Page 29 of Rugger: The Huntress

One knife.

One glass.

One bottle of water.

One glass of wine.

One cloth.

One mat.

As expected, the table was set for one and my food was still warm to the touch. The second my plate met the mat, the phonealerted me of an incoming call. I slid my finger across the screen to answer. Silence coated the line.

“Eat, Rugger,” Rather demanded.

From the subtle sound of her background, her location was revealed. She wasn’t far from my home, possibly three and a half miles out.

“You did well,” I complimented.

“Sit down. Rest your pretty head and fill your belly.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“You have no other choice or I’m turning around and shoving the food down your throat.”

“There’s other ways of telling me you love me. You know that, right? Sneaking into my home to feed me is–”

“My way of telling you just that. Now, eat.”

The call ended abruptly. She’d stolen the opportunity for me to hang up first. She was anticipating it, which was why she pulled the trigger.

I took a look over my right shoulder at the flower on my counter. Mixed emotions gathered at the center of my chest. I released a heavy, shaky sigh. It didn’t matter that things were good for us. We’d been ripped apart.

Things would never be the same for us. Which, essentially meant, things were bad. And, they’d always be this way. Though the words would never come from my mouth, I missed our unity.

The amalgamation of our worlds every month was both torture and bliss. I desperately wanted to rewind the hands of time to be surrounded by my sisters, my mother, the leader of our syndicate, and the head of our family. There was a time when our worries were few and we didn’t have to peep around every corner we turned.

Hadn’t it been for Egypt, things for us would be catastrophic, so there was gratitude in my heart. But, there was also pain andgrief. Not only was I mourning my father’s death, but the death of my family’s normalcy.

Instead of dwelling, I took my sister’s advice and bowed my head, hoping the Lord heard me. As a habitual sinner with intentions to sin again, I couldn’t say that he would.

“Dear God, thank you for the food that’s been prepared for me. Thank you for life. Not mine, but the life of those I cherish. Keep blessing them. And, if there’s room, keep blessing me. Amen.”

The tenderness of the lamb should’ve been illegal. Red wine washed a piece down before I dug into the bed of potatoes. When I finally pushed a floret of the broccolini in my mouth, I was overwhelmed with flavor.

Acts of service.

It was Rather’s love language and had always been – along with words of affirmation, and she had the perfect profession. She was gifted with words and spoke life into those who felt lifeless.

I finished dinner and ended up undressed in front of the full-length mirror in my bathroom. I used the tip of my index finger to remove the contacts from my eyes. Though clear, they served a purpose. Eye recognition software didn’t stand a chance at identifying whoever was on the screen if wearing them.

Nineteen.

It was ten days before my twentieth birthday when I produced the first prototype. I searched for the dotted line near my wrist and then tore away at the bodysuit I wore. The hair extension piece came off along with it.

Together, they plummeted to the floor. I wasted no time stepping into the warm shower, promising to toss them both in the barrel of acid when I emerged. For now, I wanted to rid myself of the day’s stench.

3:26a

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