Page 7 of Hunter
I was pretty numb to it before. It was a daily occurrence growing up in the projects and gang neighborhoods. I ran away from that, and right now I’m running as fast as I fucking can from the sounds of my past like the boogyman is after me, while echoes of grunts and groans follow the sound of flesh being fucking pounded on until it splits open.
My muscle memory - or what I like to think of as my very own trauma trigger- switches on. I hit the ground when I hear someone screaming out to be spared, and cover my head when I hear a gunshot. Fuck, that sounds close.Muycerca. Too close.
I'm crouched down behind a row of dumpsters and force myself to breathe through my mouth to avoid inhaling that foulas fuck stench. It smells like the Bronx on Wednesdays before all the nasty garbage is picked up. That shit would rot in the fucking hot-ass sun on the broken-ass sidewalks all summer long.
The whole hood would smell gross for fucking days. The only thing that it was good for was masking the smell of gunfights and dead gang bangers. And thank fuck, because that shit smells fucking disgusting.
Right now, the smell of trash and violence is all too fucking familiar. There’s zero chance that I’m gonna be able to stay here for long. Not unless I take my knife and slice my fucking nose off.
Even though it smells like fucking dog shit, I force myself to stay where I am and count to five hundred before slowly standing up. It’s dead quiet again, and I can just make out the dim silhouette of a stack of pallets behind a dumpster about two hundred feet away. That’s what? A dozen car lengths? I can hide out there for a bit while this block cools off.
I make a run for it and drop my bag on the pavement at the foot of a stack of pallets before hoisting myself up to take a seat. I reluctantly put my blade down while holding my breath to avoid inhaling the rotten stench of shit that's seeping from the garbage. What the hell is in there? Decapitated skunks?Asquerosa. Disgusting.
My stomach is about to eat itself, and I need to rest for a minute. Ever since I was hospitalized, I’ve had less energy than ever before. Fucking twenty-one years old, and I need to stop to sit every ten minutes. I can’t fucking stand it. I’m used to running for hours on nothing. Being sedentary has never been a luxury that I’ve been granted, so now I have to rest more often to keep my strength.
I love these stupid, bright-ass orange crackers and stuff two in my mouth. I immediately taste the salty, cheddary, and peanut buttery goodness and do a little shimmy shake as I eat them. They’re one of the only parts of home that I kept. The restof it can fucking burn. If the Bronx were hit by a missile and wiped off the planet, I’d be fucking jumping for joy. Whatever the fuck that means. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been happy a day in my pathetic life.
I shove two more into my mouth and ignore my growling stomach.¡Cállate! I’m feeding you!That’s the other thing, having three meals a day plus snacks in the hospital and then rehab, got my stomach used to being fed regularly. And now that I’m back, I’ve had to figure out how to keep myself nourished. Hence, all the stealing.
I twist off the cap to my soda, and it explodes all over me, because karma’s a bitch and Murphy’s Law is fucking real.¡Puta madre! I swear to the goddesses, today has been a fucking day out here.
It all started to suck after I saw his stupid ass at the shelter. Hunter fucking Wilton. Fuckingpendejo.Usually, people who stay at the shelter aren’t allowed to be there between 10 AM and 3 PM, but because I still have weekly nursing visits and am technically still recovering, I have a day pass.
I have no idea why the fuck him and his brother were there, though. It’s not like he’s there outta the goodness of his own heart. He doesn’t fucking have one. Mine, on the other hand, squeezed tighter than that blood pressure cuff the nurse had around my arm when I spotted him standing there looking fine as hell.
I have no idea why that even happened. I mean, he’s a good-looking human, but that’s no reason for my chest to collapse. I obviously need more time to recoup. I’m clearly still unwell.
I keep forgetting my fancy new phone has a flashlight, and I turn it on to see how much soda I fucking lost. Cherry Coke is a delicacy, and I’m gonna be pissed if I wasted a lot of it. I try to make this shit last.
I slink back further on the pallet into the darkness, in an attempt to make myself a little bit more comfortable and check my phone. Pulling my black beanie down over my forehead, I threw my hoodie up so that I could hide inside my sweatshirt and scroll. My astrology app lights up with a notification, and my shoulders tense as I hold my breath and read my daily horoscope.
‘Stop self-sabotaging just because you’re afraid of the unknown. You keep circling back to old habits and old emotions–not because they’re good for you, but because they’re familiar.’Meirda, wey! I didn’t need to be called out so hard by a fucking app.‘You’re not weak for wanting comfort. You’re human, but comfort shouldn’t come at the cost of your peace, growth, or purpose. A major shift will create a breakthrough in your routine and heart, Aquarius. Allow this change, the universe is guiding you toward something better than you ever imagined.’
Closing out of my horoscope, I internally groan at the six text notifications that I’ve left unread. They’re all from the same person, and I could give a shit less. That motherfucker texted me after our run-in, talking about scheduling times and shit.As if. I refuse to tutor his ass again—he can suck it, él puede chuparlo.
Hunter Pendejo Wilton:
When did you get back?
When can we start tutoring?
What's the schedule?
Why was a nurse checking you out today?
Are you feeling okay?
Why the fuck won’t you answer me?
I barely text, and even I know that he’s acting crazy with these messages.Why won’t I answer you?Because I don’t need to deal with your ass if I don’t want to, that’s why.Ugh. He’s so fucking annoying. Why do all these girls like him so much?
I click outta my messages and shove my phone in this little pocket inside the main pouch of my hoodie. I hate to ignore the few people who I’ve wanted to give this number to, like Evie and Sloane, but I just don’t have the social bandwidth to people like everyone else seems to do.
I don’t like to people if I can help it.Sometimes I think it’s better if I just fade away into being invisible again.And when a flashlight shines into my face, blinds my eyes, and reveals my hiding spot… I wish that I was.
TRÈS
“Come here,”a gruff male voice shouts while making a grab for me. The adrenaline surge that courses through my veins sends a power kick straight to this motherfucker’s face. I scramble up tomy feet while he falls two steps back, grabbing his bloody nose.I hope I fucking broke it.
