Hunter (Broken Bad Boys 1): A New Adult Bad Boy Romance (21 page)

* * *

L
izzy was right
, of course she was. The next morning Lola comes up to me, handing me a letter, a handwritten letter, from Lizzy. As soon as Lizzy came home, their parents got her a spot in a clinic and they’re driving Lizzy there now. Lola doesn’t say much and I don’t know what to say either. I don’t think there is much to say at all. The only thing I know is that Lizzy had to leave her phone behind at home and I have no way to contact her, no way to check in on her.

This feels both new and familiar at the same time. I know the look in Lola’s eyes and I’m too afraid to ask if I have the same look on my face. The look of someone who doesn’t know when and how they’ll see a loved one ever again.

A
loved
one.

Fuck.

In the two weeks since I got the letter, I haven’t opened it. It’s on the table, I see it multiple times each day. But I just can’t bring myself to open it. To read her words. Because, somewhere, I want there to be hope and if I read the letter, all hope will be gone.

The week after Lizzy left, Professor Cartwright gave us the pairings for our final project. Of course, Lizzy and I have been paired together. What are her biggest wishes? I don’t think I could choose just one or two. There are so many things that she wishes for and even more that I wish for her. So I’ve put the assignment aside. I’ve got weeks to do this and Prof Cartwright understands that it’s more difficult to do this when Lizzy isn’t around.

I don’t want to go insane, but I do feel it eating at the edges of my sanity. I haven’t had a breakdown since Lizzy was here, and I haven’t even been drinking. I haven’t had a drink at all. I haven’t fought. From the outside, it looks like I’m doing a lot better. But from the inside I know that everything is going wrong. Everything is going totally, crazily wrong.

I’m staying at my parents a lot more now, just because I don’t want to be home alone. They don’t mind—they love to have an extra pair of hands around the place, especially one they only need to pay in a couple of meals and a bed to sleep in. There is nothing about this that I really mind much. And I’ve been creating a lot of art installations, at least a lot of parts for them. I haven’t finished a single piece. Just pieces here and there, bending parts, struggling to get the metal under control. It’s amazing to fall asleep when you’re so exhausted that you don’t even dream.

I guess that as far as slowly going down into insanity goes, this might be one of the most productive trips there yet.

“Hunter.” Mum stands in the doorway of my workshop as I doodle on a page, trying to fit the pieces I’ve got together in a way that makes sense. But there just isn’t one.

I look up, exhaustion pulling on me. “Yeah?”

“We’re going out for dinner tonight. Your dad wants to eat at some new place. Will you be OK?” She steps inside and puts her hand on my back.

“I’ll be fine. I can cook, can’t I?” I look up at her, try to smile.

“Yes, you can.” She looks at the drawing in my hands. “What are you trying to do with this?” She points at a few pieces. “Swap these around, and then these too.” Then she pulls back, shrugging. “That’s what I’d do, at least. Are you making this for Tessa?”

For Tessa? “Eh?”

“It looks a lot like a drawing you made last year. Right after the accident.” She pulls up her shoulders. “But I’m not an artist, so don’t listen to me.” She waits in the doorway. “Don’t forget to eat.”

“Thanks. You have fun.” I’m distracted by what she said. Something starts bugging me. She may be right. But memories from that time are not easy to access. Possibly a combination of grief and alcohol. But there is something in here that makes me remember a drawing I made. A drawing of my darkest time, a drawing of so much insanity that I can’t even really tell what it was supposed to be like.

I stand up, looking around. Where did I leave my notebooks from last year?

T
he mornings are always
the worst, waking up to a whole host of sounds, sounds from other people. I’ve never liked this, not even when I was in here for months at a time. Every morning it’s the same. The girls fight for the shower, fight for time to primp, time to put on their masks. I quickly learned to take a shower in the evening—that way I’m not confronted with all the bitchiness on an empty stomach.

My alarm goes off again, which means I really need to get out of bed now and get dressed, or I’ll have to go into the office dressed in my nightgown. I quickly throw on some sweatpants and a T-shirt. Then I check my schedule. Just a meeting with my psych and my dietitian in the morning and then art “therapy” in the afternoon. Which is mostly me trying not to go insane from being locked up. I’ve made some paintings and drawings, but nothing really that is very interesting. Not to me anyway—my psych, Dr Cole, and probably Tamara would be very interested in what I’ve made. But for me… Nah.

A knock on the door makes me look up. “Yes?”

“Are you decent?” A female voice comes through the door and I smile.

“Am I ever?” I grab my notebook and open the door.

“You know what I mean.” One of the nurses in training, Janine, rolls her eyes as she steps away from the door. “Can I check your room?”

“Go ahead. I’ll be at the check-in.” This is probably one of the most frustrating things, both the checking in every morning and the daily room checks. I’m not cheating, I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m being really good. But they still have to treat me like I’ll just drop twenty pounds in weight overnight if they don’t watch out. I’ve only been here two weeks, which means I’m still in the observation period, and I need to deal with the highest level of check-ins. Okay, not the highest—I’m still allowed a lot of things, quite a few freedoms. I’ve been in here once, after a really bad episode, and they even had someone with me in my bedroom when I was asleep, just because I was such a danger to myself. That was the worst, but if that is level one treatment, then I’m on level two or two-and-a-half. Lots of people keeping an eye on me, but not joined at the hip with a nurse, or constantly disturbed to make sure I’m not trying to kill myself.

“Lizzy?” Another nurse, head nurse Lauren, steps out of the office, motioning for me.

I step into the room and she closes the door behind me. “How did you sleep?”

I’ve not been sleeping well lately, but I’m not sure it has anything to do with my illness, more likely something to do with being too nervous about what is going on back home and things like that. I dream about Hunter a lot. “Pretty good. Only had one nightmare, but it wasn’t too bad.” As far as nightmares go, it was manageable.

“Good.” Lauren makes a note on my chart. “Now, if you could undress and step on the scales.”

I strip quickly, too used to this to really feel anything about it. From the moment people found out about my illness, I’ve had to strip for a lot of doctors and nurses, my body exposed for their observations. I step onto the scale, my back to the side where the numbers are.

Lauren takes a look and then hands me my clothes. “Good.” Which is a platitude, as she’s not allowed to really say anything. She turns away and makes sure I can’t see her put in the numbers on the screen.

“How am I doing?” I know she can’t tell, but I feel like I’ve been doing pretty well.

“Lizzy, that’s not appropriate to ask.” Lauren makes a couple of notes on the screen.

“I’ll hear it from Rose anyway. Can you just give me a heads-up?” I pull on my clothes, wrapping my arms around myself at the refound warmth.

“The heads-up is that you know I can’t do anything.” She looks at me and then hands me my notebook. “If you’re ready and they didn’t find anything at the room check, you can go have breakfast.” She nearly pushes me out the door and calls the next girl in. I choose to be the first one for the check-in so that I’m done with it. Most girls will return to their rooms for a while longer before having breakfast. This way, I get to have the main room almost to myself, a little quiet.

I let out a sigh as I walk past the other girls. We’re a good-sized group this time, about fifteen girls or so. The start of the year seems to trigger bad episodes for a lot of people, and coming back from holidays is also one of those trigger things.

I go back to my room and Janine is standing in front of it, her arms crossed. Uh-oh. “What?” I ask.

“Did you show your diary to Dr Cole?”

“I’m about to.” I hang my head. Of course, the one thing that isn’t going well… My nightmares, the darkness.

“Good. But you know I’ll have to write it down.” I know that she doesn’t want to, but I do want her to. Sometimes it helps to not just be the only one in control of everything. “You can go have breakfast now.”

I nod. “Thanks.” I walk to the main area, where the tables are already set and I check my schedule to see what I’m supposed to have for breakfast. I’ve had a pretty standard schedule for the past week, but sometimes they like to switch it up. But I smile as I see the words “muesli with fruit” next to my name. I’m good with that—it’s what I choose myself, anyway. I put my notebook on the table and grab a tray and make my way past the breakfast table. I grab a small bag of muesli, the one with forest fruits, a cup of yogurt, and an apple. The meals are all weighted and measured for us. This way we can’t cheat. Then I grab a plate, a bowl and some utensils.

When I return to the table, there is a book next to my notebook, a romance novel. I look around and smile as I see Sofia standing in front of the food board, looking at her breakfast listing and frowning. Then she lets out a deep sigh and starts grabbing her own food. Sofia is the only friend I have here. We’ve been in here together a few times. At one point, we were both at our worst at the same time, and I can remember how we’d plot and plan just to get around the rules and regulations. We’ve gotten into a lot of trouble together. And then we got better together. That was a whole different experience—we were quite competitive. It was a race to who got better first, which may not have been the best, but we at least didn’t feel lonely anymore.

“Morning.” Sofia slides into the chair next to me.

“Morning.” I smile at her and Sofia can’t help a smile herself. “What time did you get in?”

“Last night.” She shrugs. “I wanted to be in here with you.” She winks. I’d seen Sofia a couple of times in the past couple of weeks, but she was an out-patient. Her having breakfast here… well, that means she’s now an in-patient. “It wouldn’t be the same without me, right?”

“Definitely not.” I want to ask her all sorts of questions, but I know that the nurses frown upon talking about some things, things about recovery, or in how bad of a state someone is in. I quietly mix my breakfast together and start eating. A nurse sits in the corner, keeping an eye on us. It’s normal and I usually ignore her, but I’m also curious about Sofia. And I know I can’t ask anything until after dinner, when we’re back in our rooms. “You okay being here?”

“Yeah.” Sofia nods and then grabs her book. “I wasn’t doing as well as I’d like.”

Yeah, well, that’s usually the issue for many of us. I open my notebook and start to doodle as I eat my breakfast. As soon as I’ve finished my muesli, I cut the apple in small pieces and start chewing them down too. I prefer a banana, but I didn’t feel like this would be a banana kind of day. I’m starting to get nervous as other girls come into the room and start to quibble about breakfast and make a scene. I don’t feel like I belong here… not this time.

“Lizzy?” Janine comes over, smiling. “When you’re done, you can return to your room. I’ll call you when Rose is ready to see you.”

I stand up, putting my hand on Sofia’s shoulder. “Keep to the schedule. You’ve got people out there waiting for you.” Sofia is only a year or two older than me, but she’s already got a kid and I know how much she misses the little boy when she’s here. Sometimes it’s easy to only focus on ourselves, but we then forget the bigger picture. If it was just for us, we’d be fine to stay here for months instead of getting better as soon as possible.

I go to my room, avoiding the other girls and close the door behind me. It immediately blocks out most of the noise and I let myself fall on my bed. I pull my diary in front of me. I squint as I try to read my own handwriting. It’s the description of the nightmare, only I wrote this in the middle of the night, right as I woke up from it. Which means that it isn’t in my best handwriting… It was about Hunter, of course. Something about him turning into a monster and another version of Hunter trying to protect me from himself. Yeah, all very confusing. I try to add a few more details, but I don’t really have anything. It really wasn’t as bad as I thought it was then. Usually, when it’s really bad, I can remember many of the details, but not this time.

I put the diary aside and put my head down onto my pillow, closing my eyes for a moment. Hunter… The way that his body moves when he gets off his bike. The smile he flashes me when he’s being naughty and the heated look in his eyes that he only shows when he doesn’t realize I’m looking at him too. My body starts to heat up and a light throbbing starts between my legs. Dammit. I try to squeeze my legs together, but it doesn’t make it any better. Possibly only worse. How can my body do these things when I think of Hunter? How have I never experienced this before? What does it even mean? How is it even important? I guess that it doesn’t really matter, not now. Not after everything that happened.

Sighing, I sit up again and look at my closet. Time to get dressed. I’d like to at least look normal, even in this abnormal situation. I pull a dress out of the closet and a shirt, then some underwear and long socks. I pull my sweatpants off and look at myself. There are no mirrors in here, so I’ll have to look down at myself to see anything.

I slide my hands down my body, slowly, the way that Hunter did. The heat starts again, that feeling of danger and excitement. I run my fingers lower, feeling myself, just touching myself. For years I’ve only seen and touched my body as something that was simply there. This is the skin I live in, the body I’m born with, this is my reality. And then I got ill, and suddenly my body was a medical issue, something broken that needed to be fixed. Something that needed to be kept alive as well as it could.

But Hunter… Hunter looks at me, at my body, in a totally different way. He doesn’t see a medical condition, he sees a woman. He doesn’t touch me functionally, he touches me adoringly, like I matter to him not because I need to be fixed, but just for existing. His touches heat up my skin, make me feel things I’ve never felt before. He’s not afraid to touch me, to reach out and let me know that I exist. That there is more to my body than a bag of bones, insides and flesh, blood and gore. I’m a human, a whole human, a woman, someone who is worth adoring.

And the things that Hunter makes me feel just by being near, letting me touch him, just by existing. There are even more things that I’ve learned about myself, about my body, when he isn’t even around. I can be aroused, that is a word that I never associated with myself. Arousal. Excitement.
Orgasms.

Orgasms were for porn and people who actually deserved them. Not for fuck-ups like me. I never even understood what was so amazing about it, about having other people touch me, about someone… about having someone inside of me. I never understood people’s obsession with sex. It was something I did because that is what people expected of me, like so much in my life. Like so many other things I pretended to understand. People couldn’t complain when I met their expectations. So I did things that they liked, because that is what they wanted from me, even if I didn’t like them, or was indifferent about them.

But Hunter… I want him, when I’m near him I
long
for him. New words. Longing. Desire. Pleasure. All things I’m feeling for the first time.

I nearly jump out of my skin when someone knocks on the door. “Yeah?” I rush to get dressed.

“Rose can see you now.” Janine doesn’t open the door. At least I’ve got some privacy, which is totally ironic here.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” I pull on my shirt and then pull on the socks. I grab my notebook and my diary and step out the door.

Janine looks at me weirdly. “You’re blushing.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say. I feel like a little kid who has been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. With so little privacy, what was I even thinking? Well… Naughty things, to be honest. I was thinking naughty things.

* * *

“
H
ow do
you think you’re doing?” Rose sits down on the other end of the desk as I sit down, fiddling with a pen between my fingers.

“Pretty good?” I was so sure about it this morning, but the look in Rose’s eyes makes me doubt it.

“Yeah? Why do you think so?”

“Because I’ve not been cheating and I’ve been following everything that you told me to do.” I’ve been good, that’s why I know.

“Good. Well, true, there is improvement, but I’m not happy about all of it. There are a couple of things that worry me. One of it is that it seems to be going a little too well.” She frowns and I flex my fists, nearly breaking the pen I’m holding.