a late shift for a coworker today. It was Saturday, but Gabe was supposed to be at work till evening today.

Percy glanced at the clock warily. Annabeth was supposed to come over any minute now so they could head to the station together.

When Gabe didn't reply, Percy forced himself to backtrack out of the kitchen, hanging up his apron in the process as he nervously peered out into the corridor.

Gabe stood in the doorway, hulking figure contrasting against the sunset that was outside. His silhouette towered high, shadow looming dangerously across the doormat.

But he was walking surely, steady footsteps, and there was no stench of alcohol; he was sober.

"Those bastards at work," Gabe growled, roughly tossing his shoes to the side. "He fired me. Fired me from my own appliance store."

Gabe owned a chain of appliance stores. He inherited it from his parents, and it was responsible for all his unfairly-given wealth. The co-owner, Jared, was one of his poker buddies whom Percy had met before, and was apparently responsible for his foul mood today.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Gabe muttered under his breath as he stomped into the house, shoving his jacket onto the coat rack. His fury was palpable in the air. "Said I had all these debts to repay." His eyes narrowed. "No word from Mortelli yet?"

Percy gulped. No, we're just trying to take down his entire operation. "No," he said instead, biting back the rest of his comment.

The moment Gabe stepped forward, Percy flinched instinctively, and the man paused in his tracks.

"I'm sorry," Percy blurted out. "He hasn't responded. I can try again — I'll go back, ask him—"

"Relax, kid," Gabe grunted, but his tone did nothing to relieve the tension. "Look, we all have our own sob stories. I won't ask you to explain yourself. And vice versa, you don't ask me. But," and something about the dull emotion in Gabe's eyes worried him, "I've got a hell of a lot of pent-up frustration."

Percy saw it coming this time.

The punch — the swing to his gut — came in the form of a balled up fist and an angry expression creasing Gabe's features. Of course, Percy's back hit the wall in a split second, his mind fracturing into jumbled thoughts and fears.

The blow was painful, more so than usual since Gabe was sober, and Percy wasn't used to it. He'd never had to look Gabe in the eye before, knowing that this man knew exactly what he was doing — knew that he was hurting a 17-year-old — and liked it. And it terrified him.

Intention and purpose were packed behind the punch, and Percy's knees almost buckled as the breath was knocked out of him.

Clutching his abdomen, a cough wracked his lungs and rubbed his throat raw.

Quick as lightning, Gabe's right hand came up and slammed him against the wall. Percy's head hit the concrete, his brain dizzy and feverish as black spots danced in his vision.

"Kid," Gabe's voice was low, menacing, and sent a shiver down his spine. "I don't blame you for this — despite it partly being your fault  for not securing the money — but hey, we're the men of the house, right? We gotta look out for one another. You do me a favour and don't tell your ma about this?"