I'm sure there's a threesome coming up soon, but this is one of those sexless, filler chapters. Dare you to throw caution to the wind, and read it anyway. :)
She settled the breakfast on the opposite side the bed, when Gabe woke up. He wished last night was a dream, but the look on her face told him otherwise. Nerves bubbled inside of her, and she pointed at the tray of food like a showman. "Ta da, breakfast," she pointed at it as if she had just finished a tap routine. Looking at the tray, he said, "What is this?"
"We had a bet yesterday, remember, you cheated to win," murmuring, she added, "Like I cheated with your girlfriend."
"Was that supposed to be funny?"
"Yeah. I'm really sorry," she said quickly. "I owe you seven breakfasts in bed. You're going to get seven breakfasts in bed."
"Is that supposed to be some sort of apology, or are you trying to pretend it never happened?"
"I'm just fulfilling a bet. I know you're hurt, but it's in my nature to try and take care of you," Quinn explained.
"Then you should've known better." She had. Wordlessly, she turned to leave. Annoyed, Gabe shoved the tray off the bed. It smashed with the cringing sound of broken glass. Syrup and juice pooled on the hardwood floor. On the threshold, Quinn froze, and then moved towards the mess. Crouching, she plucked large dish pieces, and food back onto the tray.
"Leave it," Gabe commanded, but was ignored. Throwing the covers off, Gabe repeated, "I said, leave it." His feet hit the ground, just as Quinn took a sharp intake of breath. A thin piece of glass poked her. Upon inspection, it caused a hole as big as a needle would've, and drew less blood. "That's why I told you to leave it," He grabbed her shoulders, dragging her to her feet, then shoved her violently, so she stumbled to the wall. He moved to her, his foot kicking the door shut on the way. He put one hand by her head, but she'd try to slip away, so he pinned her to the wall with his arm across her chest.
"You want to make amends, but won't leave me alone, and won't do what I ask," Gabe said, "You work hard so you don't end up a maid like your mom, yet act like you still must serve me. What is wrong with you?" She trembled slightly. It's hard for one to retain full composure when pinned to the wall by a spurned man with particular cause to express his aggression towards one. "Well? What's the reason?"
She whispered his name, but paused after. Many things were said last night, what else could she say? "I guess I understand Sara desired what she found lacking in our relationship, but why didn't you say no?" His forehead dropped very low to hers. "What about her took away your will power to say no? You wanted to talk. Say something."
All she did was turn her eyes away, unable to look at him. "Descuple," Quinn could no longer look in his eyes. "Eu sou muito, muito-."
"Stop apologizing. What I want is an explanation," Gabriel took the arm from her chest, and slammed it on the wall above her head. Quinn flinched. Sara was in class until 12, Smith had work, Daniel a study group, and class. Next time you want to bring an angry man breakfast, have someone else home, or will be soon, ok, pateta? She scolded herself.
"She didn't start it. I did," Quinn told him.
That was so ridiculous that it almost entertained him. There were times Quinn could not meet the eyes of strangers, because they were strangers. If she'd been in trouble, it was because Gabe dragged her into something. He could think over all of their adventures, from the time they snuck into Old Lady Wilkins house to see if she had objects in her house to identify her as a witch, to the time they took an Italian businessman's car for an unauthorized drive around southern France. Each time, Quinn had would mutter, and have small panic attacks, about what they were doing was wrong, though he suspected that she might have been worrying more about her mother's espanador, which had a long wooden handle, and left an angry red stripe. He wondered if Mãe Medeiros would allow Gabe to borrow it. Quinn's always been his whipping girl, and whipping girl's don't get into their own trouble.
"I did," she insisted. "With a kiss."
"That must have been some kiss," Gabe said.
"No, hers was better, but I've improved," Quinn mumbled.
Gabe's teeth were gritted so tightly, the words had to slide through them the way water flattens itself, and squeezes through stone. "Is now the time you want to be a smartass?" She shook her head. Quinn was always too honest for her own good. "Did you like it when she took control, when she dominated you? Did you like begging her, calling her mistress, and how she punished you if you didn't say it prettily enough, humble enough?" Gabriel's hand slapped the side her ass. "Is that what you want me to do? Punish you?"
It was not the first time he'd touch her in anger, but it was the first time he'd ever struck her as such. Unable to look in his direction anymore, she closed her eyes, and tried to look somewhere else when she opened them again, which was difficult considering his proximity to her. "Yeah, I liked it," even Quinn's voice was quivering. "And yes, I want you to."
"It's not about what you want. I want you to keep feeling tortured about it, Gabriel said. She nodded, and he went on, "It sounds to me like you wanted to go from my parent's maid to her thrall. A criada to a- what's the Portuguese word for slave?"
"A criada to an escravo. If you liked it so much that you didn't care about me when you seduced my girlfriend," Gabe wanted, "Why do you care so much now?"
"Because," Quinn didn't know why he couldn't just understand. "I just do."
"At least now I know why you've been humming that stupid song in the two months since we've moved in here," Gabe said. "My best friend's girlfriend. Was that to throw it in my face? Was it a private joke between you, and Sara?"
"No," Quinn pleaded. "Please, Gabriel, I'm so-."
"Desculpe, I know," he said. "But if you were truly so sorry, then you wouldn't have done it. You didn't want to steal Signor Abatescianni's bugatti veyron, because it was so wrong, but you loved zipping through the French country side in it."
"I was afraid of French police. French jails aren't like French cafes, you louco riquinho," Quinn muttered.
"You aren't in any position to call me a crazy, rich boy, but one look at those big, teary eyes and we'd have been free," he mocked, "You have no right to cry right now. It's not exactly going to pull on my heartstrings. And you had no right to play with something, that wasn't yours. Do you really expect me to forgive you? Do you expect us to be so close ever again?"
"I expect it to cost," Quinn said. "Though hopefully without involving the espanador, or a belt."
"No, I should just put you out," he threatened, "Both of you. You guys can fuck on the streets like bitches are supposed to."
"If you want," she whispered. At least Sara would throw a fit about how she paid her own rent. "Gabriel, please. I know you have to be angry for a while, but preciso de você. I already sinto saudades. Penso sempre em você."
Honestly, he loved it when she was so upset, she couldn't articulate her feelings in English. There was a maenadic point that Quinn could be pushed to, where her only thoughts were in Portuguese. All his life, he found it entertaining to make her worry, but in high school, he started doing things, just to push her to that point. In the end, she never seemed ungrateful for it. "I don't know what that means, but if it's true," Gabriel responded, "Then why Sara? Of all people, why her? You're not even gay, are you?"
"Not particularly, I just appreciate fine art. She just so strong, dominating, and capable," Quinn said. "But beautiful like a siren."
"The Greek sirens were really ugly bird looking monsters with beautiful voices," Gabriel spitefully returned, "And a lot of people are capable. She was always mean to you."
"But in a caring way, I can't even explain it in Portugês without sounding louco," Quinn pleaded, "She's like a goddess. She plays with you cruelly, but she takes care of you if someone else tries to do the same."
Gabe curled his hands into fists. One hand pinned her chest to the wall, the other grabbed her chin, and made her look into his eyes. "I took care of you." When she only stared at him with sad eyes, he asked, "Didn't I?
Quinn cringed. She nodded. "Voce fez, sim." Yes, you did. It's not like she could have said no. "Desculpe."
"Stop saying sorry," he exclaimed. "I don't want to hear it." He shoved her away from the wall, towards the center of the room. "I want the truth. I want to know how it started, and everywhere you guys did it. I want to know why you enjoyed it so much. I want to why you thought you could get away with it and why you should be forgiven, and how exactly you want me to do that? You want me to just say, it's okay. Or do you want me to dominate you, too, until you've forgiven yourself. You want punishment, but you can't even handle the guilt of having hurt me, can you? If it's so tortuous, why would I relieve you of it? Because you say you love me?"
"Com todo meu corção." With all my heart. "I have done so much for you, and I fucked up this time. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"If I asked you to choose between her, and me, whom would you choose?" he asked.
"If you asked me, I would walk very far away, preferably until I reached a nice looking tree, curl up, and pretend I was dead," Quinn said. "You know I can't answer questions like that I get too nervous."
"I can't exactly stay with her now, but that doesn't mean I won't forgive you, eventually."
"Why not? It's not as if you never cheated on her."
"That was before she and I were in a monogamous relationship."
"No, you won't forgive her, because she's not like me. She's not under your control. You don't like that I could possibly be under someone else's thumb, that she had the power to take that away from you," Quinn cried out. "She's every bit as dominating as you, but she's better at it, because she's not so selfish. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it. It's true, but I shouldn't have said it."
"You know, you're not usually this impatient. It's been ten hours, and you expect forgiveness for a terrible thing. You didn't just betray me, you let a divide come between us," he accused.
"That divide has been there for a very long time," she told him softly. "You just didn't notice until my focus was diverted to someone else. You think this is a betrayal? I'm surprised you even know what that word means. You look down on me for being easily dominated? You made me like that. I'm not saying I didn't like it, nor that I tried to stop it, but it was through your manipulations. The first day we went to school, your parents told you to look after me, and you took that as seriously as people take religion. You took it to the point where you started thinking of me as something that belonged to you, it became your habit to think of my like a serf."
"I never made you do anything that you didn't want to do, or that wasn't good for you. You always made friends with those quiet, awkward geek types. You needed to learn to be social, how to meet all different types of people, because if it wasn't social outcasts, it was someone like you who mainly spoke Portuguese."
"Do you know how small that Portuguese population is around here? It's nice to talk to someone other than my family, who speaks my native language."
"English is your native language. Your mother only speaks Portuguese when she's angry."
"Or when she's gossiping. You just hate it when you don't know what I said."
"It doesn't matter. I never said you couldn't hang out with anyone."
"You said I couldn't hang out with Todd."
"That wasn't dominating, that was an intervention. He's an ass who treats women like dogs, and like ladies."
"You never treat me like a lady. You treat me like a serf."
"Sometimes, when I'm joking. I was trying to change that."
"By continuing to punch every guy I talk to? You don't have that right."
"Who else did I punch?"
"He hit you. I had every right to break his face. I have to look after you, because you're always getting taken advantage of. What about that guy who was trying to pick pocket you? You got so nervous at having to tell him to fuck off, you handed him money instead, and told him you were sorry you interrupted his work."
"Pick pocketing is a skill that takes an admirable amount of patience to learn, and difficult to pull off. I didn't want him to feel that he wasn't good at his job."
"You're a fucking push over."
"What about that Portuguese student who lived with your family for a semester? Thiago."
He froze. She had him there. Thiago might have been slightly age inappropriate, but he'd never crossed any real boundaries. He'd flirt harmlessly with Quinn, until the one day he kissed her. Gabe had tried to take a swing at him, but missed because Quinn had blocked him long enough for Thiago to move where the table was between him, and Quinn. When Gabe explained himself, Thiago apologized for offending his host, and for kissing a minor. Quinn had told him not to worry, that it was no problem. Gabe had told her to stop talking in a language he didn't know, then he'd dragged her out of the room, into one of the many other rooms in the house. He slammed the door shut, and then shoved her into a couch made to seat two people.
"You'd no right to do that." Quinn settled herself, so her feet were firmly on the ground, and tried to stand. He shoved her back down, telling her, "I had every right. You're in high school. You shouldn't be kissing someone who's an adult."
Defiantly, she stared up at him, "But I can kiss a twelve year old?"
"I get to make my own decisions," she explained more calmly, "I'm almost seventeen, there's only a year and a half between us."
"I forbid you to see him." Gabe stood straighter, in a way that challenged her to argue.
"You can't keep doing this," Quinn exclaimed in exasperation. "You can't dictate whom I get to spend my time with, or how."
"Shut up." Those words stung, but she quieted. "I have every right," he went on. "You are mine."
On either side of her, his hands grasped the back of the couch, as he brought himself very close to her. "Yes, mine. This is the hundredth time we've had this conversation. You don't want there to be a hundredth and one."
Unhappily, Quinn closed her mouth, and swallowed. There would be a hundredth and one conversation a few weeks later, and he was right, she didn't want it. "You're a friend, and someone who lives on my property, and someone that I trust, so you are one of mine, and that gives me every right to keep you from being a, what's the word, meretriz."
She gasped, as any nice girl would, when called a whore. The volume of his voice made her want to cry, and her anger flared. "Vai te foder, caralho," she responded, then covered her mouth, her face turning red. "I'm so sorry."
He didn't know what it meant, but it must have been bad. "You better be, or we're going to have to revisit this conversation with Mãe Medeiros' duster." Her mouth dropped a little, as she tried to ascertain if he was serious. In response to her shocked expression, he dared, "Try and see if I'm kidding, now are you going to see him again?"
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. "I guess not." Roughly, he grabbed her chin, and made her stare into his glaring eyes. Sarcastically, she relented, "No, Mr. Lawson. I wouldn't dare disobey a command from you."
"Good," he lifted himself to his full height. "What did vatea fodder carol ho mean anyway?"
"Go fuck yourself, dick," she replied. There was a gasp from the door, where her mother was standing, and saying pronouncing Quinn's name in that tone parents reserve for serious trouble. Quinn jumped to her feet with some lame excuse, while her mother stared dubiously. "It's worse, Senhora Medeiros," Gabe cut in, "Not five minutes ago, she was kissing a boy." Quinn had never glared such sharp daggers at him before, as her mother's lips pursed until they were white.
"The only thing we need to remember about Thiago, is that you didn't remember our hundredth conversation, which means you haven't remembered our hundredth and one conversation," Gabe began to close the distance between them again. The mention of a hundredth and one conversation deflated any rebellion Quinn had. She stared at his feet as they approached her, his chillingly voice saying, "In fact, I'm not sure those conversations ever stuck, how many similar ones have we had since then? I'm going to round up to fifty."
"Yeah, but, we were just kidding, right? We'd both gotten too angry, sad things we didn't mean," Quinn mumbled, trying to gain space by taking a step back. He reined that space in by stepping towards her again. "I guess I'll have to be sure to not be joking during our hundredth and fifty second conversation, so that you'll remember it. You know, I am going to punish you." She fell on the bed. His fingers were warm with anger, as they lifted her chin up. "Just not today. I don't know how yet, but when I'm done, you'll never fuck my girlfriends again, without my permission first."
"What if I just leave?"
"Sara will, but you won't."
"How do you know?"
"Why do you think?" he hissed, fingers running through her hair, pulling the loose strands back, so he could see into her bright, wet eyes, "You're mine. Sara can't have you."
"You're just saying these things because you're angry. I'm sorry for what I said." She tried to slid along the bed, so that when she tried to stand, she wouldn't hit him, but he shoved her hard, so that her upper body fell on the bed, his arms pinning her to the mattress.
"I'm not. You are mine. That's why you're so upset to have me angry with you, it's why you're guilty feelings are tearing up inside. You can't even think of a future without me in it, so if you want one, you better tell me in all those pretty Portuguese words you used to throw at me so sarcastically, who I am," he murmured in her ear.
She struggled against him. "No."
"I fail to see where you have a choice," he said. "Who am I?"
"Please," Quinn begged.
"If you have to beg, then you know it's true, so tell me," he whispered in her other ear.
"Mestre, amo, patrao, senhor, dono," she listed all the words she knew for it. Then she added, "Puta que pariu, se foder, cabrao."
"Hey," his fingers entangled in her hair, and pulled sharply, "I know that last part was not nice. Puta que pariu is what your dad says when he can't figure out what's wrong with whatever machine he's working with, and doesn't cabrao mean bastard."
"It's more colloquially similar to motherfucker," Quinn said, and then bit her own lip in punishment for confessing.
"Then you better apologize extra nice," he warned.
"You haven't exactly been excepting my apologies already. Ow," Quinn whimpered, as he slapped the side of her ass. "Perdoe me, meu Mestre, por favor. Preciso de você."
"In English, dammit, Quinn," he insisted, even though they were all words she'd said enough in the past, that he knew what they meant. "What that last thing even mean?"
"I need you," she answered. "Please." She surprised him by putting the backs of her slightly cold, trepid fingers against his jaw, briefly running them up and down the left side of his jawline. "Por favor, Senhor."
"Show me how it started. You said you started it, what did you do that was so fantastic, it started all of this?" he demanded to know.
Eyes like a petrified deer stared at him, then quickly, she lifted her head high enough to press her lips to his. She pulled back fast, as if she expecting to be punished. She took advantaged of his mesmerized state to wiggle from beneath him, and run towards the door. She managed to get to her feet, but not more than a foot away before he grabbed her wrist, and pulled her back. He requested, "That's it? That's all you did?" She nodded, trying to pulling back from him, and slide her wrist from his grasp. He pulled her back, and she whimpered. Whimpering was what she did whenever she knew she was going to give in, but was afraid of what would happen. It was simultaneously her sign of surrender, and plea for mercy.
"Let her go." They both looked to the threshold where Sara stood, one arm pinning her a textbook against her waist. Sara should have been sharing an hour-long statistics lecture with Daniel right now. If she was home, he probably was too. Gabe released her, and Quinn took her chance escape, bounding past Sara, and down the hall. She passed Daniel on the way down the stairs, and he looked back as he passed. He didn't like the raw emotions he saw pitted on her face. He guess whatever happened last night, and been argued about this morning.
"What was that about?" Sara said, coming into the room, "And why is there breakfast on the floor? You're never going to get that syrup up."
"What do you think it was about?" Gabe snapped, and left to go get a mop. He wasn't thinking as he walked by Daniel, only to find himself decked in the face.