Page 77 of Savage

I blink at him.

I can’t have heard him correctly. There’s no possible universe in which he’d apologize to me. “No one’s watching,” I mumble, despite knowing I’m only going to sink myself deeper. I’m not even trying to be bold or defiant, though; I’m just that fucking despondent. “You don’t have to… to pretend.”

“I’m sorry,” Hunter repeats, and he squeezes his eyes closed for a second. When he opens them, I realize they have a red hint to them.

He can’t possibly have been crying, but it’s hardly like he’d have done drugs, so I don’t know how to explain it.

“I…” Hunter takes a breath. “I shouldn’t have… demeaned you. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to die.”

I try to stare at him, but I can’t focus. It’s hard to think, harder still to try to reconcile his words with what I know of him.

With the things he’s said to me.

With the things he’s done to me.

I close my eyes again, taking in my own deep, shuddering breath. I am bone weary, ready to just collapse into unconsciousness again, but sleep evades me. “Why?” I whisper, not even really understanding what I’m asking. Why did he hurt me, why did he degrade me, why did he treat me so poorly, why did he expect so much of me…

Why is he pretending to care?

“At the fundraiser,” Hunter starts. He lets go of my hand and balls his hands up into fists. “When I saw you high again. When I saw you on your knees for those other men. I was so angry that you were… hurting yourself. But it felt like you were trying to hurt me. I thought you were doing better. Eating again. Being healthier. And I’d… trusted you.” He takes a deep breath and unclenches his hands. “But I reacted badly.”

I can’t help but laugh, an ugly sound that I don’t even recognize as my own. “You reacted… badly,” I repeat, but I can’t even be angry at him. Tears start to roll down my cheeks as I think about that night. He’d reacted terribly, yes, but… I’d deserved it, in a way. I’d broken what little trust he’d started to have in me. It doesn’t mean what he did was right—it isn’t—but I can’t even hate him for hating me.

How could I, when I hate myself more than he ever could?

“I went too far,” Hunter says in a strained voice. “I focused on my own pain and ignored yours.” He chuckles darkly. “While I was sitting here, I realized… I don’t even really know your name. I know nothing about you. Only that you enjoy video games.”

“And that I’m trash,” I mumble, though there’s no venom or bitterness in my voice. I’m just… tired. “I bet you think people who do… what I tried to do”—failed to do—“are even worse than drug addicts.”

Hunter lowers his head before answering, “Yes. I did think that. I used to see it a lot during my residency. I wondered… Why bother helping them, if they don’t want to be helped? That’s why I went into obstetrics. Everybody wants life there.”

I can’t help but think that’s not entirely true. I know people who don’t really want babies, who are forced to have them anyway. He believes what he wants, though, and he always will. There’s no point in trying to tell him differently, even if he seems more open to conversation than he ever has been.

He shakes his head. “But… I didn’t know any of their circumstances. I know yours, and… and I know your choices didn’t happen in a… vacuum. I…” He curses and bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Isabela,” I say abruptly, not wanting to talk about those choices that weren’t choices at all. “Isabela Diaz. I… I was raised in the west side of New Bristol. I…” My throat feels like it’s closing around the words. “I’m a drug addict. I’m weak, pathetic trash. That’s… That’s all you need to know about me.”

“Isabela.” Hunter takes my hand again and squeezes gently. “I want to help you get strong.”

It feels wrong to hear my name. It hasn’t been my name in months, not since I got kicked out by my parents and only had Dylan to turn to.

“I’m not Isabela anymore,” I say quietly. I’m not that same girl, and I never will be. “Just… call me Stef. All right?”

Hunter nods. “Of course, Stef.” Then he gives me a strange smile. “I want to offer you whatever you want, but I don’t want to let you leave me either. I… if I let you out of my sight, would I ever see you again? Would you be safe?”

I stare at him for a long, long moment—long enough to where I start to feel uncomfortable in the silence, but he doesn’t pressure me. He doesn’t force me to answer, and it’s strange. Slowly, I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “I don’t… I don’t like who I was when I… when I made my own decisions.” I manage a brittle smile. “I was starting to like you, you know.”

He looks startled. “You… were? Nobody likes me, Stef. I’m an asshole.”

I snort, the sound surprising even me. “You are,” I agree. “But you’re also an asshole who wants to find out if the wife did it.” I let out a slow breath. “I don’t always like the way you’ve done things with me, but I… I’ve felt better than I did in a long time. I felt healthy. I don’t look like a skeleton. My tears don’t bother you. I don’t like having to make decisions.” I realize I’m babbling, and I stare down at the IV in my vein. “But I want to feel like a person,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Hunter repeats. “And… I like making decisions. If…” He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “We could… work on rules. Set… limits. Or a… safe word.”

My lips twitch into a small smile, just for a moment before I rest my head back against the pillow. I feel utterly drained, and I probably shouldn’t be making decisions right now. But I need the reassurance. “I don’t want you to throw me away,” I say, wiping at my tears in frustration.

“I won’t. I wasn’t going to.” Hunter leans forward and clasps his hands. “I don’t think I would have gotten so angry if I didn’t want to keep you. If I wasn’t already invested. And now… I really don’t want to lose you, Stef.”

I bite my bottom lip. I want to believe him. I really, truly do. “Is that how you’re always going to act when you get angry at me?” I ask in a tiny voice.

---