Page 9 of Always You

Lashes bouncing up and down, her question feels like a hit to the chest. I look at her, tucking my hands into my sweats to make sure I don’t wrap my arm around her.

“What makes you think I’m angry?” I ask, ignoring the tingling in my fingers. That small affectionate stroke of my neck gave me a sense of her skin on mine, and it made my body long for more. To keep her tight against my chest, to breathe in her scent and hold her like a sad child grasps onto his teddy bear.

“Are you not?”

Fighting is an easy way to get money and a good way to get out some pent-up energy with something I enjoy. Does that mean I’m angry at the world?

“I don’t know. Maybe I am.”

“What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. “Any dirty secrets I should know about?”

“Not really. I live with my mom. It’s been me and her since I was born. Not sure where my dad is, but I’ve never felt like I’m missing out. I’m pretty boring, actually.”

“You’re anything but boring, Charlotte.” Without thinking, I remove my hand from my pocket and run it through the soft strands of her hair. They feel as tempting as her lips look. Soft, silky, and meant to be touched. And surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away.

“You found me reading against the tree along the creek. Pretty sure that’s the definition of boring when you’re in high school.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re boring,” I admit with a huge grin.

“Gee, thanks,” she says, pulling a face.

“No problem.” I gently push my shoulder against hers, putting another smile on her face. We walk a few more yards in silence until we reach her driveway and we both look up at the cozy white home. There’s a bed of pink roses in front of the porch and a swinging bench looking out over the yard.I bet that’s where she reads.It doesn’t look all that different from my own, butassuming hers isn’t overcome with yelling, struggle, and abuse, it looks like a fucking dream to me.

“Thanks for walking me.” She stops in front of her house, then gazes up at me.

“Anytime. I’ll see you in school.”

“Sure.”

A grin stretches my cheeks as I try to think of a way to extend my time with her. But she takes the lead by waving me off and moving toward her front steps, so I mimic her as I slowly raise my hand, then trail off.

“Hey, Hunter?” I turn around in anticipation, meeting her kind face. “If you ever want to talk, you know, about anything other than your ‘just fucked’ face, you know where to find me.”

Her eyes radiate a kindness that engraves itself in my heart, while I silently pray this isn’t the last one she looks at me like that. A fuzzy feeling warms my chest while pebbles shower the skin on my arms. I’m constantly surrounded by people who want a lot of things from me. Attention, my body, for me to win my next fight. But no one has ever offered to simply talk to me.

“What about my ‘before-fucked’ face?” I joke with a nudge of my chin, then laugh when she shakes her head, trying to bite back the grin I catch lingering on her lips.

“I’m here for any non-fucking related subject.”

“I’ll see you around, Charlotte,” I reply, content knowing I wouldn’t let that opportunity go to waste.

2

He’s the bad boy of the school, and even though we’ve never spoken any more than we did today, I can’t deny I’ve noticed his handsome appearance walking through the halls.

I do have eyes, after all.

He walks away, his damp shirt still slightly plastered to his muscled back. As if he feels my eyes scanning his body, he turns with a smug look, giving me a devastating wink. The boy is hot, with his broad shoulders and buff arms.

With my lips still pressed together I smile, rolling my eyes, then turn around and walk into my house to shake off the giddy feeling he just fired up.

I find my mama behind the stove, a hint of garlic settled in the entire kitchen. Her face is pale and worn out, but she’s attempted to cover it up with make-up.

She looks better than she has in the last week. She’s dressed in jeans and a sweater, her flowing blonde hair framing her fatigued expression that she hides behind a full smile when she sees me entering the kitchen.

“Hi, Mama, you cooking dinner?” I don’t remember the last time she cooked for me, simply because life is hard when you are in and out of the hospital most of the time.

“Yeah, your favorite! Five more minutes!” She claps with excitement, and a wide smile takes up residence on my face. It’s nice to see my mom like this. Energetic. Happy. Cooking.

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