Page 29 of Hunter
I have no fucking idea what she likes.I’ll just grab a few of the sandwich specials with some chips and shit.
I stand in line and fucking laugh when I see the menu board.New York Specials: Pastrami on Rye or the Bronx Bomber. Well, that’s fucking fitting.
I grab two of everything, walk outta the food court, and scan the dining room.Fuck, I hope I didn’t miss her walk-in.I wanna see her smile because of me. It’ll be the first time and I don’t wanna miss it. Even if she never knows what I did, I always will.
I take a seat at the usual team table in the back. I can see the whole room from here. I’m fucking starving and unwrap the Bronx Bomber and take a massive bite.Damn,this shit is good.I devour the rest of my food, and just as I finish, the real Bronx Bomber walks in.
QUINCE
The noisefrom my stomach sounds like thunder, and the hunger pain strikes like lightning. My eyes are still closed, and I squeeze them together while curling my body into a tight ball, waiting for the daily storm to pass.
I wake up like this most mornings now, and I think it’s because I got used to eating regularly and sleeping in a fucking bed when I was in the hospital and then in that state rehab facility for sick people.
Since I’ve been back here, I can’t get my eating schedule to readjust to what it was. I could usually plan for one big meal with some snacks for the rest of the day. This school has food everywhere, and I make sure to help myself whenever possible. It’s not enough to live off of, but it’s something.
My stomach growls again, and I sit up on the couch. I spot my stuff on the floor and reach for my phone.Oh shit, it’s after eight. Wait… I slept for five hours.
I never sleep the first time I’m somewhere new. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, when I got back on the couch after my run-in with Sleeping Beauty, I shut my eyes and that was it.That’s so weird. Esa no soy yo. That's not like me.
I need to get outta here. Amy’ll have some breakfast stuff out at the shelter. A few bakeries take turns donating unsold prepared food to her community partnership programs. One day, I’m gonna send her a fat-ass check to thank her for all the blueberry-lemon muffins and orange-cranberry scones I’ve eaten. Even if most of the time they taste like dust and are as hard as fucking rocks, it’s still food in my stomach. And right now, I need one of each.
“I can’t believe I slept here,” I think to myself while rummaging around in my new backpack for a makeup bag I have.Qué carajo, wey, por supuesto, está en el fondo, of course it’s all the way at the bottom.
I pull out the pink bag I found last year and take out what I need. Some girl left it in the bathroom at the library for not one, but two whole days. Like hello? Did you forget you left a bag of your shit somewhere, or did you just not care?
It’s why I didn’t feel bad when I swiped it. It’s not my fault she couldn’t retrace her steps back to the bathroom. I detest pink with a passion, but for now, it works. I’ve been looking for a black one but haven’t had any luck yet.
I may not have a place to live, but I refuse to be crusty and smelly. I get these baby bath wipes and mini deodorants from the dollar store, and right now, they’re all I have to freshen myself up.
I should probably clean off my blade while I’m giving myself the equivalent of a bird bath, and fish around for my hand sanitizer, Lysol wipes, tissues, my knock-off ziplock bags, and a pair of gloves. I took whatever was left in my hospital room before I was transferred out to rehab, and I use these medical-grade disposable gloves all the time. It’s way too nasty out here for me to be doing shit with my bare hands.As if.
I squirt a few drops of hand sanitizer onto a wipe to clean off the blood from the night before. I should really pick up some rubbing alcohol, but for now, this will have to fucking do. I really shoulda done this hours ago, but I got distracted earlier. I’m blaming it on those veins,yabs,ydimples.
“Bien, todo limpio. (Good, all clean.)”I say to myself and set my girl down. I’ll dunk her in some bleach when I shower at the Athletic Center. I know where the supplies are.
I wrap the dirty wipes and contaminated gloves into two balls, use the tissues to pick each one up, and stuff each set into two bags before closing them up. When I get to campus, I’ll make sure to bury them deep in two separate trash bins on opposite sides of the school.Nunca lo sabrá nadie. No one will ever know.
I cover my hands in more sanitizer before throwing on a fresh sweatshirt. I quickly undo my braid and finger-comb my hair out before redoing it. Señora Úrsula taught me how to braid and set intentions for my day by doing this.
I focus on my goals and concentrate while folding over the three chunks to either create one braid or a few little ones. It’s how I add a little magic - and protection - into my routine before facing the world. And then I pull my beanie over my head to hide from it.
I step into my boots, put my arms through my coat, and throw my bag on my back. I make sure my blade is in my pocket and easily accessible if I need it. I’m ready to go.Vamos.
It’s freakishly quiet as I slowly twist the doorknob, and I hope it stays like that. I need to get the hell outta here and start my day. I need to stick to my routine and stay on track. Plus gangbangers aren’t known for getting up early, so I’ll probably be alright if I can get my ass to campus.
I readjust the straps of my backpack and stabilize myself before opening the office door. But it’s not this big-ass bag that throws me off balance – no, it’s thiscabrón, who is once again sleeping on the shop floor in front of the door.
I roll my eyes and shake my head while looking down at him sleeping away. Is he for real right now? Even sleeping, he looks this good?Uh, he makes me so fucking mad by just existing.
I’m stuck staring at his parted pink lips, and mine start to tingle. I immediately cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from having another existential crisis and kissing him. I have no idea what the fuck that was and why I felt compelled to do it.¿Y por qué me gustó tanto? And why I liked it so much.
I don’t understand why he does half the shit that he does, and this is exactly what I mean. Like, what is this all about? He had no fucking problem running out and avoiding our sessions all of last year. And now he’s sprawled out in front of the door.Pinche, cabrón.
Another thing I don’t understand is why he keeps taking math classes. This man didn’t need to take another semester of fucking math for his Communications major. He hates math.And he’s fucking terrible at it. But here he is, once again on the schedule for math tutoring.Por qué?!Why? He makes no fucking sense.
You know what else doesn’t make any sense to me? Why the hell all these girls tolerate how he acts?! I thought I was gonna be fucking sick when I overheard him talking about how he fucks more than one at the same time, like he’s some kinda player out here. Gross.¡Qué puerco! Whatta pig!I should kick him in the dick.
He’s probably kissed hundreds of women, and mine probably ranks lower than the worst kiss he’s ever had. I’m sure he’s trying to erase it from his brain, just like all the math I’ve tried to teach him. I had no idea what I was doing and just pressed my mouth as hard as I could against him.Ay, diosas, soy tan estúpida. ¿Por qué hice eso? Oh my Goddesses, I'm so stupid. Why did I do that?
