Hunter (Broken Bad Boys 1): A New Adult Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

“Drinking.” Go booze!

“I can see that. Did you have fun?” It doesn’t sound like she’s asking a question, but I do feel like I need to answer.

“It was fun until a guy tried to trip me.”

“And you fell on his fist?”

I did, sort of, at some point, I think. “Um…”

“Don’t answer.” Tamara’s disappointment hurts. Why is she always the one who finds me when I’m drunk? Why is this always happening? Why am I such a kid who can’t hold his liquor?

“I’m sorry.” I’m sorry for angering her, again. I stumble over a wobbly brick and Tamara catches me. I let out a hiss as she holds onto my ribs.

“Sit down.” She guides me to what I assume is a bench or something else to sit on. I trust her implicitly. I guess that is why her approval, or her disapproval, means so much to me.

I hear her fumble through her bag and then she stands in front of me. “Look up at me.”

I angle my face upward, swallowing down bile as I move. I try to open my eyes, but it feels safer to keep them closed.

Tamara takes the bottle from my hands and I hear it move around until she touches a wet piece of tissue to my face. I pull back my head, but stop at the sound of her voice. “Don’t move.” She touches my nose and I pull away fully. “That doesn’t look broken for now. Let me just clean you up, yeah?”

I nod, trying to sit as still as possible, not moving. Tamara cleans up my face. I can’t imagine how bad I look, I usually don’t dare to look in a mirror after a night like this.

We stay like that in silence for a while. My thoughts finally slow down, the adrenaline leaving my body. The fight-or-flight mechanism usually switches to fight for me, which isn’t a good idea. It gets me in trouble every time. Every damn time.

I don’t realize that Tamara has stopped until she sits down next to me and lets out a sigh. “You used to do this together, right?” I don’t need to ask who she means. there has only been one person with whom I formed a ‘together’—Tessa.

“Yeah.” Going out to bars, getting in trouble, that was our thing. that, motorbikes, and art. We would make amazing art together. There was nothing like a weekend of trouble together. She was able to make me forget for just a few days even when Joey was at his worst. There was just something about her that made me crazy, in the good way. “It’s not as much fun on my own.”

“Damn, H. Just… damn.” We’re silent for a moment, and then she speaks up. “Every weekend or night that you two went out, I always feared that one of you would end up in the hospital, or worse. After you came back from high school and Joey was so ill, it was never the same.”

“It wasn’t…” It wasn’t what? Not that bad? We were bad, and we loved it.

“There was an insanity to you. Something had changed. I’m not sure if it was because of Tessa, or Joey, or if it had always been inside you. But it scared me. It still scares me.”

I finally open my eyes—the world has calmed down some—and I look at her. There are tears in her eyes, tears that I caused. “I don’t know. I don’t know when I became like this. I’m sorry.”

“If you’re so sorry, then do something about it. Don’t just keep breaking yourself down again and again. One day, you won’t be so lucky. One day, your recklessness will…” She doesn’t finish her sentence. One day it will get me killed. Like it did Tessa. Like I caused Tessa’s death.

“I don’t know if I can.” I’m too lost. I have no idea how to
not
be this person I am right now.

“You two used to be like two meteoroids in a solar system, bound to crash into each other at some point. It was scary to see it happen, frightening to only wait for the day that you would collide.”

“Collide?” Like Tessa collided with a tree? Or like I did with a guy’s fist?

“Do something really stupid and get the both of you locked up, really hurt, or killed. But your darkness has only gotten worse since, even if the insanity has gone down.” She looks pained when she shakes her head and her eyes meet mine. “I’m not sure if I can keep allowing you to come by the workshop if you stay on this self-destructive path. Not with Lizzy and the others around. You influence not just yourself, but also the other people who come there.”

Lizzy.
I wince as I think of her, as the pictures that Damon took pop up in my head. Fuck. The way she looks at me, like she wants me more than anything in the world, like she trusts me.

“Your destructive spiral may make hers and others’ worse. I can’t have that. You know that. If you’re more than willing to wallow and destroy everything you have, that’s your choice, but I won’t let you pull others along with you.” She waits until I look at her. “Especially not Lizzy.”

“I don’t want to hurt her.” Something in my chest makes it easier to breathe. “I don’t want her to get hurt.” She is fragile enough. Now I know who she is—Lola’s twin—I know her whole story. I’ve seen everything, I’ve seen her life happen. Second-hand, sure. Only through Lola’s experiences, but that doesn’t make it any less bad. Damon was right, Lizzy is so strong, she has been through so much. She deserves someone good. Someone not me.

“Then stop doing this. Stop being stupid, start doing something better with your energy.” Tamara’s voice is strong, but also kind. “Start living.”

Start living, right. Pretty sure that’s what I’ve been doing all this time. There is nothing about what I’ve been doing that isn’t about living.

“I know you loved Tessa, but getting yourself killed is not the right way to keep being alive. It won’t make her happier, it won’t help anyone.” She stops for a moment. “It won’t help you either.”

I snort, and then wince. My nose really hurts. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

The words don’t need to be said, because we both think them.
For how long?

I
look
at the breakfast in front of me. I need to eat this or I won’t be able to go to class. At the same time, I don’t actually want to go to class. I’ll run into Hunter again, and Hanna will start asking questions. I don’t want either. I just want to be alone for the day.

A knock on the door makes me look up. Lola is standing in the doorway. “Morning.” Her voice is soft, kind.

“Morning.” I can’t help the grumble. And there goes my chance of getting around breakfast. I’m not sure it’s a good or a bad thing.

“Are you ready to leave?” She sits down opposite me.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to go today.”

“I know, but you still need to. You’ve only got one class, right? And after that I can meet you at the workshop if you want me to.”

While I’d love to share her enthusiasm, the workshop is the last place I want to be at today. Ever since Hunter dropped by here, Lola has been different. At first there was darkness, but now she seems excited about meeting Hunter again. Kind of the reverse of me.

“You can go to the workshop if you want. But I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“Just… It’s weird now. And he knows. So it’s not like he’d still be friends with me.” There, I’ve said it. My fear.

Lola’s eyes go wide, her jaw dropping, and she shakes her head. “He’s not like that. I can promise you.”

I don’t care what she thinks. I could already see it. The change in how he acted towards me. I didn’t imagine that.

“He’s…” Lola takes a deep breath. “He’s always known about your illness. Even if he didn’t know it was
you
specifically, he has always known.” She plays with her fingers, not looking at me. “He was the one I talked to when things got bad. He’s always been there for me. Every time I broke down because something had happened to you. He was there for me.” Her eyes are wet when she finally looks up. “He won’t let you down.”

I can only stare at her. How much would she hurt when I got ill? Sure, I realized that it had some effect on my family. But I guess I always underestimated how much it affected Lola. “I’m sorry.” I try to fight the tears, but it just hurts so much. I hurt my sister by hurting myself. “I’m so sorry.”

Lola quickly stands up and comes over to me, wrapping her arms around me. “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I meant that you can count on Hunter. He’s strong.”

“Not anymore.” I whisper the words, and they’re true. He may have been strong in the past, but now he is broken, just like me. There is a black hole inside him and it’s eating him from the inside out. Sure, he still looks together from the outside. But sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, that darkness overtakes him. Like when I saw him after he was hurt. Those bruises didn’t just tell the story of a fight, the way he acted, they told the story of a need. The need to break other things before he breaks himself.

And I can’t be around him when he’s like that. Or I’ll be broken too. I don’t want to break faster. I can already feel my own edges fray, slowly ripple and starting to fade. My sanity is already hanging on by a thread and Hunter is thinning that thread every time I see him. I’m scared of the darkness beneath. I’m scared of the darkness that I’ll plummet towards, of the darkness that he will unlock inside me. Of all the pain and suffering I’ll bring not only to myself, but to others.

“Lizzy?” Lola holds me tight. “What’s wrong?”

Suddenly I’m exhausted. “I think I need to go back to bed. I’m…” I don’t even know anymore. The tears just keep coming and I’m so, so tired.

“Okay, let’s get you back up there.” Lola keeps her arms around me as she helps me up the stairs. She slides me into bed and tucks me in. “You just sleep well. Yeah? We’ll have a girls’ night tonight. I’ll bring something to watch. You just make sure you stay awake.” She smiles.

“Thanks.” I try to smile back, but my face won’t work properly anymore. The only thing I can manage is a distorted grimace. I drift off before she’s even left the room. So tired, so, so tired.

* * *

A
n incessant beeping
wakes me up. My phone screen keeps lighting up and for a moment I think of ignoring it, but the beeping is driving me crazy. I reach out, open the phone and find a list of messages from Hanna. ‘
Where are you? Are you coming to class today? Are you on your way yet? Where are you?’

I’m about to send a message back, but a new message comes in.

‘Are you with Hunter? He isn’t here either.’

With Hunter? I’m not sure that I’d like to see him right now. I’m too broken for that to be a good idea. ‘
No, I’m home sick. Please make notes for me.’
Hanna’s notes are pretty good, which makes copying her notes easy.

‘Again? Are you sure you’re okay? Have you seen a doctor yet?’
I’d like to smile at the question, but there is nothing to laugh about. No, I haven’t seen a doctor, but I know exactly what is wrong with me and I’ve been living with it for years already. Because of my anorexia, my immune system has been compromised, so I do get sick easily. But today, it’s just in my head. I’m exhausted because my head is messing with me.

‘I’ll be fine next week.’
I hope anyway. Skipping classes, even when I have some leeway in the rules on attendance, isn’t a good idea. Especially not if I actually want to graduate at some point.

‘Okay, get well soon.’

‘Thanks. Good luck with class.’
I sit up and check the time. I only slept about an hour, so maybe I should just go back to sleep. Something keeps nagging at me though. Hunter isn’t in class either.

Hunter and I don’t usually keep in touch, we just see each other in class or at the workshop, but I’ve got a bad feeling this time. I don’t know why, I just do. Maybe because of what Lola said this morning, maybe just because I haven’t seen him in a few days. I search for his number and send him a message. ‘
You’re not in class. You good?’
I know that he sometimes needs time to himself too. I’ve seen it in his eyes and so many things have happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if he needed a day on his own too.

I wait a while, but no message comes back. So I put the phone down and curl back up. I pull the blanket up over my head, curling up tightly and preserving my own body heat. It feels comfortable and safe.

I’m about to fall back asleep when my phone beeps. I pick it up, and it’s a message from Hunter. My heart starts beating faster as I open the message. ‘
I’m fine. Needed a day to myself. How are you?’
See? He’s just tired, like me.

‘I’m good.’
I send the message, but don’t know what else to ask or say.

‘Good. Have a good weekend,’
he replies.

Have a good weekend. R
ight. It’s not like I’ve got plans, just staying at home and maybe do some art. And, of course, do my homework.

‘You too.’
I sit up again. I guess I’m awake now. I’ll take a nap later.

I slowly get out of bed and make my way downstairs. The bowl of breakfast is still on the table. I know I should eat it, but I’m not in the mood. And it’s not like anyone will notice. So I throw it away and clean the bowl. Then I make a cup of coffee and take it to the other side of the room, where I’ve stashed my art supplies. I pull out a random notebook and take it to the couch. I put the coffee on the table and pull the notebook in my lap. The first page tells me that I filled this the first semester of college last year. Last year, starting at the college of my dreams, or at least one that I really liked, as far away from home as I could fight for. It starts so well—random doodles, images from the summer, images from class. The colors are all over the spectrum. And, of course, drawings of Dennis. The only guy I’ve ever dated who didn’t ask questions, the first boyfriend I had who didn’t know me before college. I swallow as I run my fingers over his face, over his black and red hair that flows down his shoulders. A knot forms in my chest and I flip the page. But this is worse, this is one from him.

Damn, he was so amazing. He liked to draw me. In his eyes I was so much better than in my own. He saw me differently, he didn’t know about my past.

I flip to the next page, needing to get away from it. This one is innocent—my room at the college, the single bed, the posters on the walls, the desk with my laptop. It’s actually really well done, and I remember taking days just to finish this image properly. And then I transferred it to a painting. My best grade in that class, possibly my best grade ever. I loved the project, especially since it allowed me to spend so much time with Dennis.

I flip through, and as September turns to October, everything still looks fine, although the colors are changing. There is more darkness in it, and there are quite a few images of food. Drawing it instead of eating, one of my mechanisms. One of the tells that something is not right. And when November starts, it seems to go better. Dennis was so sweet at that time. Even right before I go home for Christmas, everything seems to be going right. But the drawings come further and further apart. Something is off, even if I didn’t recognize it back then. I think I can see it now, the moment where Dennis started to take up much more of my life than anyone ever before.

As soon as Christmas break starts the notebook is filled with drawings of Dennis, of my family, of the tree, of food, and more Dennis. I missed him, I missed him without realizing what it meant. I fought with my parents a lot that Christmas, and with Lola. They didn’t like Dennis, and now I know it was for a good reason.

The last drawing from Christmas break is full of color, but I feel it’s distorted. I remember so vividly drawing it, too vividly perhaps. Like a mix between reality and dreams. The colors are too bright, the lines too sharp, and as I turn the page over and run my fingers over the back, I can feel the pressure that I used to put everything on the page. Not good.

I put the book to the side. There are only a few drawings left, but I can’t look at them now. I stand up, picking up the cup of coffee, and walk through the room, trying to walk this off. This panic. This fear. This pain.

Seeing images of Dennis, it’s not easy and this is the first time I’ve looked at them since I moved back home. The first time I’ve been able to look at them. It hurts so much. Involuntarily, I run my hand over the inside of the other arm. The scar is still there. I swallow hard, not able to look at it.

It takes minutes, minutes of remembering that I’m okay, life is okay. I’m here, safe. I down the coffee, put the cup away and sit back down on the couch. I reach out for the notebook and look at the image in front of me. The date tells me that this is two weeks after Christmas break. It took me two weeks to open the notebook again. The image is simple, an assignment for class, nothing special. But it’s also distorted, and every image after it becomes worse.

There was one thing that Dennis was good at—no, actually two. One was taking over every little part of my life, and two was totally ignoring my eating issues. The last pages of the book are filled with images of Dennis, of me, of us together. I filled it up quickly, wanting to start a new notebook. I was in such a good place, I thought. I believed that my parents messaging me was just annoying, that Lola sending me worried messages was just a sign that she was trying to control me. That I needed to let go of them before I could truly live. How wrong I was.

I close the notebook and stand up, grabbing the next one. It’s not even halfway filled, the second half of the pages still so pretty and clean, undisturbed. It’s from the second semester. I open the first pages and am greeted with a sweet message from Dennis. “I love you so much. You’re my angel, my beauty, my love. I want us to spend all our time together. I want to be with you always.” The words now give me goosebumps and not for good reasons. It creeps me out, reading them now. The possessiveness in them.

The next page is another drawing I made of Dennis, my hand shaking, the image blurred somehow. The next drawing is the same. I tried to keep drawing, but my body was slowly giving up on me.

The next page is filled with little messages, my handwriting small and in black, his big, bold, and in red.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Dennis’ first message is innocent enough.

“I’m tired.” My small letters are slanted and scribbly.

“Didn’t you sleep well? I thought you liked sleeping together.”

“I did, just… tired.” Right, tired. The memory is fuzzy, but I do remember something about possibly not having eaten for over twenty hours, maybe even longer.

“I thought we were going to the concert? Are you saying you can’t go?”

“Of course we can go. I really want to.” Of course I wanted to, Dennis wanted to go, so I wanted it too.

“Okay, let’s get ready then.” There are no more messages from me on that page. We probably got ready to go to the concert. I don’t have a lot of memories of that night, just that I was cold, the venue was really busy, Dennis giving me something to drink. And after that it’s dark, no memory. A whole night missing, only to wake up the next morning in Dennis’ room with him screaming in my face. Anger, frustration. The cigarette in his hand was burning away as he kept yelling at me. The next moment, when I didn’t pay enough attention to him, the cigarette came down and burned a hole in my arm. There is nothing that will ever take away the memory of the stench of my arm burning, of the cigarette being rubbed out on the inside of my arm.