Aftertaste, noun
Af·ter·taste
: persistence of a sensation (as of flavor or an emotion) after the stimulating agent or experience has gone
There was once a time she was running away from her life, from people, from everything and everyone; running a...
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I'm up late, showered and changed, laying in the bed, basically just waiting for Gabrielle's text to pick her up.
So far, she kept her word and was texting me consistently. Her texts were brief at first, just telling me she's having a lot of fun and that she's drinking. She also wrote that her friends are nagging her that she should put her phone down and stop texting me so much. She didn't listen to them.
She told me when she went dancing so I wouldn't worry if she didn't reply in 15 minutes. I didn't ask her to text me non-stop because I'm an overly possessive prick that wants to know what she's doing every second and because I would be a jealous ass. I mean, I am all that, but this is not the case here.
I know her story. She told me what happened to her in a club and I'll make sure nothing similar will ever happen to her again. Not on my watch. I am worried. I'm worried as fuck that she's at a club without me with who knows what kind of people around her. But she's having fun. She has a normal night out with her friends without worry and I want that for her. But I also want to keep her safe – always.
Her texts got shorter and with a lot of typos as the night went on. I soon realised that drunk Gabrielle is cute as fuck. Also emotional, judging by her last few texts she sent.
I mss yu!!
Wish u wre her
Cant wat to see yu
Loooove youuuus
The last one she sent was just a lot of heart emojis. I answered every text that she sent, telling her that I miss her too and that I'm happy she's having fun.
But the last message was sent thirty minutes ago and I'm now starting to worry. I put my jacket on, telling myself I'll wait two more minutes. If she doesn't text, I'm going there. It's half-past two in the morning anyway.
But then my phone starts vibrating, notifying me there's an incoming call. She's calling instead of texting. "Hey, baby. Having fun?"
"Yep. I wanna go home now. Can you come?" she asks, her words a little slurred and I hear she's saying this with a grin. I don't hear any background music, though.
"Sure. Where are you?" I'm already grabbing my keys and putting shoes on.
"Outside," she says, giggling at something.
My muscles tense. "Are you alone?"
"Nope," she says happily. "Hurry," she whispers.
"On my way," I say, biting back my grin.
"Okay. I'll be waiting," she tells me.
"Okay," I say, opening the car door and getting inside. I already know where it is because I drove here there before I went to Islington to race. It's a twenty-five minute drive from our place. I make it there in twenty minutes.
