Chapter 16: Garber's POV

Garber’s POV

I'd never hated my life as much as I did the moment he hung up on me.

No one ever had that effect on me—not my psycho mother nor my cheating father.

I'd always left them to their devices and just focused on my life because I didn't want to get involved with their drama.

But from the way my heart skipped a beat and how I desperately held onto the phone, almost crushing it under the sheer weight of desperation, I realized that I was fucked.

Thoroughly and duly fucked by someone I would have least expected.

For twenty minutes, I stared at the phone, waiting for another call or another text. He was online—I could see—but why wasn't he texting me?

Why wasn't he begging me like every other woman had done in the past?

Just why did it feel like he was done with me?

No one had ever done that before. Not even those I'd publicly bashed, yet he...

“Ughhhh,” I let out a groan from the very depths of my stomach as I got up to my feet, grabbed my baton, and jammed the door behind me as I walked out of my room.

Dragging the baton behind me, it fell down the stairs as I walked past my mom, who was basically baked and in the middle of her sexual act with her gigolo to even notice me.

What was his name again?

I went through the front door and was about to push it open when she called my name from behind.

“Garber, what’s wrong?” I could hear her disengage from her gigolo and hurry toward me while he protested about being hard for her.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust and just wanted to get out of here.

And at this point, I couldn’t tell if it was the act of a man and a woman together that disgusted me or if it was simply seeing my mom doing the act that conceived me.

“Nothing, Mom. I'm just going out to the backyard,” I said as she reached my side.

“Baby, tell me what’s wrong, because I know you don’t play hockey anymore, and this bat is to let out your anger in the garage,” she sounded breathless and empathetic, but it disgusted me.

If she hadn’t made me make that stupid promise, I wouldn’t have spoken to Luis that way.

He wouldn’t have hung up on me and refused to talk to me again.

“I said nothing is wrong. Or do you want something to be wrong with me?”

“No, no, baby, that’s not what I mean. I just know you're upset about something, and I…”

“And that’s what is upsetting,” I couldn’t hold back as I hit the bat on the door, breaking the knob and startling her.

She jumped backward with wide eyes.

Oh, I was just as surprised too because no one had ever angered me to the extent of losing control, yet here I was.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she apologized as her half-hard gigolo came behind to hug her and start kissing her neck.

My eyes traced the outline of his dick through the joggers he was sagging with, and I couldn't help but do some mathematical calculations of the length of his dick.

Five inches, maybe?

My mom's moans snapped me out of the mental place I had taken myself to, and I turned around and left.

The door was ajar thanks to the broken knob, and she didn't dare to stop me again this time.

Why?

Because she didn't care to start with.

Her coming after me was either to get a break from her gigolo, or she was trying to fake a relationship we didn't have.

My mom might paint herself as the victim in her marriage with my dad, but I'd watched her push him to the edge several times. And while I won't condone his cheating on her at all, she was doing the same, and I had no doubt that she had done worse.

Hissing, I made my way to the backyard section where we had our junk right beside the fence.

I twirled the bat in my hand and felt its weight as I raised it high above my head, ready to rain my rage and fury down on the discarded mirror and furniture when my phone started ringing.

It wasn't the specific ringtone I had set for Luis’s calls, so I didn't feel the need to pick it up.

It rang the full song in my pocket, and aside from the irritation I felt from the vibration, nothing changed.

My anger was still the same.

I needed to let it out, or else I'd self-implode. So I took in a deep breath, raised the bat, and with my eyes closed, sent it swinging down hard.

The sound of glass shattering followed the various cuts I felt on my skin.

Given how I was wearing a shirt with short sleeves, only my hands and face were exposed, but I didn't think it was that big of a deal when I felt the sting on my arm and cheeks.

I needed the pain.

I wiped my lip with my thumb, took in another deep breath, and swung the bat again.

The fact that it was all dark as I let out my anger brought a sense of release to me. Like I could go on and on and let out all of my feelings in this darkness, and there'd still be space to accommodate more.

The void was just the most perfect place for me, so I went on and on and on, sending glass and splinters of wood flying all around while I remained unprotected.

Because how could he?

I would say it was my pride that was hurt, but on a deeper level, there was more to it.

He had been the motivation for a lot of things, including my reputation. And if I can't get to have enough fun with him, why?

Because I can't be gay.

Because I don't dare to repeat the same mistake my father made. Because I made a promise to my mom, and if I break it, it’d shatter her.

By the time I finally let the bat slip out of my hold and let my eyes open, the yard was a mess—and so was I.

Having had my eyes closed for so long that I lost track of time meant that I needed three minutes at least to get my footing after stumbling around and trying to avoid the glass pieces on the ground.

And when I did eventually find my footing, I was at the edge of the pool.

So the next step I took to move forward just had me falling sideways into the water.

Luckily, it was a deep one, and after the sudden shock of falling into the cold water, I just let myself float.

My feet ached, my skin stung from having my fresh wounds soaked in cold water, but above all, I just wanted to be in the moment.

It was like the calm after the storm for me.

There were so many tingling and painful sensations that were physical, traceable, and explainable—unlike the emotional torture I was plunged into before.

My face stung as the water flowed over it, but I got used to it over time and eventually accepted it as a part of me.

They were more than enough distractions, and I was so satisfied by the balance between tranquility and pain until I heard my mom's scream.

“My baby! My baby is bleeding. Why is there so much blood?” she was panicking.

I heard heavy running footsteps followed by a big splash into the swimming pool. But no matter how hard I tried to open my eyes and comfort her, I couldn't.

My eyelids remained stubborn like they'd been sewn shut, and I realized that my limbs were suddenly too heavy for me to remain floating.

What the fuck is going on?

My legs sank faster than I could have ever expected for an avid swimmer like me, and the more I tried to move my limbs and get out of the water, the more I sank.

Was this what death felt like?

Slow, helpless, and frustrating?

If yes, I wasn't ready for it. By the time I felt the water reach my nose and stream into my body without holding back, I realized that we don't really have a choice in life.

It stung, it hurt, until I felt myself levitating out of the water.

Did someone rescue me, or was this the out-of-body experience that came after death?

My racing heart seemed to have calmed down, and I no longer felt the need to struggle as I couldn't feel anything anymore. Then everything went dark and void.

No sound, no feeling.

Was my mom still crying?