#maraschinowrites …..kind of?

[brasswazz]

is this cringe idk

okay hi CONTENT WARNING!!!!!!!! this fic contains mentions of alcoholism and drunk driving!!!!!! so be aware of that as you read!!!!

okay enjoy BYE

It was late. Late enough that the headlights of his truck felt extra bright.

Before this he’d spent the evening at the Black Cats Casino. Not necessarily for its gambling qualities, but rather a drink or two seemed to calm his nerves. Definitely. Obviously. It was a rotational cycle between drinking, then talking, drinking, then drinking some more, playing a game of cards with a certain blond who begged you to try it out with him, ….questionable sloppy make outs in a lonely walkway involving said blond, back to drinking. Tonight felt especially tough. It had been about four months and three quarters since he’d appeared in family court.

She knew.

He knew she knew. Not fully aware of how, or why, but Diana knew. It was made clear when he’d woken up to an empty house and divorce papers with her wedding ring attached. Then came the court hearing. Ella wasn't there. Likely to keep things under the rug. The lawyers referenced purchases of mass amounts of alcohol, and the occasional hotel booking from their shared bank account. They argued for reasons of infidelity, and a long stream of substance abuse that he was, as of current, an “unfit parent in the case of Ella Amani.” Diana won sole custody that day. He’d never felt angrier.

Oh, Ella.

My sweet girl.

Focus on the road. That's what you need to do right now. The backroads helped him clear his head, the occasional halfway tolerable song queued over the truck's radio. He loved his car: Gabriel’s prized possession from his 20’s. A brown Ford-350 with beige accents along the rims of the truck. It had taken a couple beatings over the past two decades with him under the wheel, but it built character. It certainly would now, anyway.

He missed his daughter. His family. His life. More often than not did he wonder whether he made the right choices. If, hypothetically, he had the opportunity to go back and change things, what would be different? That was a double edged sword. He loved Diana, despite not particularly liking her. It went without saying he loved Ella. Did it?

Maybe if he’d been given a better start things would be different. And he could only try and implement that for the people closest. The world is cruel—therefore I wont be.

That line of thinking could only go so far for people with extremely punchable temples. Reece Reichel we’re all looking at you.

Reece had taken Gabriel under his wing after Frances’ death, nevermind the fact that he was the one responsible for it.

Gabriel took on some of that responsibility. Was the closest thing to a father figure dying right in front of him at the hands of a disgustingly rich nimwit directly his fault? TBD.

He cracked open his window, hearing the tires against the gravel, tiny rocks spitting up in the air as he drove. Both hands gripped the wheel, his eyes, just for a moment, shutting.

Take a breath.

Everything felt much louder than it was, hearing the crackle of his inhale in. Breathe in, and ou— HOLY FUCK WATCH OUT???

Semi Trucks weren’t uncommon on the backroads. Oftentimes utilizing them during the night to avoid Boston’s traffic. They slammed on their horn, catching enough of his attention to twist the wheel in time, swerving out of the way. Instead, opting to hit a wooden electrical post.

The white noise overrided every other sound. The airbag had gone off, glass littered over him, his eyes now squeezed shut as a mental precaution of bracing himself for impact.

This was it.

Except …. hold on—

wait what?

Gabriel's body had tensed so hard he didn’t dare to move. Small streams of blood seeped through his jacket. He’d have to scrub that out later.

….i’m alive.

The next thirty minutes were spent in complete silence, staring at the shattered windshield and the blinkers of his truck flashing in rhythmic on and off motions. He’d always been against drunk driving. Swore on his life that it would never be him on the news. Not when he had a daughter who could see him like that. But with her out of the picture for god knows how long? Gabriel cared a little less about what happened to him.

More importantly, what now?

This was his fault. He hated how it took a near-death experience to see that a little clearer. That's when he felt it. Once he started it was nearly impossible to stop. Tears fell from his eyes and onto his lap, only starting to pour heavier as the moment passed. Be happy you’re still alive. A curse and a blessing if you thought about it hard enough.

His hands unsticked from the wheel, gently clawing over his face. Unbothered by the small shards of glass stuck into his palms that were now scratching open his cheeks.

Gabriel was in the middle of nowhere. Hard to see much past the light his totaled truck was working double the amount to provide. He could work out simple directions, but in these conditions it wasn’t exactly ideal to navigate yourself anywhere while in hysteria.

A part of him wished he went with the car. He applied the “fuck around and find out” mentality with almost everything, and this wasnt the exception. Certain sudden death would be a treasure compared to anyone seeing him in his current state. The inside of his wrists pressed against his eyes before reaching for his phone. Didn’t seem to take much if any damage, as it still appeared functional.

1:46 AM. yeesh. Swiping through his contact list felt laughably ironic, contacting any of the available options were not entirely feasible. Let's see. He rapidly scrolled, glossing over some of the names.

Diana? No….No use in calling his bank tellers, Couldn’t call Frances for …obvious reasons, Reece was off the table for less than obvious reasons….

Tequila Sunrise. A stupid, strictly parasocial nickname he tossed around after Preston ordered it at another local bar they checked out on a date a few months back. Two shots tequila, grenadine, orange juice, and a skewer of maraschino cherries that stayed on the glasses rim. No guarantee he’d even answer, but lets be real; what were his other options? Sit on his hands and wait for help? Yeah right. Whether the choice to phone Preston was out of sickly intoxication or out of trust that he would pick up was anybody's guess.

Pick up.

Please pick up.

The phone routinely buzzed, maybe two or three times. Please.

“aghh—“ Preston grumbled on the other line, sounding as if he’d just woken up. His voice was low.

“Gabriel?” The only person's sound he could halfway tolerate.

Preston.

Oh, Preston.

“Hey, uhhm-“ Gabriel's tone could only hold so much of an emotional forefront before cracking between bits.

“What's up?”

“Would you be able to come get me?” They split up not all that long ago. Around forty five ish minutes as it stood.

There was silence. Silence followed by small ruffles of static through the receiving callers phone mic. Keys jingled.

“Where are you?”

Not “didn’t you call a cab?”, not “do you know what time it is right now?” “Where are you”. And where was he? What answer was acceptable?

“Along the backroads. I think. It’s hard to tell.”

No questions asked. An unspoken pact they both followed when the situation called for it. Considering their lines of work? On the odd day there were moments where no interrogating was necessary, nor productive.

He could hear the blondes heart sink over the phone. The feeling was mutual.

“Ten minutes. Tops. Stay there, okay?”

Okay.

[brasswazz]

hi guys ive been inspired and im feeling generous (generous or evil? tbd)

like 90% of you arent going to get this but idc