Aberdeen - Gina's Story Part II
Gina's Story Part II
The first question most people ask is how we met.
Well, after they ask how good he is in bed.
But that's neither here nor there.
How we met. Compared to everything else, hell, it sounds normal. It all started about six months ago, last December.
Martin's family is considered to be the top of society in our area. Not in the top. The top. The Aberdeens effectively ran things. Elena Aberdeen, his mother, was big on charity events, so quite often either they hosted one, or they were in attendance and donating ungodly amounts of money. It all started at one such charity event, for the local Literacy Foundation. A number of authors were going to be in the city, a mere 45 minute drive from my house, for the event, donating all proceeds that day to the foundation. Ever the supporters of the arts and education, the Aberdeens were present.
Me, I just wanted to get my book signed.
Martin, his brothers, and his sister, socialites that they were, or rather they had been raised to be, were mingling with the crowds, chatting with the authors.
When I finally reached the front of the line, Martin was standing there just behind the author, chatting with one of his brothers, Michael I now know. I don't know why he turned his head, but he did. Yeah, I saw him give me the once over and grin, but hey, I wasn't complaining.
Some people believe in fate, some believe in dumb luck. I've still not figured out which one it was.
That wasn't the last time I saw him that day. Martin is...persistent. A few hours later, I was looking through a stack of books at another author's table, and another hand reached for the same book I was. I looked up and was met by his bright smile and blue eyes.
Yeah, cliché. Whatever. It's how I remember it. Be glad you're getting this much out of me. It's more than most get.
He handed me the book, and we struck up a conversation. Well, we talked about the book, and he tried to flirt. Somehow we managed to waste an hour and a half just shooting the breeze. I realised that I needed to leave soon and get home, but we swapped numbers and emails. All in all, it was a good day. Signed book, and a hot guy's number.
Yeah, I knew he was one of the brothers, and that gaggles of girls would kill to even so much as talk to him...not that those bimbos would be able to hold an intelligent conversation with him. He didn't come off as the rich brat type that a lot of people stereotyped the younger Aberdeens as. He almost seemed...normal.
So it began. Me and my 'normal' guy friend starting talking more. Texting, chatting, emails. For two months it went on like that, us getting to know each other.
It wasn't until my life came crashing down that I realised how much I needed this 'normal' guy I'd met at a charity event.
~~~~
We didn't really know what to call our relationship. After two months, we weren't really “together,” but we both knew we were more than friends.
Those two short months felt so much longer. He knew me and my life, and I knew his. Well, not everything, but in retrospect I don't blame him for hiding it.
We spoke nearly every night in some way, whether it was IM, texting, or a phone call. He was always there when I needed him. And there were certainly some nights I needed him. Without boring you with my whole life story, simply, my father is an alcoholic, and has been for god knows how many years. Personally, I think my mother should have packed up with me and left years ago.
Preferably the night he first hit her.
But it's too late for that now.
I told Martin all this. I don't know why I trusted this guy I'd only known for two months enough to tell him my family problems, what put me into tears regularly, but I did. I certainly don't regret it. He helped me stay sane. Every other weekend or so, I'd drive up to the city and have lunch with him, we'd see a movie, just hang out. It was an escape I dearly needed.
But it was merely that. An escape. I still had to go home to my parents.
It had been a usual Saturday for us, lunch and a visit to one of the museums. His sister Mia and his brother Michael came with us, Mia acting as a docent, putting to use her Art History degree. It was a bit later than normal when I got home, and my father's car was already in the driveway. I walked in the door and there they were in the middle of the living room screaming at each other. I tried getting to my room unnoticed. Didn't work.
Got caught straight in my father's eye line and somehow I became the target of his drunken anger. I managed to get into my room and lock the door, but not before he'd given me what would swell and become a black eye. I didn't let a tear fall until I'd curled up in my bed, not bothering to turn the lights on. I rifled through my purse for my cell phone. I needed my friend.
He picked up after the second ring. I could practically hear him smiling.
Until I said hello, sniffling and hiccuping from crying.
He asked what was wrong. I told him. Strangely calm, he told me to just stay in my room, not to go out there and give my father reason to do something again. I could hear him shuffling through a crowd of people. I told him I had no intention of leaving my room.
The last thing he said before hanging up the phone was that he'd take care of me, that everything would be alright.
It wasn't what I had been expecting, but I believed him. If nothing else, I believed him.
The first question most people ask is how we met.
Well, after they ask how good he is in bed.
But that's neither here nor there.
How we met. Compared to everything else, hell, it sounds normal. It all started about six months ago, last December.
Martin's family is considered to be the top of society in our area. Not in the top. The top. The Aberdeens effectively ran things. Elena Aberdeen, his mother, was big on charity events, so quite often either they hosted one, or they were in attendance and donating ungodly amounts of money. It all started at one such charity event, for the local Literacy Foundation. A number of authors were going to be in the city, a mere 45 minute drive from my house, for the event, donating all proceeds that day to the foundation. Ever the supporters of the arts and education, the Aberdeens were present.
Me, I just wanted to get my book signed.
Martin, his brothers, and his sister, socialites that they were, or rather they had been raised to be, were mingling with the crowds, chatting with the authors.
When I finally reached the front of the line, Martin was standing there just behind the author, chatting with one of his brothers, Michael I now know. I don't know why he turned his head, but he did. Yeah, I saw him give me the once over and grin, but hey, I wasn't complaining.
Some people believe in fate, some believe in dumb luck. I've still not figured out which one it was.
That wasn't the last time I saw him that day. Martin is...persistent. A few hours later, I was looking through a stack of books at another author's table, and another hand reached for the same book I was. I looked up and was met by his bright smile and blue eyes.
Yeah, cliché. Whatever. It's how I remember it. Be glad you're getting this much out of me. It's more than most get.
He handed me the book, and we struck up a conversation. Well, we talked about the book, and he tried to flirt. Somehow we managed to waste an hour and a half just shooting the breeze. I realised that I needed to leave soon and get home, but we swapped numbers and emails. All in all, it was a good day. Signed book, and a hot guy's number.
Yeah, I knew he was one of the brothers, and that gaggles of girls would kill to even so much as talk to him...not that those bimbos would be able to hold an intelligent conversation with him. He didn't come off as the rich brat type that a lot of people stereotyped the younger Aberdeens as. He almost seemed...normal.
So it began. Me and my 'normal' guy friend starting talking more. Texting, chatting, emails. For two months it went on like that, us getting to know each other.
It wasn't until my life came crashing down that I realised how much I needed this 'normal' guy I'd met at a charity event.
~~~~
We didn't really know what to call our relationship. After two months, we weren't really “together,” but we both knew we were more than friends.
Those two short months felt so much longer. He knew me and my life, and I knew his. Well, not everything, but in retrospect I don't blame him for hiding it.
We spoke nearly every night in some way, whether it was IM, texting, or a phone call. He was always there when I needed him. And there were certainly some nights I needed him. Without boring you with my whole life story, simply, my father is an alcoholic, and has been for god knows how many years. Personally, I think my mother should have packed up with me and left years ago.
Preferably the night he first hit her.
But it's too late for that now.
I told Martin all this. I don't know why I trusted this guy I'd only known for two months enough to tell him my family problems, what put me into tears regularly, but I did. I certainly don't regret it. He helped me stay sane. Every other weekend or so, I'd drive up to the city and have lunch with him, we'd see a movie, just hang out. It was an escape I dearly needed.
But it was merely that. An escape. I still had to go home to my parents.
It had been a usual Saturday for us, lunch and a visit to one of the museums. His sister Mia and his brother Michael came with us, Mia acting as a docent, putting to use her Art History degree. It was a bit later than normal when I got home, and my father's car was already in the driveway. I walked in the door and there they were in the middle of the living room screaming at each other. I tried getting to my room unnoticed. Didn't work.
Got caught straight in my father's eye line and somehow I became the target of his drunken anger. I managed to get into my room and lock the door, but not before he'd given me what would swell and become a black eye. I didn't let a tear fall until I'd curled up in my bed, not bothering to turn the lights on. I rifled through my purse for my cell phone. I needed my friend.
He picked up after the second ring. I could practically hear him smiling.
Until I said hello, sniffling and hiccuping from crying.
He asked what was wrong. I told him. Strangely calm, he told me to just stay in my room, not to go out there and give my father reason to do something again. I could hear him shuffling through a crowd of people. I told him I had no intention of leaving my room.
The last thing he said before hanging up the phone was that he'd take care of me, that everything would be alright.
It wasn't what I had been expecting, but I believed him. If nothing else, I believed him.