Page 19 of Hunter
“Yeah, man, I do.” The one thing about Alvino Rossi is that he doesn’t hold back. I know where he’s coming from, but this is different. Because it’s her.
“I’m staying right here,” I say while every muscle in my fucking body hardens to match the tone in my voice. There’s no place I'd rather be than right here, and every part of my body knows it.
Not only do I think I like this girl, but I’m starting to think she may be good for me, too. She’s killing off the parts of me that need to die and break away. She’s left me covered in my own blood that no one else can see but us. It’s like our own secret ritual or something. I don’t know how else to describe it, I just know that I like it. And that I want it to continue, because it feels good to be cleansed by her.
“I’m not going anywhere, and I’ve already put the word out,” he assures me while doing a final walk through the shop. “It’s all good, man.” I appreciate the reassurance, but it’s not as helpful to me as it is knowing that I’m right here and she’s safe on the other side of this door. I need to protect her.
“Not the word I’d use to describe the past hour, Alv,” I shout back while folding my hoodie into a ball. I stuff it behind my head and lie down on my back so that I’m blocking the door if this lunatic tries to escape. I don’t give a fuck that I’m lying on the dirty floor. I’d lie on hot coals if it meant that she was safe.
Now that this hellcat’s here, I don’t want to let her go. I don’t believe in fate or faith or fucking coincidences, but for me to be here at the exact time that she bangs on a random door in the middle of the night, while I’m getting a tattoo symbolizing her fucking spirit animal, has me believing that we both ended up here for a reason.
Believe me, I know how it sounds. Like some voodoo shit, but there’s no other explanation. She’s back, and the way I see it, keeping her safe this time is a second chance that I think I need to take. Maybe it’ll right a wrong.
“Before you get all comfy on that cold tile floor, wipe down your chest and put these on your tat,” he says while tossing me a pack of wipes and a few packets of Aquaphor, before he walks through the front of the shop again.
“Oh, and remind me to add a collar and an 'Ed' tag when we finish her up,” he says with a smirk as he tosses my shirt at me. I catch it in the air like a stray puck and glare at his back.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I tell him while I clean myself up and rub the ointment on my chest. He bends down and his old-ass knees crack away before he covers my half-finished tattoo with some med-grade plastic wrap.
“Says the guy on the floor to the guy going to sleep on a mattress,” he chirps back before laughing like a fucking hyena and disappearing into the other room.
“Shhhh!” I whisper-yell at him. He’s so fucking loud all the time.I swear to fuck if this bonehead wakes her up!It’s honestly a damn miracle that she hasn’t started screaming yet.
I hope she’s asleep in there -and not wide-awake plotting to take over the world.I don’t think I would’ve been able to keep myself in check if she had walked outta here. Thank fuck that she stayed.And thank fuck I woke the hell up.
I’ve been pretty good about keeping my feelings locked away in a cage, but now that they’ve escaped, I don’t think I stand a fucking chance at stuffing them back inside. There’s no way. Not when a colony of bats starts to swarm my gut.
These fuckers are flapping their wings like they’re super-charged, and it makes me wanna puke.Oh shit, is this what ‘butterflies” are supposed to be?Fucking hell, this is so much worse than what I thought it would be like when I liked someone.And I really like her. It’s like my feelings are multiplying by the minute.
And now I feel like I can’t fucking breathe when their sharp claws pierce through my lungs, deflating who I once was. You’d think the fire-breathing dragon that lives inside the pits of my stomach would’ve done something about this. Instead, he laid down on the fucking job with a satisfied smile when they started hanging upside down from my heartstrings.
Just thinking about her having to sleep anywhere else makes my fucking blood boil. My whole body gets hot, and the cold tiles feel good when I start to sweat my balls off.This little fucking demon literally changes my body temperature.
Now it’s gonna be all I think about when I don’t know where she is, and that’s not fucking acceptable. I might need to scratch off more than just practice today.Fuck it, the whole day is canceled. I feel a tiny smile crack over my face, and I shake my head;fuckinggood luck getting rid of me now, Ed.
I ignore all the notifications on my phone while I draft a believable email to Coach, and I don’t hesitate when I send it out. I mean, I’m not lying. Technically, I am feeling sick.Sick in the fucking head.
I make myself comfortable before checking on the locations of both my siblings.Good, they’re home. My sister is with Max, so I know she’s fine. Honestly, I’m more worried about the other one. My brother isn’t okay, and it’s now crossed over into dangerous territory.
This asshole goes out running every fucking night until the next fucking day. I’d bet money he was out earlier. That dickhead probably just got in.
I love him to fucking death, but I really want to slap the shit outta him sometimes. He’s letting his past get in the way of his future, and it’s fucking stupid to watch.
Hockey’s always been our path, and he needs to get back on fucking track. It’s like he’s derailed and can’t get himself up. He’s running on steam, and I’m afraid he’s gonna end up doing some real damage if he doesn’t stop. He’s hurting himself in more ways than one: hockey, school, Red. He’s gonna fumble her if he doesn’t stop with this shit.
He can’t continue to live like this. His room’s fucking nasty, and his personal hygiene’s borderline disturbing. He looks like hell and is acting like he’s imprisoned there.
Yesterday morning, I had to put his ass into the shower and make him breakfast. And that wasn’t the first time I’ve had to do that. He’s become a house plant I have to feed and water.
I wasn’t kidding when I told B that she was gonna need a hazmat suit to safely go into that pigsty. I’m not a clean freak, and my room gets messy, but his room should be condemned just on smell alone. I don’t know how he fucking breathes in there.
He’s depressed, and I’m worried about him. Evie and I talked about it a few nights ago. I was sitting downstairs, reviewing some notes Monroe had given me, when my sister and Max came home.
When B took off her Vans and lined them up next to our brother’s, she saw the dilapidated state of his sneakers and brought them right over to me. I found dried blood on the insole, which was my line in the sand. Evie and Max both agreed that enough was enough. We couldn’t let this continue for another fucking minute. If the boys were home, I would’ve called them down for a family meeting, too.
We talked about it for a while and came up with a solid plan. He needs therapy and a swift kick in the ass for hurting himself. It’s a miracle he can even skate with the shape his feet are in.
Evie immediately started putting together a list of shit for me to order from our Equipment Manager. He’s getting new socks, sneakers, clothes, and a dozen bars of fucking soap. I’m gonna throw all of his nasty crap out, and B’s gonna try to wash what she can salvage. He barely changes his clothes and smells like ass.
