“You’re being selfish, Vivian, and Esmé and everybody else must now suffer because of the choice you made. So as you can see, this has everything to do with me and your mother.” Gabriel shot back his reply and grabbed the back of the chair which sat tucked into the table neatly. The heels rubbed up against the floor and squeaked noticeably with the contact. He turned his head in the direction of the object that he held onto with one hand, and he almost looked as if he were going to take a seat. But before he could decide whether or not to sit down, Gabriel was changing his mind and pushing the chair back into its original place. He’d rather stand.
He’d rather be looming over her than looking up, like a child who needed to strain in order to look into an adult’s eyes.
There were two or three customers who appeared to be inflicted with a nervous tick, and it was Gabriel who could be rightfully blamed for that. He was stern, his voice was lower than anger should have made it and his eyes smoldered and glowered. He was a beast, angry and trying to convince someone who didn’t want his company in the first place.
He took a long, graceful stride closer to her, not close enough to be in her personal space, but close enough to intimidate if he so wished to go that route. His clothes, his black unruly hair, were still drenched from the rain but drying quickly from the heat offered by the building that now held him, closely resembling a cage that imprisoned the pacing wolf.
Gabriel knew that talk of the father hurt the daughter who was without him, without his advice, without his embrace. He knew that it touched down on a raw nerve, knew that it angered and impaled. It was good that it did. He could use it to his advantage if he needed to.
“Your mother is still crying. She misses you, Vivian.” He was softer then, kinder in his tone and in his body language. “You could at least call her; tell her that you’re all right.”