If she didn't do this, she wouldn't be able to laugh and smile and feel happy about herself or her choices. She wouldn't be able to go about her missions and routines and function as a Hunter or as Gabby. She wouldn't be able to Switch herself back On without collapsing into a sobbing pile.
She'd always been like that, even before she came to the Island, when she was growing up with her parents. There was always a goal, always a task. Switch off your personal feelings and switch them back on when you've finished to job. If you don't, nothing ever gets done, her mother always said.
For the longest time, Gabby kept the box safe and sound, well hidden and out of reach. She was perfectly content with how things had been going, even if the box got a little dinged up thanks to a certain Death Hunter.
Then there was one spike. Two spike. Three.
The box broke open and-
You're caught in a one-way street with the monsters in your head.
-Gabby could no longer tell up from down, nor then and now. It was just her floating in the void where Time had no meaning, no reason, no point. Her Thoughts and Feelings and Memories all blurred and merged and overlapped with each other into one confusing stream.
Worse yet, she was switched On and couldn't switch Off. She couldn't tell if she was supposed to cry or laugh or rage or not care. All her neat little sections were gone and she didn't know if she could sort through the mess.
But Gabby was no quitter. There was a job to do, a mission to accomplish, and so she dove into the stream headfirst.
There was a voice echoing in the distance, faint and familiar. She strained to listen and it took several moments to realize it was her singing. It took a heartbeat for her to admit how dated the songs were. What could she say, she liked music and her taste may have been questionable but-
The darkness inside you will make you feel so small.
-Lando was short for Orlando, or so the scruffy teenaged boy claimed. For all Gabby knew he could have been making that up to tease her. Especially considering his response to her explanation of, "Gabby is short for Gabriela."
"Oh so it's not because you like to gab a lot?"
Lando should have thanked his lucky stars for that goofy smile of his. It was the only reason why Gabby didn't deck him but burst out laughing instead.
They became fast friends during their rookie trainings. There was just something about his easy nature that drew Gabby to him. That boisterous confidence and unbelievable optimism that they would ALL make it out alright EVERY time was infectious. She always chided him for it but she did it with a well-meaning smile and a light punch to his shoulder.
It never really hurt but Lando pretended it did anyway because it made her laugh. And she really liked that about him. Like really, really liked that about him. She never got to tell him. Because their first mission together was also their last. And it had been the only time she ever saw him lose hope.
She had screamed and pitched a violent fit in the chopper when the pilot refused to go back for him. She almost threw herself out of the craft had someone not pulled her back inside. She struggled and fought and cried into a broad chest, sobbing pathetically-
When you're close to tears remember someday it'll all be over.
-until she felt a strong arm firmly shake her shoulders. The movement startled Gabby awake, bleary eyes opening to the sight of Jamisson staring down at her, the dried streaks of blood making him even more grim-faced than usual. Her gaze took in the large gash she had to stitch up without any anesthetic, frowning at how the wound ran from his cheek to his lip.
Her fault. And she dipped her head forward to hide the shame burning on her cheeks.
"My shift already?" she asked, her voice coming out as a rasp.
"It's still mine, Princess. You were just squirming too much. Makes it hard to concentrate on the surroundings," he scolded.
He was always scolding her or mocking her or taunting her. And as much as it infuriated her, she was grateful for him. It was predictable and familiar and it pissed her off enough that it made her stronger. Or at least strong enough to get through the missions.
Somehow, he'd figured that out about her. Then again, she had figured out that the whole I-will-throw-you-under-the-bus routine was just that. A routine, a twisted motivational speech that made one push themselves because Jamisson actually doesn't want anyone to die but he can't bring himself to mollycoddle or hand-hold.
"Didn't mean to be so distracting," she smirked up at him through half-lidded eyes before settling back into the crook he made for her with his body. She closed her eyes and leaned her face against his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart lull her to sleep. Absently she wondered if it had been anyone other than Jamisson, would she feel as safe as she did now? Would she think-
Come to see victory in a land called fantasy.
-it's silly really. It was stupid and childish for her to be so easily affected by works of fiction. The exceptionally unrealistic ones at that. From romance novels to chick-flicks, Gabby loved them all, in fact the cheesier the better.
She loved how everything worked out in the end, neat as you please. All the characters that mattered in the story got what they wanted or deserved or both. All the Bad Things had to happen first, because how else can you tell it's a Happy Ending? All the trials and tribulations were meant to make the moment everything fell into place so much sweeter for the main characters and the readers. All the loose ends would eventually be tied up if not in this novel then in the sequel. All the twists were predictable, all the conflicts were over the top, and all the resolutions were about ten million shades of "Never happens in Real Life."
But that was why she loved them so much.
Real Life rarely ever behaved like that. Bad Things happened in Real Life all the time. And instead of a Happy Ending it's a prolonged torturous existence that awaits you. The Good Things turn out to be Bad Things in disguise. The Good die because of the Bad.
And if only the Good died, then what did that make her?
Why does she get to live? If she buried herself in these fantasies, she could pretend she was one of the Good Guys. She could pretend she was working towards her Happy Ending, whatever that really meant. She could pretend the reason why she wakes on some mornings, eyes puffy, her pillow damp from tears, was because the scenes were so moving, and the dialog had tugged at her heartstrings so much they seeped into her dreams. She could pretend she could Switch Off and Switch On whenever she wanted.
It was fiction after all, it's where-
Neither you nor I'm to blame when all is said and done.
-good people die all the time. They get sacrificed for the sake of the mission. They get left behind to save the majority. They become casualties whether they want to or not. Whether they expect it or not. Any and all questions in the vein of Why is answered with three words: "You are Hunters."
It comes part and parcel with the job. You get no fame. No glory. Not even a lousy thanks or a job well done. You might get a nod of acknowledgment but don't count on it. It was both a Life and a Death Sentence. Once you joined there was no turning back, no escape, and no one to blame but yourself. No one forced a gun to your head. No one lied and sugar-coated their words. You chose to open your eyes and the only time you get to close them was when it's all over for you.
Which was why Gabby doesn't take it personally when their team leader abandons her for dead. The mission objective was to retrieve an artifact and she was no artifact. It's nothing personal. When she managed to claw her way back to the group through sheer force of will, she reasoned anyone could have done it with enough experience and training. There was no reason to be congratulated or told that she performed well.
She doesn't glare daggers or swears revenge on her teammates for not having her back. They're too busy fending off the nightmares clawing at them from all sides to worry about her. They know she'd do the same with the roles reversed.
It still hurts, yes, more than a twinge even. Which is why she Switches Off to push and push and push back all the resentment, the anger, the seething loathing, the self-hatred, and the self-disgust to the back of her mind and into the steel box. She reminds herself that it's anyone, and everyone, and no one.
Stop being so petty because-
When the working day is done, Girls-- they want to have fun.
-she's dressed in a skirt that's one size too small and heels three inches tall. It had been Gabby's idea to go out and celebrate their successful mission at a Karaoke bar. But it was Em and Julio who got the Yeses and RSVPs. Gabby didn't know what to make of that but it was just one more thing to toss into the box, she supposed.
The room they had rented was not meant to accommodate a party of their size, leaving them cramped and jostling for space on the vinyl couch. Some, like Dylan, had settled for the floor. Even with the all laughter and singing going on, Gabby felt cornered and an outcast at the same time. But she was too drunk on Survivor's Guilt and too starved for Happy Company to excuse herself.
She was perched precariously on the couch's edge, half-grimacing and half-smirking at Em's intentionally off-key rendition of Madonna's "Like a Virgin." The grimace was replaced with a full-fledged grin when Julio joined in a duet and the room burst into cat-calls. Gabby was nursing the Shirley Temple she had ordered, taking small mouthfuls of the non-alcoholic beverage as she watched Heidi try to blend into the walls.
The tall, skinny woman's discomfort was a stark contrast to the casual ease Dylan was showing. The Moon division member had yet to pick a song but was making an effort to scan through the plastic-lined booklet of titles. There was no rushing him, she'd learned.
Meanwhile, Lowe's attempt at turning the duet into a trio was thwarted when Cecil transformed their group into a Barbershop Quartet. Despite the lack of harmony, pitch, and tone, they were having fun. Gabby just smiled at their antics and slowly felt herself relax. When Em's dark hazel eyes fixed on her, Gabby reached out for the proffered microphone and-
Somewhere in my heart I'm always dancing with you in the summer rain.
-a hand gripped the shot-glass filled with whiskey. She was standing in Jamisson's room, braced to take a mouthful of the amber liquid.
"Bottom's up." She heard herself say before Jamisson took his swig of whiskey and poured another shot each despite her protests and the face she was making from the after burn in her throat. He poured another shot. And another until her legs gave way and she had to lie down on his bed just to keep the conversation going.
She can't remember what exactly they were talking about. Something stupid probably, it doesn't matter because his face was suddenly so close to hers it sent her heart racing. She can smell the alcohol on his breath as he kept talking and she slurred right back at him. But there was a sudden sobering moment when she saw his eyes soften and the way he looked at her changed. It was brief and for all she knew it could have just been her alcohol-addled brain but she suddenly wanted to kiss him.
The world spun painfully before her eyes as she abruptly turned away from him. His breath had been her excuse but her fear had been the reality. She couldn't afford to act on this impulse. Things would change and would get awkward because this was Jamisson and the man didn't do intimacy or any of that touchy-feely nonsense.
Switch Off, Gabby, you can't afford this distraction.
Switch Off, Gabby, you're just his spoiled Princess.
Switch Off, Gabby, Switch Off-
-oh God when did they stand up? Why did his room seem dustier than it had been? Why was he pulling her to him, arms winding about her as he leaned forward to press his mouth against hers.
Over half a decade's worth of feigned disinterest burned away at the contact, a delicious warmth settling in the pit of her stomach, the taste of whiskey lingering on her tongue and stronger on her lips. Instead of pushing him away and demanding to know what the hell was he doing, she leaned up on tiptoes into the kiss.
That was when pain lanced through her skull, white-hot light blinding her even behind closed lids, the acrid taste of bile rising in the back of her throat. Everything began to hurt, every fiber, every nerve, every cell felt like it was on fire.
Then there was one spike. Two spike. Three.
Even when white light consumed her, Gabriela Sison never let go.
