3. HUNTER
3
I park my truck in front of the house, taking a deep breath to brace myself for whatever it is I might find as soon as I walk over the threshold. My mother could be all nice, buttering me up, pretending to be the most wonderful mom there is, but those moments are becoming as rare as an eclipse, so I’m not holding my breath. I grab my backpack, climb out of my truck, then make my way toward the front door. All the while, my mood is getting more gloomy with every step I take.
“Hey, Mom,” I bellow out of habit when I walk through the door.
It’s something my father always required from us. I still do it in his honor, wanting him to be proud of me even if he’s not here to witness it. And even if my mom doesn’t give a shit if I’m home or not.
When the house stays silent, I let out a deep sigh of relief, hoping I can just chill for a few hours before it’s time to head out to the bonfire. I’m smart enough to do my homework at school, since I never know if I have to flee again as soon as I cross the threshold.
I peak my head into the living room, noticing a heap of hair plastered over the cushions of the couch, with the rest of my mom’s limp body draped over the burgundy piece of furniture. My eyes search her face, waiting for a sign of life so I can move on with my day. When she finally snores like a fucking bear, I almost jump out of my skin, but at least I know she’s alive.
Settling my heart with a deep sigh to relax my lungs, I stroll toward the kitchen to grab a Coke out of the fridge. There is an empty bottle of Ketel One on the counter, and an empty tumbler with barely frozen ice cubes in it, telling me she will be out of it for at least another two hours.
Lucky me.
I reach into one of the cabinets looking for any food, but shockingly, there is nothing more than a box of crackers and some Pop-Tarts. Dragging my feet upstairs and to my room, I flop myself onto the bed, staring at the white ceiling. I grab my hacky sack from the nightstand and start throwing it in the air, my mind wandering off to a set of eyes that remind me of a clear-water lake.
Charlotte.
I never knew her name. We haven’t talked once in the last three years, but I did know of her existence. I remember my first day of freshman year; a girl with pigtails walked down the hallway with a denim skirt and a white t-shirt that read: reading is life .
She was cute, and dorky as fuck, but it was her eyes I’d remembered ever since. They were vibrant and alive, a hard contrast with the grief that was radiating from my own. The blue-green hue that flickered through her gaze was something I’d focus on every time I’d see her around the school premises, like an unspoken promise that there was more to life than just agony. Her gaze always radiated a hope I couldn’t find inside myself.
She was pure, and I wouldn’t dare to taint that. So I never took the step to get to know her. But when her eyes met mine yesterday at the creek, I knew right away it was her, even though she ditched her dorkiness over the summer, as if she shed her cocoon like a caterpillar.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
Still cute with her kind eyes, and just a handful of sass, making me want to know more about her, while I think about ways to get her attention.
Seeking every opportunity to leave the dreadful four walls that are my home, I’m at basically every event possible in this small town, but I know she’s not. She rarely pops up at a dance, a bonfire, or whatever other stupid thing the student body comes up with. But I hope she comes tonight. I hope that by breaking the ice the way we did yesterday, I can somehow find a way to keep her around.
With heavy eyes, I rest my hacky sack on my chest, still thinking about Charlotte’s pretty face before my thoughts go blank. I must’ve dozed off, because next thing I know, my mom bursts through the door, and I jolt up with a pounding heart.
Jesus.
“Couldn’t hurt you to do some groceries, could ya? You lazy fuck,” she yells straight away, making me want to disappear into the mattress.
I’m almost eighteen, and I shouldn’t have to put up with this shit anymore, but for some fucked-up reason, I still want to do right by her. Hoping one day she’ll realize they died, but I’m still here, feeling just as lonely as she is.
“I could’ve. But you took all my money, so unless you want me to go stealing some shit, you go.” I huff, growing more pissed by the second as she sneers at me. “God knows you can afford it now, or did you spend it all in the liquor store?” I hold her furious gaze with defiance, her brown hair sticking to her head like a bird’s nest.
She used to be beautiful. A bright smile and twinkling eyes that comforted me after nightmares when I was little. But all that’s left are the wrinkles on her face, laced with a despair that tugs on my heart every time I look at her. ‘Don’t worry, my sweet boy, ’ she would say, stroking her palm over my cheek, ‘ I’ll be here until morning arrives. I’ll always be here .’
Up until a few years ago, I believed her. She would always be there for me . But now I know that was a lie.
I glance outside, seeing twilight appearing, before I get up, pulling a hoodie out of my closet, and gathering my wallet and keys.
“You watch your tongue with me, boy. In a few months, you’ll be eighteen, and you’ll be all on your own.”
My snort could wake the dead. I’m surprised she even remembered my birthday. But I guess it’s convenient, if it means she’ll finally get rid of me, right?
I know it’s supposed to be a threat, to scare me into complying with everything she says, like she’s done in the past. But in reality, my heart pumps faster at the thought of finally claiming my freedom from the hellhole I call life.
“Well, it won’t be any different than it is now.” I hold my stuff in my hand while I try to move past her, ready to leave her toxic words behind for the rest of night, and still hoping she doesn't drink herself to death while I’m gone.
But the look in her eyes becomes frantic, and she roughly pushes my head against the doorpost, making me wince in the process. A sharp pain enters my scalp, as I move to push her off, without hurting her in the process. She’s been able to shove me around when I was still fourteen and a lot shorter. But things have changed since then.
I can tower above her with my frame, and hurt her without even trying. There were times I had a hard time composing myself, lured in by the temptation to defend myself with force. But still remembering the disappointed look my father would throw my way for fighting my brother over silly shit, I stop myself every time.
Instead, I just take it. I don’t want to hurt her.
“Shut up, you little shit.” Before I can duck, her palm connects with face.
The burning feeling on my cheek has me growling in anger. She makes another attempt to do damage, her fist soaring toward me, but I quickly dart out of the way, creating enough room for myself to trot down the hall, and off down the stairs. Her drunk ass stomps behind me, cursing all kinds of shit that isn’t worth repeating or listening to.
When I reach the final step, I give my mother one last glance and let out a deep sigh.
“You’re an ungrateful piece of shit, do you know that?” Venom drips from her lips as she tries to not fall from the steps, being drunk as fuck.
“Whatever, Mom.” I roll my eyes at her, not even feeling the need to respond anymore, while I open the door and get into my truck. She’s yelling shit from the front door, madder than a wet hen as I put the truck in reverse while shaking my head at the embarrassing sight.
She wasn’t always like this. There was a time she would bake cookies with me, help my brother and me with our science projects, or watch movies with us on a Saturday night.
But something changed when I was about ten. My mom always liked a glass of wine, drinking one glass with dinner. It wasn’t until she her pour a glass of wine with breakfast that I knew something was up. My dad ignored it, brushing it off with a smile every time I’d send him a questioning look.
He shoved it under the rug.
So I did too.
But after the accident, there was no brushing off anything.
Shit got out of control .
And it was no later than a month after the accident when shit got violent as well.
Now it’s an everlasting thundercloud hanging above my head until I bolt out of this town after graduation.
Arriving at the parking lot on the edge of the woods, I park my car, and naturally, I’m the first one here. I lean my head back and close my eyes for a few minutes to take a deep breath. Consciously breathing in and out, I try to push my bad mood away until I startle in my seat from someone knocking on the window.
I turn my head, looking into Jason’s wide grin. His ocean-blue eyes are as chipper as always, a big contrast to his light blond cut.
“You wanna sleep the night away? Get out, dickhead,” he taunts, then walks into the woods, and I get out of my truck to follow his tracks.
“A little power nap before an all-nighter can’t hurt.”
“I hope you are well rested, because I’ve brought this.” Without looking back, he holds up a bottle of Havana rum, and I chuckle behind him.
“You’re going to get in trouble, aren’t you?”
“Count on it, buddy.”
Three hours later, it’s eleven-thirty, and almost everyone in the senior class is at the bonfire getting hammered on shitty keg beer. The occasional breeze rustles through the leaves on the trees, cooling down the comfortable temperature of the night.
I’m holding my red cup with Coke, casually roaming the open field in the woods, when really, I keep catching myself looking for Charlotte, even after I told myself to stop obsessing at least a dozen times.
My mind isn’t onboard, though.
Finally, my chest tightens with excitement when I see her walking out of the tree line, her arm linked with her friend’s. She’s wearing some black shorts, showing off her luscious curves, with a gray hoodie from The University of North Carolina to keep her warm. Gray Converse cover her feet, and I love how cute she looks without making an effort.
“Is she your new flavor, playboy?” I look at Jason on my left, nodding his head toward the two girls, making their way to a group of friends.
“Nah,” I reply, knowing she can’t be put in that category.
He makes it sound like she’s a girl I hook up with once before I move to the next. But just by looking at her I know she will never be just a girl.
Having her for a moment will never be enough.
“Yeah? Then why are you standing here gawking from afar?” He jams his elbow in my ribs, erupting a chuckle from me as I crouch forward, grabbing my side.
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“You got a thing for book nerds now?”
I huff in response, shooting him a glare, calling him out on his bullshit.
“She’s hardly a fucking nerd.”
“Yeah, she’s definitely a hot nerd,” he admits, a smile splitting his face. “You like her, don’t you?”
“I do, but it’s not like that.” Fuck me, I’m so full of shit. It’s totally like that, but she’s not the girl you fuck and leave.
“Then what’s it like?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him she’s special. One of those girls you cherish for the rest of your life, because you know they will always be there for you if you play your cards right.
I know I can’t say that after one conversation, but it’s there in every fiber of my body. In fact, I’ve always known. She’s one of those gems you can’t afford to let go. A girl that has a bright future with a loving husband and a bunch of kids. One of those girls that don’t spend their lives putting up with guys like me.
She’s endgame.
Just not mine.