41. FORTY-ONE
FORTY-ONE
I don’t have a high school diploma or a GED.
Somewhere in my delusions, I thought that it wouldn’t matter. How many people actually check that shit?
After the infuriating task of setting up an email, I filled out a few applications, lied, and sent them on their merry way. Making a resume was pointless, so I didn’t even try.
But the first rejection email came at lightspeed, saying that I must have a GED at the bare minimum, and that lying on my application automatically cost me the position.
So…the hardware store is out.
I’m eating a bowl of cereal, feeling like the biggest loser on the planet, while dreading rechecking my email. If the hardware store checked, I’m sure the others will too.
Hunter had another grocery delivery come this morning.
Unlike last time, this order came with way more stuff, which I dutifully put away so the meat, milk, and perishables wouldn’t rot on his counter.
I don’t know if I did it right or if he has a specific place for things, but the thought counts, right?
After our talk last night, I fell asleep on his chest. I’m shocked he even let it happen, despite saying we need to go slow. When I woke up, he was gone, and I received a text telling me to expect a delivery and look online for ‘interview clothes’. I haven’t done that yet, and I'm seeing no point.
It’s easy to let the roadblocks stop me. I have every other time.
While I shovel another heaping bite of plain fucking Cheerios into my face, I ask myself why?
Why have I been so quick to lie down and take it?
Every hit life has thrown at me, I’ve allowed it to happen with very little pushback.
Even when those guys held me down, took my money and my body, as soon as I realized I couldn’t escape, I stopped fighting.
My parents died, and I gave up.
I think about all the opportunities Hunter pissed away because of fear.
Is that the same for me?
Am I afraid? Maybe…if only a little bit.
Failure in any form is never fun, but when have I ever allowed myself to try hard enough that failure was even a possibility? I can’t remember the last time. Being used doesn’t count. Being taken advantage of or abandoned isn’t the same thing.
I don’t think I ever have—tried, that is.
Finishing my cereal quickly, I don’t bother washing the bowl and power walk to the living room, where I’ve had the laptop charging.
I open it, pull up the internet, and hammer on the keys.
How to get a GED. At first, I get so overwhelmed I immediately shut the laptop again.
My heart races mercilessly in my chest, threatening combustion.
It’s silly, but I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I had my shit together.
What if I made the money, had the job, the car, the life ?
What if I could be what Hunter has been? A white knight. A savior.
If the circumstances were different, and I could provide a safe haven, an escape from his shitty existence, maybe we could be what he keeps denying us. He wouldn’t have to worry about losing everything because I would be there.
A stupid, dopey smile spreads to my lips, and I go back to my research.
There are free online courses to make sure you pass the GED test. The test cost isn’t much, but it is sending a shot of pure excitement through me.
If I study hard and really put my mind to it, I could have that silly piece of paper in my hand, guaranteeing me a future—one that I could make for myself.
I chew on my thumb as I browse the various websites for the online courses, trying to find the best one.
When I settle on USAHello Classroom, a surge of confidence hits my body.
I don’t need much to make an account either.
Once that’s set up, I search for how to get my social security card and birth certificate without an ID.
That’s slightly more daunting, but not impossible.
I bookmark everything , itching for a pen and paper, but willing to go without for the moment.
I do, however, text Hunter.
Sorry to bug you at work, but is there any way you can get me a notepad and like…a pencil or something?
Guilt immediately hits me smack in the chest as I realize I’m asking for more .
He’s already done so much for me—spent so much.
But I need a tiny bit more, and then I can start doing this without him.
I panic a little over the possibility, having grown used to him, but ultimately, he will want me more if I depend on him less.
I know it. And I want that more than I want anything else.
His text comes in a few minutes later.
Hunter: Of course.
Hunter: Has anyone come by the house?
No?
Hunter: Lock the doors for me.
Okay.
What’s wrong?
Hunter: Nothing is wrong, sweetheart. Just keep them locked. I’ll be home in a few hours.
Home.
I want a home for both of us.
One where he isn’t so afraid and one where we can really explore this.
God, it sounds so fucking nice.
With a smile on my face, I lock the front door and the one that leads to the garage.
When I reach the slider leading to the backyard, I pause, spotting something in the air.
A frown forms as I recognize it as one of those personal drones.
Must be a neighbor with a kid testing out a birthday gift.
I wave at it, lock the slider, and go back to work.
The sound of the garage opening causes my head to whip toward the kitchen. A loud slam of a car door follows. I set aside the extremely hot laptop, rising to stand. Hunter’s voice booms from behind the door leading to the garage while keys slot into the lock.
“— don’t care, ” he growls, shouldering through the door.
He’s got at least five plastic bags hanging from one arm, a briefcase in the other, and his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder.
I wait for him to acknowledge me, but he doesn’t.
“Alex, for fuck’s sake, please just do it. He can’t know about us.”
My gut reaction is immediate anger. Who is Alex? What does Hunter mean by this mysterious ‘he’ can’t know about them ? Is Alex another fucking security guard? Another one of the motherfuckers that have had Hunter?
I ball my fists, stomp into the kitchen, and the nasally voice on the other line pricks my ears.
“I will. I’ll do it. Okay. Thank you,” he says, dropping the bags unceremoniously. Ending the call, Hunter senses my presence and yelps in surprise. “Shit.” His hand flies to his chest.
“Who is Alex?” I demand.
“My assistant.”
The anger morphs into fiery rage. “Really?” I yell. “The assistant, too?”
His brows furrow, then his eyes spark with recognition. “I’m not fucking my assistant, Gray.” He walks over to me, grabs my hips, and tugs me into him. “Not now, not ever.”
I narrow my eyes, scanning him for any lie. I sigh and fall into his hug when I don't see anything. He kisses the top of my head, body stiff despite the easy embrace. “What were you talking about then?” I ask against his chest, taking a not-so-subtle sniff of his cologne.
“Just a problem I need to resolve,” he mutters before pulling back just enough to tip my chin with his index finger. He kisses me like this is something we’ve always done.
It’s so stupid how eager I get with his lips on me, but I can’t help it. I throw my arms around his neck, tugging him closer, deeper. “I missed you,” I rush, dragging my tongue over his top lip.
He groans, squeezing my waist before sliding his hand lower to palm my ass. But he doesn’t say it back. It’s becoming easier to read Hunter, so I can tell he’s stressed.
Breaking the kiss to nuzzle my cheek, he says, “Today was…awful.”
“What do you need?” I ask. My eagerness to tell him about all the work I’ve done gets pushed to the side. “Tell me,” I say softly.
“Just you…and a shower.”
I steal another kiss, one he returns, and then I shove him towards the stairs. “I’ll be here.”
He nods, leaving the thump of his ascending feet echoing off the walls. With my hands on my hips, I walk over to the bags, and my heart flutters like a thousand hummingbirds taking flight.
In two bags are spray paint cans. In the others are some stationery, markers, and colored pencils. I bend down to snatch up a can, quickly familiarizing myself with the shape and texture before reading the label. It’s the good shit, too.
Clutching it to my chest, I finger through the rest of the items, spotting specific notepads for sketching and others for writing. He got what I asked for and more. If I weren’t already halfway in love with the guy, I certainly am now.
Monday comes too fast.
The weekend was a blur of making out, dry humping—me more so than Hunter—and cuddling in his bed.
We went grocery shopping on Sunday, and it hit me.
He’s not making me leave. Why else would he tell me to fill the cart with my preferences?
It was hard not to throw myself at him. A tiny voice kept whispering that I could’ve done it anyway. No one even looked at us twice.
I waited until we returned to his house, which he eagerly reciprocated.
When he eventually asked me about the job search, I told him what had happened with the hardware store and that I was starting my online classes.
There was this bizarre look in his eyes when I told him.
Pride mixed with something like fear. But he told me that was a great idea and that he’d help me get all my identification in order before I applied for a job.
I feel so safe, so wanted. In some ways, I’ve almost forgotten the past four years. Like it was all a bad dream and I just needed to wake up to find warm sheets, bright pretty eyes and strong arms to make all of it disappear.
Last night, he watched me doodle for a while. It’s been a bit since I’ve used anything other than spray paint, so my lines were choppy. That didn’t stop him from praising me, kissing my neck, and asking for one of his own.
God, it felt so good. So fucking right.