I turn the faucet on and wait for the hot water to kick in before flicking on the shower. Once the steam begins to billow out from behind the shower curtain, I ease myself in and let the water wash away my weariness. I could stay in here for hours but I’ve got class this morning and can’t afford to be late again. Just a couple more months and I’ll have my useless Associates degree. Then what? A 10% raise from minimum wage? I shake the question out of my head to avoid further frustration at my indecisiveness and finish showering.
After selecting a pair of jeans, a fitted t-shirt and some athletic shoes, I opt to keep my long, wavy hair down in observance of my special day. I usually flat iron it to tame the volume and loose curls but the clock is telling me it’s not happening today. I apply some mascara, a little loose powder & lipgloss. I’m not really high-maintenance but I am a girl after all.
“Good morning, Gabi!” my mom squeals from the kitchen as she pours some pancake batter onto the griddle. She’s beaming, her blue eyes sparkling with pride and affection. Her blonde hair is cut into a chin length bob, courtesy of Morgan, and she’s wearing yoga pants and an athletic top. Donna teaches yoga and Pilates at a local gym so to say she is in shape is an understatement. She’s got a killer physique but doesn’t plague us with gym-rat propaganda or deprive us of our favorite foods, Thank God. I just regret that I’m usually too dreadfully hungover on the weekends to attend any of her classes.
“Geez, thanks, Mom,” I feign embarrassment as I grab the fresh fruit smoothie that Donna makes for me daily. It’s her one healthy contribution to my diet that I’ll accept because I actually like them. She can keep those funky teas and wheat grass crap though. Ick.
“So the big 2-0, eh, Kiddo? Any special plans?” my dad asks from behind this morning’s Colorado Springs Gazette.
Chris's sandy brown hair is meticulously styled and he’s sharply dressed in his usual suit and tie. Being a Senior Engineering Project Manager at Lockheed Martin, he definitely looks the part: handsome, well-groomed and to outsiders, intimidatingly commanding. But to me, he’s the big softie that used to make blanket forts with me as a kid and cry at every one of my grade school play performances, even if I was just a tree.
“Other than slumming it with you two?” I smile. “Not really. Probably go out later with Morgan.”
“Sounds like fun, what time should I be ready?” he chuckles, winking a brown eye at me.
Not many people get to see this side of Chris. Being retired Air Force and a former boxer in his youth, people are usually quite intimidated by him. The same has been said about me, which has secretly made me wonder if he and I could really share the same bloodline.
“Looks like another brutal attack, honey,” Chris says impassively. Donna gives him a sideways glance and then shakes her head solemnly. “You girls better be careful tonight. And take your Mace,” he peers at me from over the paper.
That was more for Donna’s reassurance. Chris has trained me in hand to hand combat since I was old enough walk and he knows I can handle myself against any assailant. I’ve proven myself enough times in fights growing up, whether it was the typical mean girl or some ass-grabbing douchebag.
“Sure, dad,” I say digging into my birthday pancakes and bacon.
Classes are the same tedious, humdrum ramblings of useless information. Many of the students are buzzing about the latest ‘Icepick Murder’ and there are even rumors of the campus closing until further notice. A third young girl was found dead from what seems to be thin stab wounds around the neck and chest. It’s as if the psycho was purposely aiming for the jugular. A shiver runs down my spine and I glance around me as I read quietly in the atrium between classes.
“Happy Birthday, Beautiful,” a deep, velvety voice murmurs.
I look up to find my good friend, Jared, beaming down at me. We’ve been close since high school and I’ve always been drawn to his laid back demeanor and sincerity. Being over 6 feet tall, with sparkling emerald eyes and a hard, muscular body, Jared is clearly more than a catch. His humble, good natured attitude makes him that much more attractive. He could have gone off to any college of his choosing to play soccer but when his mom was diagnosed with breast cancer 3 years ago, he opted to stay local. He is just an all-around good guy and one of the few people I genuinely love.
Jared sits then pulls a little box out of his backpack and hands it to me tentatively. I’m tempted to stow it and open it at another time when I’m more equipped to handle my vulnerability but I don’t want to offend him. I open the box and inside lays a little silver picture frame, enclosing a photo of Jared and me in the 9th grade. I was new and quickly made enemies among the popular girls who felt threatened by me and Jared willingly took me under his wing. The picture was taken outside of my house, when Jared picked me up (chauffeured by his older brother, James) for the Fall Formal. I wore a dark plum dress, my long, dark curls cascading down my back. My Dulce de Leche complexion looked clear and radiant though I was visibly anxious standing next to a dapper young Jared in my department store frock. Even then, Jared was handsome: chestnut hair, bright smile and glittering green eyes.