2. Hunter
Two
Hunter
At night, the house felt huge and empty.
The cold walls and high ceilings made my room feel even bigger. Moonlight filtered in through the large window, painting long shadows across the room. They looked like monsters.
I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I knew the shadows were just the branches of the tree outside, shivering in the wind. The real monster was downstairs.
My hands clenched into fists on top of my covers. I’d smelled the whiskey on his breath earlier and knew what that meant.
It used to scare me. Sickly sweet fear coursing through my veins, immobilizing my body. Now, all I felt was rage.
Rage because I wasn’t bigger yet. Rage because I couldn’t hit him. Rage because he was doing this at all.
He was yelling again. Mom told me to go to sleep, but their muffled voices were getting louder and louder.
She said everything would be alright.
That’s what she always said. But in this big, cold house, it never was.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew our family wasn’t normal. Dads weren’t supposed to treat moms like this. They weren’t supposed to be angry all the time. I’d never seen Colt’s dad do anything like that. His mom never looked sad and never had bruises.
I pressed the pillow over my ears, wanting to escape, but I couldn’t escape their yelling. We couldn’t escape him.
I could hear Dad’s heavy footsteps on the marble floor downstairs. His voice sounded like thunder in these big rooms.
Mom’s voice was quiet, like a soft song trying to stop a storm.
I stayed still, trying to make myself small, like I could disappear. I never did.
Letting the pillow flop back down, leaving my ears uncovered again, I realized something was different tonight. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it made me sit up ever so slowly.
His voice rose and rose. Did he sound louder because I’d been covering my ears? The words he was spewing were violent and terrifying. What was happening?
The sheets slipped off my legs with a slight rustle as I got out of bed. My footsteps were swallowed up by the thick carpet, and the click of my lock disengaging went unheard, drowned out by his booming voice.
As I slipped through the door, the cold stone stung my bare feet as if I had stepped onto ice.
I inched down the hallway, trying to make no noise. Trying to be invisible.
My mom’s soft voice turned more and more pleading as she made gentle attempts to calm my father’s temper. Useless, as always.
“Steven, please. Hunter is sleeping. Let’s just talk—”
“I’m done talking to you. You’re too stupid to understand me. Why should I bother?” he scoffed mockingly.
My back was pressed against the wall just outside the living room, where he was raging. Fury pounded through my veins, twisting my stomach into tight knots.
How dare he? How dare he call her stupid? My mom was the best. She was kind and warm. She wasn’t stupid.
My fists shook as I squeezed my eyes shut. When did I start breathing so hard? I counted to five and tried to steady my breaths.
The jarring sound of glass shattering caused my eyes to fly open again.
What happened?
“You stupid bitch!”
“Steven, stop!”
I took another step toward the door and froze as a pained shriek rang out, followed by a crack and then a dull thud.
She had never sounded like this before. What was he doing to her?
Suddenly, silence.
Sickening silence.
My whole body shook, and my heart, which had just been beating a mile a minute, froze in my chest.
I took a step, then another.
From the doorway, I had a perfect view of my mother. Lying on the floor. In a pool of blood.
Her glassy eyes rolled my way, and a last flicker of emotion passed through them. Pain? Loss? Regret? I wasn’t sure.
She gasped, her lips moving like she wanted to tell me something, but no sound was coming out. The dark pool of liquid was gradually soaking into the beige area rug.
All I could hear were my father’s labored breaths and the crunch of glass beneath his feet as he stalked toward her.
He studied her, the whiskey glass still in his hand, swishing the amber liquid.
With a flash, it was like everything operated at normal speed again.
“You need to help her!” I shouted, running to her side.
A sharp pain shot through my foot, but I didn’t flinch. Dropping to my knees right on the edge of the blood-soaked rug, I grabbed her limp hand.
I looked up at him, my eyes wide with panic.
“Do something!” My voice broke. He didn’t move. Why wasn’t he moving? “Please!”
Mom’s fingers twitched in my hands, barely noticeable.
My eyes snapped back to hers, and I watched, horrified, as she held my gaze. Her hand squeezed mine ever so slightly.
A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, and then something happened. Something disappeared from her eyes.
They went blank. Empty.
No!
“Mom!” I gripped her hand tighter. No reaction. Then I grabbed her shoulders and shook them, urgently. “Wake up!”
The metallic smell of blood hung heavily in the air. I couldn’t breathe.
Dad stepped over her body like she was nothing, like she was already dead.
She couldn’t be dead, right?
“Help her!” I yelled again.
He looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised. “Shut up, boy. She’s dead.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. While he strode over to the dining room table to pick up his phone, I was desperately trying to force air into my lungs.
My gaze was glued to her pale, unmoving face. From a distance, I heard him call the police. His voice sounded different now. Panicked and concerned. Almost devastated.
He told them she was already gone. That she had fallen down the stairs .
Lies.
I was shaking, my knees aching from the unforgiving, freezing marble beneath me.
Everything after was a blur.
He dragged her body to the bottom of the stairs.
Arranged it just right.
Told me not to worry. He’d take care of everything.
Take care of everything? What did he mean?
My mind was spinning; I couldn’t think. Everything was cold.
I was frozen in place.
Meanwhile, Dad was crunching mints while cleaning everything up.
He swept up the broken glass, rolled the rug tight, and dragged it across the marble, then scrubbed at the spots where it had pressed down.
I could feel the traces in my foot — a few shards of glass stuck in my skin. Every step I took left a faint trail behind me.
He’d never cleaned anything before. Ever.
Dad’s eyes, dark and piercing, snapped in my direction.
“Look at this shit!” he barked, gesturing at the trail I’d left behind. I froze. My hands shook, but he shoved a towel toward me. “Clean it up. Now.”
I knelt down and dabbed at the floor, mechanically following the path of my own blood and wiping away every faint smear. My movements were robotic, and my mind was numb as I obeyed without thought.
Crouching on the cold marble, I picked at the shards stuck in my foot, wincing with each one I pulled out. Each tiny piece pulled out felt like fire, but I worked quickly, desperate to finish.
Dad stalked toward me, tossing a crumpled bandage at my feet, along with a pair of socks. “Wrap that shit. I want it covered — now.”
With trembling fingers, I wrapped my sliced-up skin with the bandage, sliding the socks over it as best I could.
When the blue and red lights flashed outside the windows, he grabbed me.
His fingers dug into my cheeks as he sneered. They felt like burning hot pokers, searing my skin. I wanted them off me.
“I’m only going to say this once. What happened here today was an accident. Don’t make any mistakes, boy. I can make your life a living hell.”
You already have. That’s what I wanted to say, but no words came out.
He tapped my cheek, the physical contact sent waves of nausea through me.
“You wouldn’t want to go the same way as your dear mother, now, would you? Now stop bawling like a little baby.”
Was I crying?
He released my face but looked at me for another moment. “Or don’t. Might sell our story.”
Our story?
I couldn’t move.
From a distance, I heard him tell the police and paramedics a fabricated tale. Heard him crying, “My wife! Oh God, my wife! Please, no!”
Lies.
They tried to question me. Dad shot me a sharp look.
I couldn’t move.
No words came out.
Then they were gone.
Somehow, I made it back to my room.
The weight of the silence crushed me.
Numbness spread like ice through my body. I felt nothing, heard nothing, and saw nothing.
And I stopped feeling.
Just … stopped.
Like a door was closing deep inside of me, like I was a statue in a cold room, nothing but a shell.
I stared at the ceiling again, but nothing was the same anymore. After all the chaos, an unnatural quiet had settled over the house.
My chest hurt, and all I wanted was to sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I relived it all over again.
The light leaving her.
Loss and grief hit me like a tidal wave. My body shook with sobs I refused to let escape.
No more hugs. No more soft hands.
She was gone and had taken something from me with her.
I needed to protect whatever was left of me. No matter how little was actually left.
What I needed now was a barrier between me and the world. I wouldn’t let them take anything else.
So, I built a cage and wrapped barbed wire around my heart. It was the only way to feel safe.
The faint scent of her perfume was still in my nose, now tinged with something sour.
She’d never stroke the back of my neck again to calm me down.
Everything inside me went cold that night.
Whenever someone tried to touch me, all I felt was heat and nausea. So, I put a stop to it.
The day my mother died was the last day I’d willingly let anyone touch me without a helmet or pads between us.
…
I jolted awake, sheets tangled around my legs, heart hammering like it wanted to escape my chest. Sweat slicked my back, and my body felt like it was wrapped in ice.
I buried my face in my hands, pushing back damp strands of hair. These nightmares weren’t rare. They were routine.
Every few nights, sometimes more often, I’d wake up with a surge of panic that left a residue clinging to my skin.