Page 8 of Hex
I don’t know why it pisses me off. No matter how many times I tell myself he’s trying to help me, trying to make my life easier by taking away some of my mental stress, all I see are my failures.
Failure to care for my property, failure to work my fucking job—the gym has been left in the capable hands of my manager this last month—and of course, the biggest failure of all…finding my chosen.
Just as I’m walking up to Pierce, he sees me and a bright, Ken-doll smile spreads across his face.
“Hack! You’re back!” Even his good-hearted rhyme pisses me off.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?”
His smile plunges to its death.
“I see your mood hasn’t improved. I’m guessing you didn’t find any leads?” I’m shaking with rage and the fact he’s just sitting on my now-turned-off lawnmower with his headphones hugging his forehead like most kids in the streets these days just amps up my anger.
“Don’t sound so fucking smug about it.” He’s nowhere near smug and I’m just being a fucking asshole, looking for a fight. Looking for an outlet to this pain.
“Slay wants to talk to you, and from the way you’re shaking right now, I’m thinking you should run, not walk.” I deflate on the spot, because of all the kyn in the world, Pierce is best of them all.
“Fuck.” With my hands on my hips, I lower my head and stare at my boots.
“Fuck is right, brother. And you’re welcome for taking care of this grass so it’s ready for winter.”
“Thanks.” He deserves more than my mumble but it’s all I’ve got for now.
Running full speed to Slay’s place, I walk in without knocking or ringing the bell, knowing he’s expecting me. As I round the corner into the kitchen, I find him slicing chicken breasts and pouring olive oil on the insides.
“Did you get all that shit off your chest, yet?” Straight to the point in true Slay fashion.
“Not even close. I can’t find her and I swear to fuck, Slay…she’s begging me to.” I expect him to scoff at me, to tell me to get over myself and wait for the next life to come my way.
He does nothing of the sort. Instead, he puts his knife down and takes a deep breath.
“She came to me in a dream.” Of all the things I was expecting him to say, that was nowhere on the list.
“What?”
“She came—”
“I heard what you said, asshole. What do you mean by that? Is she okay? Is she alive? Why did she come to you and not me?” That last question has my heart twisting in a vice and my breath hitching with unwarranted emotions.
“I don’t know the answer to any of those questions.”
“Then what the fuck is the point?” I don’t realize I’m at the edge of my patience and toeing the line of violence until Slay takes a step forward and gets right in my face.
“The point is, she’s been trying to reach you but can’t get through because…You’re. Not. Sleeping.”
That information gets my attention the same way a bucket full of ice would wake me the fuck up.
“Sleep?” Now I just sound like a fucking idiot.
“Yeah, dumbass. How is she supposed to come into your dreams if you’re never fucking sleeping?” He has a point. “Now go take a fucking shower and go to bed. And don’t even think about staying here, go to your own fucking house.”
With those parting words, he picks up his knife and returns to his prepping.
The weight of my grief lifts just enough to allow my shoulders to relax and I grin for the first time in what feels like centuries. Without giving it a thought, I grab Slay’s head and kiss the top of it, ignoring his threats of bodily harm and even death.
Twenty minutes later, I’m clean and naked as I slide into my bed and wait for my chosen to come to me.
Because she will come to me, of that I have no doubts. Not anymore.
