His Angel: The Angel Trilogy Book One (2 page)

I am supposed to start the medical program at UCLA in the fall and I don’t know what I am going to do. One thing I do know is that my soul will not survive this too.

Dr. Kendrick, shrink-at-large, said that the anxiety I have had for the whole doctor thing is called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD provided courtesy of someone slamming into my car and killing my sister on our sixteenth birthday.

It is either I’m happy or my father is happy, it can’t be both and I hate him for that. Sitting at that kitchen bar four years ago as I listened to him tell me I would never be a writer killed what little hope I had left in my soul, the excitement I had for life. I was sure that I would never be ok after that and finding who I am as a person would never happen.

I did have happiness for a little while and then that was ripped from my hands too. Marco and I met two years ago in our Chemistry class, it was really boring. We would keep each other entertained while playing movies on our iPads. It became a competition to see who could come up with the funniest or lamest movie from the eighties. I had never looked forward to any class like I did that one.

It has been three months since Marco left to go back home to Brazil. He’s was my boyfriend slash fiancé. He had proposed to me at Laurel Gardens, on the bench next to the fountain, one week before he left. He always said he would be there for me no matter what. But, once he got on that plane I never heard from him again.

A tear falls from my emerald green eye as I remember that day.
“Baby I will be back, don’t be so sad, I love you so much,”
he said as he kissed the tip of my nose. He hugged me and then walked onto the plane. I just know that something has happened, but I don’t know where to begin, his cell phone always goes to voice mail when I call. The thoughts that flood my already crazed mind send the tears exploding from my eyes. I want desperately to go to Brazil and find him. I am on the edge, ready to jump.

The rest of the day passed with no tears or painful memories, thank God! I walk through the door of my apartment, change from business attire to a black tank and yoga pants.

I drop to the couch, picking up my phone and dial the number that has been on my mind all day. I just want to hear his voice, knowing it will only be a voice mail.

I stand from the couch that sits in my tiny apartment and walk towards the window. This should be the happiest time in my life, planning a wedding, finding the perfect dress, and instead I am trying to figure out how to wake up every day without taking that leap from the heartache that plagues my heart. Dr. Kendrick helped me hang on to the strings of my sanity. Those strings are about to snap though.

The good ole doc was convinced that I needed to find my place in society. I’m convinced she’s the crazy one, nodding her head when I spoke about my feelings like she knew anything about real pain. I would hold my breath during the sessions with her, sometimes I felt better as I waited to explode. My parents insisted I see her after the accident and I continued to until a year ago. I haven’t kept any of my most recent appointments with her and now I think going for a visit may be needed.

Maybe it will all go away once I just explode, and I would be one step closer to normal. My weakness and pain would disappear and I will be whole again. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want this burden anymore either. Truthfully, I am slowly dying anyway. The pain is squeezing the life out of me and I can feel it burn in the pit of my stomach.

The days pass by slowly as I wait for Friday to arrive. I can feel the loneliness for Marco setting in for the day and I decide I will get on my laptop and Google the city he said he had lived in to see if I can come up with some way of contacting him, but there isn’t anything I can find to help. Apparently, Brazil is a difficult place to find someone if you don’t know exactly where to look.

My phone rings as I close my laptop. I’m so happy when I see it’s my mom, Dr. Alison Hayes in Denver; she’s so far away from me in LA. “Hey, Mom. How are you?”

“I’m good, honey how are
you
?” she asks quizzically.

My mom has always been very sensitive to how I am feeling, she always knows when something is wrong and calls me every time, which has always blown my mind.

“I’m fine, I- have just been a little sad,” I whisper, knowing she isn’t going to let this go.

“Well I know you’re sad, Abby, but isn’t it time to move on?” she asks, whispering ever so lightly.

I know my mom loves me and she means well, but this isn’t something that I can just “
let go
” of. The longing I feel for Marco is more than she thinks it is. My mom never accepted my relationship with him and my dad even less so.

When I met Marco I could always tell he was watching me and when I would turn around to catch him in the act he would look right into my eyes and own that was staring. His eyes burned into mine like a fire I have never known before that.

“Abby?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” I spoke while shaking my head back into reality.

“When are you coming out to see us?” she asks.

“Well, Amy is coming home from New York and I really want to spend some time with her, so it will probably be around the holidays.” The reality is, I have little to no desire in being around my father, and I feel like a total disappointment to him since Addyson has been gone.

“Ok, baby, but I really want you to actually visit this time. Promise?”

I haven’t been to visit my mom or dad in a while, let’s just say that I’m great at making up excuses.

They visited me on graduation day, they only stayed the afternoon and I was really sad for them to go. I know I need to try harder to be the daughter they deserve.

My father barely speaks to me and it breaks my heart knowing that I can be this much of a disappointment to him. But, I really don’t even know what I have done to cause disappointment in the first place. He doesn’t know that I have seriously considered backing out of medical school.

“You will love it here during the holidays. Oh and I forgot to tell you your room has been redecorated,” she continues.

“I know, I will, I promise, and…that sounds nice mom.” She sounds so down and I can tell she misses me, or is it something else?

“Ok well baby girl I have to go, I have a meeting, but I will call you later. Ok?”

“Ok... Mom? I love you.”

“Aw baby, I love you too.” She hangs up.

I woke up this morning and realized it is finally Friday and Amy will be back from school today. The excitement is so overwhelming. I pick up my phone to send her a text and notice I have a missed call. Huh. I wonder who can be calling me from an unknown number. I decide not to worry about it and text Amy.

Abby:
Hey you know what today is
?

She texts me back right away.

Amy:
Yes and I am flying into LAX at six! :)

I’m so excited.

Abby:
Perfect! I will be there to pick you up.

Amy:
You better because we are hitting the clubs tonight doll! Be ready to get your fun back!

Aw crap! I think to myself. I don’t like going to clubs with the ridiculous people that, in the past, always felt the need to either grab my ass or ignore me altogether. There is never a happy medium. So I decide to stop this before it even starts when my phone beeps again.

Amy:
Nope don’t even think about coming up with an excuse cause we ARE going!

I would have asked myself how the hell she knew I was going to back out, but I have known Amy since I was six and she knows me better than anyone, so of course she knows I don’t want to go.

Abby:
HAHA...my ankle hurts.

I try to save myself.

Amy:
Aw that sucks for you but you’re GOING! See ya at six.

Damn it! I know exactly what club she wants to go to and who she wants to go with. I will only be the pathetic third wheel. This
sucks.

My clock reads seven fifty-nine a.m. I am going to be late for work at Page Six so I jump up from my very comfortable queen size bed, throwing the white comforter back. Getting up on my ankle isn’t so bad. DAMN IT! My foot is feeling better, it’s a good thing, but now what am I going to use as an excuse not to go tonight? She isn’t going to let me get out of it anyway so why even bother?

I walk over to the closet when I hear my phone beep with a text. I figure it is just Amy giving me shit so I ignore it.

I grab my yellow sundress and wedges, tossing them into my bag so that I can change after work. I also grab my navy blue slacks and my favorite sleeveless blue and white polka dot blouse out of the closet and pad into the bathroom, my very
small
bathroom in my very
small
apartment.

I stop in front of the bathroom mirror. I pull my long dark curls out of the matted ponytail. I stand there thinking of Marco and his last week in this apartment.

He seemed really anxious then. I thought it was strange, but he would just smile and hold my face with his soft hands and tell me everything was fine when I asked about it.
God I miss those hands on me.

I jump in the shower and cannot get my mind off of him. I am determined to stop this shit because clearly he doesn’t want to talk to me,
right?
He probably found some hot Brazilian with sexy dripping off of her string bikini, or hell maybe she isn’t even wearing a bikini at all. My face heats with anger or jealousy, I’m not really sure which one or maybe it is both.

I step out of the shower to finish getting ready for work, and brush out my lengthy hair. I remember my phone beeped earlier so I check it before throwing it in my bag. Huh, it’s an unknown number again. I read the text.

Unknown number:
I can’t wait Abigale. I’m going to give you what you deserve.

Abby:
Who is this??

I wait for my phone to beep, but it never does so I throw my things in my bag and head out of my apartment.

After making a quick stop at Remy’s coffee shop that sits across from the office to get my soy mocha with an extra shot, I am finally ready to start my day.

I enter the double glass doors that lead into the offices of Page Six. The office is buzzing this morning, everyone running quickly trying to make their last minute corrections and turning their work in by the noon deadline. Luckily I finished my editorial on Religion in the New Century two days ago and sent it via email to Ramona, our editor-in-chief, for approval.

I pass Melissa at the front desk, she smiles as she twirls her red hair with a pen. She’s taking calls as they come in five at a time. She rolls her eyes and makes a hand gesture that says she’s sick of the conversation on the other end of the line. I laugh quietly to myself, always grateful for Melissa’s ability to make me laugh no matter the mood I am in, and it is always welcome.

I pass Eric as I walk to my desk. He’s got a few inches on my five foot stature and very lean. Eric is a very neat and meticulous guy that never has a blonde hair out of place. He’s one of the sweetest guys I have ever known and one of the few friends I have allowed close to me at work.
“Always maintain professionalism,”
my father always says.