8. EIGHT
EIGHT
Don’t get used to this , I tell myself as I put on the brand new boxer briefs.
Part of me almost forgot what it was like to have underwear without a gaping hole in the crotch.
This is extremely temporary , I think again as I slip on the thick sweatpants.
Temporary. Temporary. Temporary.
Whatever delusion Hunter has convinced himself of will not transfer to my psyche. I won’t let it happen.
All his ‘help’ will vanish in the blink of an eye.
As soon as he realizes how much this situation will not work, he’ll be gone, and I’ll be back at square one. Sure, I’ll have some stuff, but how long until that’s taken, too? How long until I run into Dan? Or Xavier?
I’m sure they talk—probably have already, plotting to slit my throat next time I fall asleep somewhere.
Xavier is one of those men who plays on both sides. One foot in color, one foot in greyscale. You can’t trust a fucking thing he says or take any of his scraps without paying dearly for it later. Hell, Hunter’s parents probably know Xavier. That’s how much he bleeds into all pools.
I shiver and grab the long sleeve. Each layer is false armor, but for tonight, I’ll pretend.
When I leave the restroom, I find Hunter staring out the window overlooking the parking lot.
His hands are tucked at the base of his spine, muscles rigid, and a tic works in his jaw.
I can’t deny he made some valid points ten minutes ago; I would be a sitting duck if I left now, but what else am I supposed to do?
He tried to take me away—wanted to make me leave.
This town is my home. It’s the only tie I have to who I could’ve been. Maybe it’s stupid of me to have such a sentimental hold on a place that doesn’t want nor give a fuck about me, but I have spent too many years on these streets to leave them behind.
Every memory I have of my parents is here.
My house is here —the one I was supposed to get when I hit eighteen but got locked up two days later.
All those fucking promises my mom and dad made to me as a kid are decaying and stinking, but they’re all I got left.
You’re going to be an artist, Gray.
Look at those paintings!
You’re so good, Gray.
I can’t wait to see you grow up.
“Are you still here for a reason?” I bark.
“I suppose not,” he says softly and releases the death grip on his hands. Facing me, he offers a placating smile and nods at my clothes. “They fit alright?”
“They do.”
“Good.” Taking a breath, he glances at his watch and nods. “Right. Will you still be here if I arrange for the doctor to come tomorrow?”
Oh. So now he’s going to entertain the concept of me leaving? “Don’t have much else of an option, as you so bluntly put it.”
“I didn’t mean—that wasn’t what I meant. Vinegar in the wound isn’t my typical approach, Gray.”
I don’t like how he’s looking at me.
Yeah, everything he’s done so far is nice and a lot more than anyone else has ever tried to offer me. But despite that trustworthy face and pleasing voice, I’m still on guard. I’m also really fucking tired.
My chest tightens, knowing I’ll be alone in this place, but we aren’t spending the night together.
One, I can’t handle that shit, and two, that’s just asking for conversation and potential seedlings of something else to get planted.
There will be no flowers or friendship or anything else.
Hunter is a mirage in the distance; I’ll never reach it.
“I’ll be here.”
“Great. What time are you usually awake?”
I scoff. It’s involuntary. “Oh, I don’t know. Whenever my schedule allows for a good sleep-in, I’m typically up and at 'em by sunrise. ” I deadpan.
A slight smirk crosses his lips. “Duly noted. I’ll give you a call when we are on the way.”
“ Can’t wait .”
“Get some rest, Gray,” he says, leaving the hotel. I hurry and slide the chain in place, resting my forehead against the door and wincing as my leg throbs.
I sleep like shit despite having taken the over-the-counter pain pills Hunter bought in his haul.
At 5 am, I get up and take another hot shower. It does nothing but bring on more exhaustion. Sometime around 7 am, after staring at the ceiling for too long, I take more pills and microwave the leftovers. I’m halfway through my food when the phone rings on the nightstand.
“Early riser, then,” I mutter and limp over to it. “Hello?”
“Good morning,” Hunter’s voice is like gravel. “Did I wake you up?”
“No.”
He sounds like he slept worse than I did.
“Good,” he rasps. “Doctor Perry agreed to come out. He’ll be at the hotel around 10. Is that alright?”
That gives me a little over two hours. “Yeah…are you not coming too?” I hate asking, but I don’t know this doctor. I don’t know Hunter, but he’s more familiar than someone I’ve never seen.
“I’m in the area.”
My eyes flick to the window. “Why?”
A loud yawn sounds through the phone, followed by a grunt. “Wanted to be close by in case of emergency.”
I frown, squeezing the phone tighter. “ Okay ,” I draw out the word. “Well, if you can be here before the doctor, that’d be nice. I don’t—” No. I’m not saying that.
“Actually,” he says somewhat bashfully. “I—um. Well, I slept in my car…in the parking lot. Can I come up and use the restroom?”
“Sure.” I hang up and cup my mouth.
He slept in his fucking car?
I limp over to the window and part the curtains a sliver. Sure enough, there he is, stretching and yawning like a maniac. His shirt lifts a fraction, revealing skin and fuzz. I shut the curtain and back away.
My mind is racing as something warm and unfamiliar settles in my chest. Yes, I didn’t like the idea of him sleeping in the same room , but the guy is rich!
He could’ve easily bought a different one to sleep in a bed.
I’ve had to crash in a few cars, having broken in and curled up in the backseat. It’s almost worse than concrete.
A knock on the door startles me. “Is the lock on again?”
Shit.
I get it unchained and open the door. He looks…rumpled. Very rumpled.
The peacoat is wrinkled, and his hair is sticking up funny on the left side. “Are you suddenly poor now? Did you shoot your wad at Walmart?”
“Huh?” he slurs sleepily and rubs his eyes.
“You slept in your car .”
The man starts hopping from foot to foot in the doorway, and I realize I’m preventing him from going to take a piss.
I scoot out of the way, and he runs for the restroom.
I lock the door and go over to the bed I chose last night.
Everything hurts more today, so I whimper a little as I sit.
The toilet flushes, followed by the sink running.
A minute later, he comes out, looking somehow worse than I feel, and makes a beeline for the cheap coffee machine.
“Give me a few minutes,” he grumbles and starts it up.
Rich Boy isn’t a morning person.
Stop it.
I can’t start noticing this shit. It doesn’t matter.
Yet, I also note that he is shy about public urination. Not a piss-behind-the-dumpster type of dude. No, he’s too proper for that. I snort when his coffee is ready, and he frowns deeply at its fixings.
“Powder and pure cane sugar are staples,” I say.
“It’s disgusting ,” he growls but dumps both into the paper cup.
“Let me guess, skim milk and a sweet ‘n low only.”
“Hazelnut creamer and cinnamon,” he grumbles, then takes a long gulp. “I can’t function without it.”
“Clearly.” He eyes me with irritation, and I laugh. “You poor soul.”
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” he drawls before sliding into a chair.
“Circling back,” I start. “Why didn’t you just buy another room? Or…go home?”
With a scowl, he drinks more coffee and grimaces after each sip. “My house is two hours away. Seemed wasteful to go home and come right back.”
“That answers only the second half.”
Wiggling in his seat, he scratches at his scalp in a way that is so human that I have to look away.
When you live the life I do, people like Hunter seem alien—like they couldn’t possibly exist in the same way. Seeing him without his proper, practiced, polite mask is frightening.
It makes him relatable.
Approachable.
Far more trustworthy than before.
I almost don’t want to know his answer now.
“I meant to—get a room, that is. But I got distracted and fell asleep.”
“Distracted? With what?”
The little bit of skin visible through his beard darkens. “I’ve never seen Pretty Woman before. I put it on, and yeah…” He shrugs and chugs the rest of his drink.
Endless—and I do mean endless —red flags wave above his head, but I go colorblind.