Stellar - Peter's Story (Chapter Six)
If you are reading Stellar for the first time, here are the previous chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Peter sat down in his booth, the waitress giving him a small smile as she approached his table. “The usual, Pete?” she asked, putting down a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. As Peter took a sip of his coffee, she pulled out a pen.
Peter leaned back in his seat some as he smiled shyly at her. “Thanks, Gina,” he said. “And yeah, the usual sounds good. Can you make the next round coffee extra strong for me today, too? I have a feeling I’m gonna need it.”
Gina nodded, scribbling on the pad before shoving it back into her pocket. Peter noticed the odd bruise around her wrist, but didn’t direct any attention to it. Instead, he turned to her and picked up his coffee again. “So, Gi, where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around as much, lately.”
Peter almost missed the slight wince Gina gave at that before she forced her smile even wider. “Oh, y’know, even old waitresses like me need a vacation every once in a while. And by vacation I mean not the morning shift,” she said with a wink. She then patted him on the shoulder, causing a small shiver to run down his spine. “I’ll go ahead and get your order in, Pete. Know you don’t got much time before you gotta run.”
As she walked away, Peter couldn’t help noticing the way Gina’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly as she walked. Couldn’t help noticing how she strained to smile at the next table over, her voice lacking its usual warmth.
He tried not to think of either of those things as he sipped his coffee and waited for his food.
***
He had to have been imagining things.
Both of Gina’s wrists had bruises -- one darker than the other, both hard to notice in the lighting of the diner. But he saw them. He saw them.
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she refilled his coffee. She hadn’t laughed at any of his little jokes, either. As she placed his plate in front of him, she avoided his eyes as she spoke. Always a mile a minute. Always a little too fast for him, but there was always a hint of laughter in her voice, too.
There wasn’t today. He wanted to reach out to her, wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. But he couldn’t bring his mouth to open, couldn’t bring himself to ask if she were okay, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.
“How’s your boyfriend?” Peter asked instead, managing a soft smile as he picked up his freshly filled mug of coffee. He leveled his gaze with hers, noticing how her eyes hardened just slightly.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” Gina answered, her voice lighter than it had been all morning. “Does what he can to keep us happy, always busy with work.”
But that lightness in her tone still didn’t reach her eyes, didn’t lift her smile. When she didn’t wait for a response from him, Peter just turned back to his meal and frowned. This wasn’t the Gina we knew. This wasn’t the Gina he had grown to depend on, had grown to love.
As much as he wished she would talk to him, Peter knew that it would be better if he didn’t push. If he didn’t ask too many questions. After all, he wanted her to be able to trust him when the time came. Pushing her to tell him what was going on would only make things worse. Would only scare her away from ever confiding in him.
And if he was right, that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.
***
He should have called her.
Peter stared at the television in stunned silence. He had muted the volume moments ago -- to make himself concentrate as he picked up the phone. But he didn’t need to.
Gina’s picture flashed on the screen. So did one of her boyfriend -- her murderer. He reached for the remote, but couldn’t bring himself to turn the volume back up. Didn’t want to hear the words the reporter spoke even if the words scrolled along the bottom of the screen.
His mouth hung open and his eyes stung. Gina. The man being walked away in cuffs had killed Gina. As his stomach clenched, Peter turned off the television and put his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through his sparse hair and closed his eyes.
He should have called her. He should have pulled her aside at the diner, asked her what was wrong, something. Should have asked about the bruises. Maybe told her to go to the police, even if she denied anything had happened. He could have saved her. He could have done something.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t and now, now he would never see Gina again. Would never be able to hear her voice, talk to her, be with her.
If he were a drinking man he’d get up and drown himself in alcohol -- except he wasn’t. Instead, Peter forced the tears away and made himself get up from the couch. Walk into the kitchen. Grab his keys.
He needed to go for a drive. Needed to clear his head. Not that it would ever be clear again, the way it swam now and how images of Gina crowded his thoughts. Images of her before and after the murder -- he’d never be able to get rid of those. Not for the rest of his life.
Peter had his keys in his hand before he could even stop and think. Dashed down his apartment steps and towards his car. It had been a long, long time since he had moved so quickly. When he made it to his car, he was out of breath. Threw the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. Didn’t even take the time to buckle his seatbelt.
As he drove through the small city, he headed towards the back roads. He knew he could drive as fast as he wanted, there. Could take the time to attempt to even clear his head. As he drove through his tears, he tried not to think of all the warning signs he had caught. All the ones he had missed.
But he did. He thought of them as he drove past Gina’s old place -- he hadn’t even realized she had moved out. That she had been living with that cold, heartless bastard for months, now. No wonder the light had left her eyes. No wonder her smiles had never been the same.
He didn’t know how many times he drove past that house over and over again. As soon as he’d reach the end of the road he’d turn around, pass it again, repeat. The tears wanted to come but he kept them at bay.
Gina was dead. Dead. He could have helped her. Could have spoken up and he didn’t and what the hell was he supposed to do now? Pray? God had already taken her -- and had left him here all alone yet again.
Words spilled past his lips in a mumbled, hurried manner. Words he hadn’t said since he was a child. Words he wasn’t even sure he believed in, pleas to a God he knew existed even he didn’t trust in Him anymore.
When he saw the other set of headlights it was too late. Metal crunched and bones snapped as the two cars smashed into one another, Peter’s head slamming into the windshield.
The last thing he saw was Gina’s smile -- and the world fading black all around it.
Next Chapter
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Peter sat down in his booth, the waitress giving him a small smile as she approached his table. “The usual, Pete?” she asked, putting down a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. As Peter took a sip of his coffee, she pulled out a pen.
Peter leaned back in his seat some as he smiled shyly at her. “Thanks, Gina,” he said. “And yeah, the usual sounds good. Can you make the next round coffee extra strong for me today, too? I have a feeling I’m gonna need it.”
Gina nodded, scribbling on the pad before shoving it back into her pocket. Peter noticed the odd bruise around her wrist, but didn’t direct any attention to it. Instead, he turned to her and picked up his coffee again. “So, Gi, where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around as much, lately.”
Peter almost missed the slight wince Gina gave at that before she forced her smile even wider. “Oh, y’know, even old waitresses like me need a vacation every once in a while. And by vacation I mean not the morning shift,” she said with a wink. She then patted him on the shoulder, causing a small shiver to run down his spine. “I’ll go ahead and get your order in, Pete. Know you don’t got much time before you gotta run.”
As she walked away, Peter couldn’t help noticing the way Gina’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly as she walked. Couldn’t help noticing how she strained to smile at the next table over, her voice lacking its usual warmth.
He tried not to think of either of those things as he sipped his coffee and waited for his food.
***
He had to have been imagining things.
Both of Gina’s wrists had bruises -- one darker than the other, both hard to notice in the lighting of the diner. But he saw them. He saw them.
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she refilled his coffee. She hadn’t laughed at any of his little jokes, either. As she placed his plate in front of him, she avoided his eyes as she spoke. Always a mile a minute. Always a little too fast for him, but there was always a hint of laughter in her voice, too.
There wasn’t today. He wanted to reach out to her, wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. But he couldn’t bring his mouth to open, couldn’t bring himself to ask if she were okay, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.
“How’s your boyfriend?” Peter asked instead, managing a soft smile as he picked up his freshly filled mug of coffee. He leveled his gaze with hers, noticing how her eyes hardened just slightly.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” Gina answered, her voice lighter than it had been all morning. “Does what he can to keep us happy, always busy with work.”
But that lightness in her tone still didn’t reach her eyes, didn’t lift her smile. When she didn’t wait for a response from him, Peter just turned back to his meal and frowned. This wasn’t the Gina we knew. This wasn’t the Gina he had grown to depend on, had grown to love.
As much as he wished she would talk to him, Peter knew that it would be better if he didn’t push. If he didn’t ask too many questions. After all, he wanted her to be able to trust him when the time came. Pushing her to tell him what was going on would only make things worse. Would only scare her away from ever confiding in him.
And if he was right, that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.
***
He should have called her.
Peter stared at the television in stunned silence. He had muted the volume moments ago -- to make himself concentrate as he picked up the phone. But he didn’t need to.
Gina’s picture flashed on the screen. So did one of her boyfriend -- her murderer. He reached for the remote, but couldn’t bring himself to turn the volume back up. Didn’t want to hear the words the reporter spoke even if the words scrolled along the bottom of the screen.
His mouth hung open and his eyes stung. Gina. The man being walked away in cuffs had killed Gina. As his stomach clenched, Peter turned off the television and put his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through his sparse hair and closed his eyes.
He should have called her. He should have pulled her aside at the diner, asked her what was wrong, something. Should have asked about the bruises. Maybe told her to go to the police, even if she denied anything had happened. He could have saved her. He could have done something.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t and now, now he would never see Gina again. Would never be able to hear her voice, talk to her, be with her.
If he were a drinking man he’d get up and drown himself in alcohol -- except he wasn’t. Instead, Peter forced the tears away and made himself get up from the couch. Walk into the kitchen. Grab his keys.
He needed to go for a drive. Needed to clear his head. Not that it would ever be clear again, the way it swam now and how images of Gina crowded his thoughts. Images of her before and after the murder -- he’d never be able to get rid of those. Not for the rest of his life.
Peter had his keys in his hand before he could even stop and think. Dashed down his apartment steps and towards his car. It had been a long, long time since he had moved so quickly. When he made it to his car, he was out of breath. Threw the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. Didn’t even take the time to buckle his seatbelt.
As he drove through the small city, he headed towards the back roads. He knew he could drive as fast as he wanted, there. Could take the time to attempt to even clear his head. As he drove through his tears, he tried not to think of all the warning signs he had caught. All the ones he had missed.
But he did. He thought of them as he drove past Gina’s old place -- he hadn’t even realized she had moved out. That she had been living with that cold, heartless bastard for months, now. No wonder the light had left her eyes. No wonder her smiles had never been the same.
He didn’t know how many times he drove past that house over and over again. As soon as he’d reach the end of the road he’d turn around, pass it again, repeat. The tears wanted to come but he kept them at bay.
Gina was dead. Dead. He could have helped her. Could have spoken up and he didn’t and what the hell was he supposed to do now? Pray? God had already taken her -- and had left him here all alone yet again.
Words spilled past his lips in a mumbled, hurried manner. Words he hadn’t said since he was a child. Words he wasn’t even sure he believed in, pleas to a God he knew existed even he didn’t trust in Him anymore.
When he saw the other set of headlights it was too late. Metal crunched and bones snapped as the two cars smashed into one another, Peter’s head slamming into the windshield.
The last thing he saw was Gina’s smile -- and the world fading black all around it.
Next Chapter