Page 20 of Hunter
I’ve never seen him so messed up. Whenever I try to talk to him about it, he twists shit around and brings it right back to Evie. Any fucking chance he has to throw it in my goddamn face that I’m a shitty brother and an even worse fucking son, he takes.
Sometimes I think he thinks he’s the only one who feels fucking bad about what’s happened. He doesn’t think I should still be angry with our parents over the adoption bomb. He can be fucking viscous when he wants to be.
Everyone thinks he’s a Golden Retriever, but he’s more like a Siberian Husky. He’s a stubborn bastard that doesn’t fucking listen. He also talks back and has something to say about everything.Even if it’s to himself.
He’s too busy getting lost in his thoughts. He pays attention to the voices in his head more than anyone else. And yeah, B and I know all about the angel and devil that he’s had since we were kids. She’s got her intrusive thoughts and anxiety, I’ve got my angry dragon, and he’s got these two on his shoulder.Man, we’re fucked up.
You’d think he’d at least listen to Evie, but he doesn’t. She’s forgiven him over and over again, and still, he tortures himself. It would fucking help him move forward if he would just look at her the way that she’s asked us to. Yes, she’s our sister,my little sister, but she’s also a fucking fighter. She’s fucking tough.
Even before I messed everything up for her, she handled the fucking bomb our parents dropped on us about being adopted better than me or Chase. That’s when he started running to deal with the hard shit in his life. It’s also when I became permanently pissed off, developed trust issues, and started punching shit. It’s also when I started hooking up with whoever I wanted.
Evie did it the right fucking way. She read in the treehouse and went to therapy. She took our parents, too, and they all “processed” their feelings. We all did a couple of them now that I think back. Well, they did – I just sat there bored out of my fucking mind. That was the first time I colored in my left thumbnail with a Sharpie. Then I started drawing on my skin with them.That was my original ink.
I’ll be mad at myself forever for what I did to B. Until the day I fucking die I’ll never forget how bad things got. But I’m trying to at least see past the burned image of her in my head.And Chase needs to, too.
Our sister isn’t the same person anymore, and the three of us aren’t who we once were. She hasn’t done it in a while, but she used to text about us being our “triplethood” again. That she wanted us to go back to what it used to be. Without fail, Chase would try to set up “family dinners” or something for us to do together. It’s like I’m the only one who sees that we’re never going back to that. We aren’t kids anymore.
The first time we ate in the cafeteria at a small table, my sister was in such a good mood that she might as well have been a real-life emoji. She was smiling the whole time. I watched her be social, and it fucking blew my mind. She didn’t stutter or shield herself when talking to some of my teammates' girlfriends while we waited in line. She held her own.
She even laughed. That got Chase’s attention, too. It was all so genuine. She wasn’t “trying” or “working on it” like I’d heard her say so many times before. She was doing it. She didn’t need us to help her or for us to get involved. She’s more than capable of running her own life without either of us interfering and causing her any problems. Evie’s happy, and I want her to stay that way.
That’s why I’ve taken a step back from trying to fix what we had and instead tried to give her the space she needs to be who she wants to be.
It’s the main reason we can’t revert to how things were. We’ll just hold her back, and I won’t let that happen again. Not when, according to her, “she’s living her best life.” And if anyone deserves to, it’s my little sister.
TWELVE
“Qué carajo,wey. ¡Muévete! (What the fuck, dude. Move!)”My eyes fly open as soon as I hear her voice. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I don’t think I’ll be able to forget waking up to her looking like she does right now. She looks… lighter. Like, she isn’t carrying as much as she usually is.She’s also not wearing as much as she usually is.
She took off her baggy sweatshirt and looks different without all her layers of armour on. I can see more of her.And fuck, do I like what I see.
So much that I sit up to get a better view. Because her nipples are poking through her shirt, and the scowl on her pissed off and pretty face is just for me.And fucking hell… I want her tits to be just for me, too.
The realization melts off the glaze from my eyes, and I register what else I’m looking at before standing up.Oh, fuck no.
“The fuck? Whose shirt is that?” The wordsDevil's Baseballare written across her chest, and it aggravates the shit outta me, sight on scene.
“Uh, mine, you idiot, I’m wearing it.”Take it off.
“I don’t like it.” The urge to rip it off her body and wrap her up in my shirt is so strong that I fist the bottom hem of my own.
“And I don’t give a fuck what you like,pendejo.”It’s you. I like you, you fucking demon.
“What are you doing with a practice shirt?” Ours are the exact same and sayDevils Hockey. I’ve got at least ten of them, and she can have every single fucking one if it means that dumb baseball shirt doesn’t touch her nipples again.
“Again,cabrón, I’m wearing it.”And I fucking want it off your body, you sassy little savage.
“Which one of them gave it to you?”I need to know which one of the baseball players I’m murdering. Fucking clowns.
“No one gave it to me, I found it.” Her eyes dart away, and she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s embarrassed. I don’t like it.
“Where?”Tell me.
“In a lost and found bin on campus, okay?”I wasn’t expecting her to say that at all, I– “You done now? What the fuck is this? Some interrogation over my fucking clothes? Shut the fuck up and move, I need to find the bathroom.”
“I don’t like you wearing one of their shirts,” I tell her with as much honesty as I can. She was honest with me, so I can at least be truthful back. She aggressively pulls off her black beanie andglides her fingers through her scalp, pushing the loose strands of hair off her pretty face.
“¿Qué te importa, wey? (Why is this important?)Stop asking me these dumb fucking questions. Where I get my clothes and what I wear isn’t any of your fucking business,” she shouts while scrunching up her nose and squinting her eyes at me. “What are you doing here anyway? Go home and annoy someone else with your bullshit,cabrón.”
