Page 4 of Hunter
"Think happy thoughts?" Yeah, well, all I'm imagining is her stuffed inside that box and her banging on the sides before clawing her way out. She's not fucking done. She's got more tormenting to do. More torture to inflict with her snarky comments and pretty eyes.
Instead of being punished in peace, I'm listening not only to chaotic banging in my head, but it's now also coming from the back door.What the fuck?The hairs on the back of my neck stick straight up.Who the hell is that?
"You expecting someone, man?" I ask, flexing my hand into a fist while my arm breaks out in goosebumps.
"Yeah, I forgot to mention I'm throwing your sorry ass a pity party," he sarcastically replies, his tattoo needle digging into my chest.
This is one of the only things that feels good lately. And when it hurts like this, it's when it feels the fucking best. I need it to hurt. I need it to bleed. And I need it as often as I can fucking get it. I don't talk about the shit that I've been through and the fucking chaos that I've caused. I keep my guilt buried deep. It's for me to handle and deal with how I see fit. And that means that I sit here alone in my head.
My teammates are my best fucking friends, and they only know about the shit that they've seen. They don't know the fucking half of it. I'm like a lockbox. I don't say shit about shit. It all lives down deep in the pits of my stomach and burns like a fucking ulcer.
The only time that I bring bits and pieces up to the surface is when I can't fucking take it anymore. Then I sketch it out, and Alvi does his thing. It's a pictorial history of all the bad shit that I've done. He's already got my arms and part of my chest covered. I need the reminders. I need to see them every day so that I don't ever behave so carelessly again.
This chair is where I find my peace, and right now, the fucking banging on the goddamn door is fucking it up.
"Who the fuck is that?" I grit out through clenched teeth. The continuous knocking is grating on my nerves.
"No idea, hold on, I'll go check." Alv puts the machine down, and I miss it instantly. As soon as he disappears down thehallway, I feel this deep, nauseating burn as acid flips over and over in my gut.Something doesn't feel right.
The shop's technically closed, but Alvi won't ignore any neighborhood noise. And with the off-campus shop sitting on a main street through town, there's a fuck ton to pay attention to.
He keeps an eye on things. He holds down the Rossi presence and pressure to maintain a sense of order. You don't wanna fuck with them.
Alv may be stubborn and ruthless by blood, but he's also a fucking softie on the inside. If there's a problem out there disturbing the order that his family's established, he's gonna try to fix it before shit goes sideways.
He's like Batman, and he treats this town like Gotham City. If you're not in line with what the Rossi Family wants, then you're against them.
I trust my first line on and off the ice. We set each other up for hockey success and have each other's backs. I trust my siblings with my fucking life and would die for them. But outta all my boys, Alvi’s the one I trust the most. I trust Alv to give me a safe space and to fix me up. He keeps me fucking sane.
I know he wouldn't let anyone in here unless it were a fucking life-or-death type situation. He wouldn't do me dirty like that. So there's gotta be a really good explanation for why he just let a fucking hellcat into the shop.
UNO
¡Carajo,wey! What the fuck!I knew it. I fucking knew that there were eyes on me. I fucking felt that shit. That fucking cashier has been watching me since I walked in here. I took a chance on him being distracted when some assholes walked in.And now I need to go before he fucks shit up for me. I need to get the fuck outta here. The last thing that I need is for him to call the cops. Or for me to feel even more guilty than I already do.
You’d think after all this time on the streets and lifting as long as I have, I wouldn’t feel as bad as I do. I still feel fucking terrible when I swipe shit up, and I can’t help but look guilty as hell while doing it.
The piercing hunger pains in my stomach are stronger than any passing emotion, though, so fuck it. I might feel bad, but I'm starving. I need peanut butter, and I need it right fucking now.I wish they had Nutella.I’d rob a fucking bank for Nutella.I love that shit. Me encanta.
My hands are shaking as I slip the package of bright orange peanut butter sandwich crackers into the frayed sleeve of my bleach-stained black hoodie. I cross my arms over my chest to hide my trembling fingers.
I scowl as I glance over at the row of toiletries and feminine care products. Not once have I ever worried about bleeding out in my fucking underwear, but being in the hospital and eating the way that I did while I was in their care, my cycles kicked in, and I’ve bled every fucking month since. That aisle is too crowded and too close to the register, though. There’s no way that I’d be able to swipe a package of pads without getting caught.
I switch gears and hurry the fuck up as I walk toward the back of the mini-mart. I take the slightest pause before checking the round-corner mirror above the refrigerators of overpriced soda.Fuck it, I want one, but there’s no fucking way that I'm about to pay four dollars for a dented bottle of Cherry Coke.
A girl in an ugly pink HU sweatshirt adorned with Greek letters opens the fridge, and I quickly slip the bottle into my sleeve as she bends her body forward, blocking me completely.Perfecto.Perfect.
I’m ready to make a run for it and fist the hem into my palm to keep my shit from falling out. And because I’m my own worst enemy and can’t fucking help myself, I look up and make eye contact with the cashier.Fuck!
I can’t afford to ignore how hungry I am, but I also don’t want to spend the little cash that I have on buying it either. I’ve made a lot of fucking progress since last November, and I need to keep my calories up if I want to stay marginally healthy.
It’s all the visiting nurse talks about: “Don’t forget to eat protein, Edison, try to eat smaller meals more often.”Do gas station peanut butter crackers fucking count?
“Hey! Get your ass back here, you need to pay for that!!!” The cashier yells out while I push open the back door. I swear to fuck, if I get jammed up for lifting a couple of packages of bright-ass orange peanut butter crackers and a bottle of soda, I’m gonna be fucking pissed.
I knew this mini-mart was hot after a few assholes got picked up for shoplifting, but I’ve been swiping shit for so long that I honestly thought I’d be alright. I still might be, depending on how motivated the piggies are tonight.Oink oink motherfuckers.
I’d rather not get the Havenwood PD involved in my business again. I’m on their fucking radar after that shit went down with my new friend, Evie. Those piggies were poking around in shit back in November that they’ve got no business fucking with. I’d rather not give them another reason to go dumpster diving into my past. The old me needs to stay dead.Valentine García died a long time ago.Valentine García murió hace ya mucho tiempo.
