Page 98 of Hunt for You

And the car? It was a fucking guilt gift.

She’d never told me that all of this was waiting for me. I would have bet everything I owned that she wouldn’t have toldme ever. If I understood the paper, when I turned eighteen she would become the executor of my mother’s will, and the person who had to manage my small fortune.

If she hadn’t spent it all by then.

I seriously considered murdering her in her sleep. But the urge inside me to actually remove her life was a wake up call for me. That was the day I realized I had the same monster my father did, and I was flat-out determined never to let it out of its cage.

So I faced it inwards, instead.

At Richard’s urging I got into martial arts and was remarkable at it. Mainly because I didn’t give a shit if I got hurt.

Turns out a girl who doesn’t care about breaking a leg or getting bruised can scare the shit out of other girls.

I won the age-group for sparring in the first tournament I entered. Everyone said I was awesome. I was just raging and unafraid of pain.

And I was planning.

Junior year of high school, I had almost everything in place—I’d spoken to a lawyer, convinced my aunt that I needed money to visit colleges early so I could do early declaration and get more scholarships.

It was a test.

She had tons of money. Or rather,Idid. But she’d never told me.

She could have said, “Don’t worry about scholarships, you’re provided for.”

She didn’t.

She gave me money to travel to college campuses and fuel for my car. And I used it all to pay the lawyer who was getting ready to emancipate me and subpoena her for the financial records.

Then I got kicked in the chest at Karate and after a few hours at the hospital, found out that sparkling in my vision wasn’t my rage. It was my heart warning my brain that I was about to die if I didn’t get more oxygen pretty quick.

All those pretty lights in my eyes that I used to love were a sign that I was dying.

Who knew?

Then my whole life changed. That is to say… it got worse.

So, a heart condition meant there wasn’t going to be any more karate, or kicks to the chest for me.

Running? Also bad.

In fact, anything fun was a bad idea.

We had great insurance (shocking) so my aunt made sure I got all the fancy tests, and they found out the cancer genomes were there too.

I was the walking dead. Even the doctors looked at me with wary eyes.

The medications were awful and I had to miss a lot of school. But at least my aunt was motivated to make sure I got what I needed so no one would ask questions. Before I graduated high school, she’d found an experimental vascular treatment that helped my heart without making me feel sick or weak all the time.

Then I found a sketchy property manager who’d sign a post-dated lease to a minor as long as I slipped him some extra cash to cover the rent until I was eighteen. And then, when I had my birthday—two weeks after graduation—I walked back into the lawyers office and told him to do the subpoena.

Turned out the bitch was investing and everything. Hiding money left, right and center. She’d still never told me about the inheritance at all. I was still driving the Toyota she bought me when I was sixteen. She was driving an Audi.

It was a mess, but in the end, I had an apartment in another city where I would attend college. A car that wasn’t tied to her insurance. And enough money to keep me alive longer than my body was likely to. If I wasn’t stupid about it.

I barely remember college.

I have a degree, but I’ve never used it.

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