Chapter 35 Chapter Thirty-Five - Gabriella
Time felt like it had stopped. I spent who knows how long, wandering the streets of San Fransisco before ending up on the beach at Crissy Field. The realisation of how much time I’d spent sitting on the sand only hits me when I see the sun begin to rise along the horizon. Bright fire-coloured rays beam across the sky turning its midnight blue into clear baby blue with not a cloud to be seen. It’s beautiful and mesmerising and yet doesn’t remotely distract me from what I’m going through.
Hours of fresh air and ocean breeze, yet I still feel no better. I feel hollow from the way Jartre left, and I feel enraged that he could do something so manipulative and controlling, but then again, I barely know the man. Maybe this is normal behaviour for him, and if it is, then I am extremely worried. Were Derrick and Wyatt right? Have I left one abusive relationship for a much worse one? My gut tells me that Jartre isn’t a bad person and that there is more to this, but that doesn’t make any of this okay.
As surfers start to arrive at the beach, ready to catch the morning waves, I grab my shoes and get up, dusting off the sand. I walk to the boardwalk, slip my shoes back on, and begin my trek back home, my mind still no clearer than when I left.
Once I reach my loft, I fish my keys out of my pocket and stick the key in the lock, but I freeze in place when I hear the sound of someone inside. For a second I think Mitchell found a way in, but then I remember he no longer exists and a wave of guilt crashes over me. I realise I can feel this strange energy coming from inside. Suddenly my heart kicks into high gear, hoping Jartre has returned. I unlock the door, stepping inside to the sound of someone in my kitchen. I step past the refrigerator and instantly deflate. It’s not Jartre. I stare in disappointment and frustration at the 7’7” figure standing in my kitchen making themselves right at home with their fire truck-red dreadlocks demanding almost as much attention as their elaborate ensemble.
“Gabriella! You’re home!” they cheer enthusiastically, throwing me a smile so bright you could see it from space.
With a simple push of my fingers, I shut my front door while keeping my attention on my unapproved houseguest.
“I’m sorry, is there a big neon sign above my door that says, ‘God Hostel’ and no one told me?” I quip sarcastically.
They throw their head back and laugh, “You really are a delight, but what makes you think I’m a God?” they ask slyly.
“If it walks like a God and talks like a God, then it’s probably a pain in my ass,” I say indignantly, crossing my arms over my chest.
They let out a carefree laugh as they continue to help themselves in my kitchen. “I knew I would love you; such a quick wit.”
I take a step forward. “It’s Ezillus, right?”
They beam at me in clear delight. “Jartre’s told you about me! I’m honoured.”
I place my keys and phone on the kitchen counter and then lean against it. “So, what are you the God of? Breaking and Entering?”
They let out an amused snort. “In simple terms, I’m the God of the Elements.”
“And in complicated terms?”
“The God of Creation,” they casually answer, observing me carefully for a reaction.
I go through my internal Rolodex of information Jartre has shared with me and a few bits piece themselves together.
“You’re the God who created Earth, aren’t you?” I ask in realisation.
“You’re even smarter than I thought. Yes, that would be me,” they say haughtily. “But I didn’t create humans. That was just a byproduct of what I’d done. Evolution and all that,” they say, waving a dismissive hand.
“Wow. You just supported both the basis for almost every religion and Darwinism all at the same time,” I say dumbstruck.
“It’s a gift,” they tease, wiggling their eyebrows.
I step closer, leaning around them to see just what the hell they are whipping up in my kitchen.
“Okay, so why is the God of Creation in my kitchen making…what are you making, exactly?” I ask curiously.
“Nutella and Biscoff doughnut pudding,” they moan, licking and smacking their lips together.
“So, that actually sounds fucking amazing, but before I let myself drool, why is the God of Creation in my kitchen creating Nutella and biscoff doughnut pudding?” I quiz.
“That was a good play on words,” the praise, pointing a proud finger at me. “One, because it’s fucking delicious, and two, because I know what happened with you and Jartre,” they say, their bright silver eyes now looking at me, brimming with compassion.
“I take it this is a sympathy breakfast then,” I say reticently.
“Far from it. I’m actually here to explain a few things. There are things you need to know about Jartre in order to understand him better. It should be him telling you this, not me, but by the time he’s ready to tell you, you might be an old lady. A lot of this is going to be hard to swallow and might even make Jartre hate me forever, but I’m prepared to take that risk. So, the breakfast is to help wash everything down,” they say kindly.
I suck in a deep breath. “I think I’d rather open up a bottle of wine.”
They shrug, “I’m not stopping you.”
“It’s…” I reach over, tapping my phone screen to see the time. “It’s seven in the morning. Don’t you think that’s a bit early?” I question with concern.
“Considering I’m responsible for the creation of your sun and therefore by extension, responsible for the existence of morning, I don’t give a fuck when you have a drink,” they say lazily.
I bob my head slowly. “Compelling argument. I’ll go with that.” I grab my bottle of red off the counter and pull down an empty glass from the cupboard. “Would you care for one?”
“I would love one,” they say joyfully. “I love a good red.”
I quirk an eyebrow as I glance at their hair, “Yeah, I can tell,” I quip while I pour us each a glass. I walk around to the other side of my kitchen counter and pull up a stool as I take a long sip of wine, then let out a long, deep exhale. “So, why does my animai feel he has a right to erase my ex like he’s a mistake on a math test?”
“Did you know you are only Jartre’s second relationship?” they ask, placing a deep dish in the oven.
I pause with my glass to my lips. “Come again.”