by C.M. Kars
I nod, sniffle and move my legs out of the car and onto the pavement of the indoor parking lot. The fluorescent lighting hurts my tired eyes, and my legs are being assholes that they don’t really want to hold my weight.
Hunter grabs my good hand, fingers and thumb holding my knuckles which he gently pulls and I get to my feet, eyes half-closed. He shuts the door behind me, loud enough to echo about the underground parking lot, making me shiver and realize how alone we are.
“Hunter, baby?”
Like I’ve jumped naked off an ice shelf into the frosty ocean, my whole body erupts in goose-bumps, the tiny hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. Ice squeezes my heart, freezing my lungs so that I can’t breathe in or out.
The end is here, and her name is Alysha.
I don’t remember the red of her hair being that red or bright, nor the green of her eyes so clear and exotic looking. I don’t remember her skin being that gorgeous golden color like she has a tan year-round. I don’t remember her being quite so tall, or so skinny, or so bloody gorgeous that Adonis himself would look twice at her, wolf-whistle and get an instant hard on.
I remember that Hunter wanted her once, and that knife of memory slices into the deepest part of me and takes away whatever confidence I had built up these last few weeks. It shreds apart the beacon of hope in my chest cavity holding what could have been between Hunter and I. The memory slices me, filets me with the knowledge that he was hers before he could ever be mine.
What claim do I have over him when she might have her name tattooed on his body?
Then I remember that bitch left him while he had his low, and I was the one that had to get him to the fraking hospital. And the anger burns away my insecurities.
“Here, Hunt. Give me Matty and come to bed when you’re done.” Rocky and Dean Winchester high-five in my head, whooping like soccer hooligans and thrusting their fists in the air. I move to Hunter, keeping my eyes on Matty, keeping his body in sight as Hunt twists him and drapes his arms and legs into the crook of my arms. I grab a hold, and hold my good hand out for the keys.
When Hunter gives them to me without a word, I walk towards the basement access door to the building and hit the up button for the elevator. I concentrate on Matty and the pain in my newly casted hand. I`m studiously ignoring the questions buzzing around my head, and the way my brain keeps telling me that Hunter is going to get back together with Alysha and realize how much of a waste of time I am.
Shit. When are you going to give yourself a break?
I fumble with the lock and key once I get up to the sixth floor, scratching the crap out of the door before I can get it in right while pushing my knee against the door frame so all of Matty’s weight is on my thigh.
I can’t believe I said that to her. Me, Sera Delos, used some badass sass and implied that Hunter and I were already sleeping together to get in that bitch’s face. See, I don’t need drugs, I get high off of verbal putdowns. I can’t stop smiling, even as I fight with the lock trying to go about the world as a leftie.
I grunt when I push Matty’s weight up with my leg, secure my left arm around him, bad hand free, pushing the door open with my elbow. I kick the door closed, cringe when it makes a loud thunk but get Matty to his room without him waking up.
Once I’ve gone back to lock the door, do I settle him, wondering if it would be pervy of me to change his clothes into pjs. I rummage through his dresser and find a matching set- red sleep shorts and a red and gold t-shirt with the arc reactor in the middle. I wake Matty up, mumbling to him to get his pjs on even though he isn’t cooperating. I end up hitting my bad hand against his headboard, twinging my knuckles on the inside of the cast with such a sharp pain I start gagging at the feel of it.
I’ve gotten his shorts on while panting like I’ve done a half hour on my spinning bike when a knock comes at the door. I drop Matty in a flop of limbs on his bed, and gasp that I just did that because of Hunter. Jesus.
Oh, God is he coming up here to kick me out?
Stomach twisting, I go to the door, cracking my ankles as I go on tippie-toes to reach the peephole. I swallow hard, palming the doorknob with my left hand after unlocking it and pulling it open.
I should apologize for saying what I did, but frak it felt good to take control for once in my life where I don’t know if this is actually happening – or I’m actually in a mental institution and this is all some Inception-like dream.
I step back with the opening door, not saying anything. Hunter has an unreadable look on his face, and his eyes look dead. I’m going to seriously hurt that bitch if she said anything even to remotely hurt his feelings, I swear it to Castiel.
I watch Hunter walk woodenly into his apartment, then slowly turn around to lock the door. He’s starting to scare me – maybe he’s having another sugar spike. Oh Jesus, I can’t even remember how long it’s been since he’s eaten something.
“Do you want something to eat?” I ask, backing up into his kitchen. “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, maybe?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m just going to have another juice,” he says, voice hoarse with some sort of strain.
Class dismissed.
“I was just putting Matty to bed, then I’ll get out of your way,” I say swinging around to go to Matty’s room. Further down the hall Hunter’s room is dark, the lack of light stirring up my imagination and I wonder what he has on his walls, what color the paint is, what color his sheets are – how big his bed is.
I shake my head at my thoughts and go into Matty’s brightly lit room, and wrestle his sleeping form into his Iron Man sleeping shirt, all with my left hand being the only one that’s operational. When it’s done, I lean over Matty’s form and kiss his forehead, shocked when I hear a little hurt sound come from his throat. Moving away so I can look at him, I push his hair back off his head, watch as he struggles to open his eyes.
“Hey, little man. What’s the matter?” I whisper.
“Sera?” God, his voice is pinched and hurt, on the verge of tears. My heart stops its slow and relaxed pace and starts to sprint. “Is my Daddy okay?”
“Of course, Matty. He’s right here. Want me to get him?” I start moving off the bed, but his arm winds around my neck as he gets up and crawls into my lap, sobbing into my shoulder. I tighten my hold on him, squeezing him enough that I want the shaking of his sobs to stop. “What happened, buddy? Hunter!” I call out into the darkness of the apartment, hearing Hunter’s bedroom door open through the echo of the hallway.
“Hospitals are scary. People go away in hospitals.” Matty’s arms tighten around the back of my neck, under my hair, almost like he wants to crawl inside me so I’ll keep him safe. God, where is this kid’s mother? Why isn’t she taking care of her little boy?
“I just broke my hand, kiddo. Nothing happened to me. And you’re Daddy’s right here, look. C’mon Matty, let go so you can see.” Hunter appears in the doorway, I can only see him from my peripheral vision, the kid won’t let me turn my neck.
“I’m scared, Sera. I don’t want to go to the hospital and go away.” I grunt like I’ve been pushed, my chest cavity aches like someone’s decided to ice-pick my heart.
“No one said you’re going to go away. I’m not going to let you.” I vow, testing his grip on my neck so I can pull away to look at his face. He lets me. Was there ever a blue more beautiful than Matty’s eyes? Maybe Hunter’s – but his have seen things, have endured life and the blue there is hardened, darker and sadder. So the fear I see in Matty’s eyes has worry gnawing my insides.
“Can you sleep with me tonight? No reading, I promise!” Like reading is a chore, like taking him on adventures with just my voice is a hardship. His blue eyes are bright with pain and fear, his mouth crumpled, dark eyebrows pinched on his forehead. He’s breaking my heart.
I just want to give him comfort – but this isn’t my place, here by his side. It’s for Hunter to do, and Matty’s mom. Not me.
“I don’t think that’s
a good idea, little man.”
“Please, Sera! I promise I’ll be good, I promise! I won’t even think about cake, or eating bad food, and I won’t ask you for any more quarters when you say a bad word!” Matty pleads. His body trembles in the cradle of my arms, his chest heaving up and down, choking with tears. Saying no will put me in Assholeville, and I don’t want to go there.
“Hunt? Is it okay?”
I feel more than hear or see him move deeper into Matty’s room. When he crouches down and gets eye-level with me seated on his son’s bed, a big hand palms my face as he gives me a tired smile.
“Come on. All three of us will fit in my bed.”
I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. There should be protests – things like: what do you mean sleep in your bed? Do I look easy to you? and This is too weird. I’m going home. Tough shit, Matty. I shouldn’t be thinking that I don’t have pajamas here, and how lazy I am to go over to my place and get some. I shouldn’t be thinking about sleeping in Hunter’s bed. I should be denying that excited curling sensation in my lower belly with everything I have.
I really just want to be in bed with him – no pressure, no sex, just him and I and Matty wrapped in his sheets, smelling like him – like we belong to his pack or pride. And he belongs to us, too.
I get up, still holding Matty and walk into Hunter’s room, with Hunt trailing behind me. I freeze when he turns Matty’s light off, and the whole apartment is plunged into darkness. Hunter bumps into me from behind, his hands finding my hips, branding me with his touch as he steps around me to turn on the light in his room.
On the far wall by his bed are pictures, tons of pictures all hand-drawn. I see Matty smiling up at me, different versions of Iron an in full suit armour flying in different positions. So many of them stacked on top of one another, edges curling inwards like they’ve been hanging out for a long time, keeping him company.
It hits me then that I don’t think Hunter has many friends. And I wanted to remedy that with my friends and well, that didn’t work out so great, thanks to Tommy, the Russian ass.
“Wow,” is all I can manage. Matty sniffles in my shoulder, head moving to look at the wall with me. “They’re... they’re beautiful.” If I look more closely, darker pictures dominate the wall – I see a lot of tombstones but don’t concentrate on the words engraved on them. I see dark outlines and stark contrasts – purity in the movements he’s drawn, despair so easily seen on the paper. My throat clogs up, and I hold Matty closer to my chest.
“There you are, Sera,” Matty whispers, while I hear drawers banging behind me. His arm extends outward, pointing me in the right direction. There I am, my face cradled between two hands, eyes big and terrified and earnest. He’s captured me in a few lines of pencil, taken what I am and copied me onto a piece of paper so that I half-expect the woman there to move her eyes and start staring at me.
If this is how he sees me... I’m not sure what to do, or how to be.
One picture will not completely change how I perceive myself. One picture can start to make me ask questions about how I look, how I make myself feel. In that drawing, Hunter’s captured me like he’s stolen a piece of my soul and soldered it to paper. I’m there, in those lines, in the shading.
“Here.” A palm settles on my shoulder, and I turn around. Hunter’s holding out a pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt that has been washed so many times, it feels like cashmere against the skin. A little thrill chokes me as I realize I’m going to be wearing his clothes – like I’m really his.
Do not swoon, do not swoon. Is grinning allowed?
“Trade off,” I say, hoisting Matty further up my body, and turning him around for Hunter to grab onto. I get the sweats and shirt and make my way to the bathroom. I have a total girl moment where I stand there, fully dressed in his clothes and take a whiff of his scent, rubbing the material of the clothes all over me because I’m a loser.
“Close the light, would you?” Hunter asks when I walk back into his room, Matty snuggled up into his ribs, a corner of the bed turned down for me, the dark blue sheets looking inviting. What’s stopping me from coming home to this every single day?
My heart tries to leave my body by using an escape route up my throat. I nod, and shut off the lights, taking baby steps until I hit the edge of the bed in the dark. I lift up my knee and slide in, heart still pounding at my throat, excitement making my organs do little dances that would pull all the professionals on Dancing with the Stars to shame.
I collapse onto my left shoulder, shoving my arm under the pillow so I’m on my side, looking in the dark at Hunter’s silhouette, and the smaller one of Matty’s body plastered to his side. Hunter positions himself to lie down on his side, facing me. We stare at each other in the darkness, sharing air, sharing sheets and a bed.
“He’s finally asleep,” Hunter whispers in the dark, I shut my eyes, listening to the cadence, the rhythm of his words caressing me in the dark. He sounds close. Intimate. All mine.
“You should be, too. It’s been a long night.” I wish I had taken more Tylenol; my hand’s starting to smart underneath the cast, but I try and use all sorts of techniques to block it off of my emotional landscape. Here, in his bed with him, I just want to feel good. Safe. Wanted.
Hunter’s quiet.
“I’m sorry I’m not sorry that I said those things to Alysha.” God, I can feel him grin in the dark. Matty’s steady breathing counts the time between answers. “Is that how it is between you two?”
Hunter clears his throat, his whisper even closer to me as he rustles the sheets and shifts closer. I tamp down a squeal of delight, and the urge to haul him closer so our bodies are pressed close.
“Aly and I have been off and on forever. I was with her when I was a kid, and she was the first person I told when I learned I had diabetes. I was seventeen at the time, and thought I was in love. She thought she could fuck me through it.”
A gurgle comes out of me, half-laugh, half-gasp.
“Yeah, baby.” He’s most definitely smiling now. “Aly’s M.O. is all about her and what she can get out of it. She doesn’t deal with my lows or my highs, or with Matty. She doesn’t deal with anything but her need to come.”
I turn red; my cheeks are burning. I think I’m going to go all Human Torch and flame on!
“Is that why she came to see you tonight? To get her fix?” Hunter MacLaine is a drug I could so get addicted to.
Hunt grunts in the darkness. “She just needed reminding it was over. That I’m not going to answer to her beck and call ever again, no matter how much manipulating she does.”
I’m pretty sure I’m glowing red right about now. “I don’t think you should be telling me this when Matty’s asleep between us, and we’re in your bed. I’m sure that’s not good parenting,” I whisper, settling myself deeper into his pillow. It’s all I can do to ignore the way my skin is tingling, the way my heart is racing in my chest.
“I really wish I could kiss you right now.”
Screeeeeech. My heart’s stopped beating.
“But you’re going to turn me down, again. I can hear it, those wheels spinning in your head. You don’t think I’m good enough.” I open my mouth to tell him I think no such fraking thing.“S’alright, I’ve got my dreams.”
I need a crash cart – Jesus, ventricular fibrillation! Somebody help me!
I pull in a breath, ease it out. “Thank you for taking me to the hospital, and thank you for hanging out with me. You didn’t have to, but you did. So, thanks.” The words seem inadequate, and I squirm to get into a better position. No matter what, my left arm’s gonna go numb.
“I figure we’re on even footing now. One trip to the hospital each.”
I don’t like what he’s saying – like he’s somehow less of a man for having diabetes, when he isn’t. Not to me.
My tongue comes unstuck. “You know that picture you drew of me?” Hunter grunts an affirmative. “You really see me like that?”
&nb
sp; He turns his head towards me, a vague gray shape changing form in the darkness. “Baby, I did that from memory – it doesn’t do you justice. Not when I have the real thing right next to me, keeping me and Matty warm.”
“God, stop talking.” I close my eyes, and draw the covers over my head. Sensory. Overload. This beautiful man wants me!
“It’s torture not being able to touch you, to feel your skin under my hands. To taste your mouth, the hollow of your shoulder, the dent between your collarbones.”
I shiver under the covers, just stopping shy of covering my ears. I want to hear what he has to say, what he wants. I want it, too.
“I want to hear those noises you make when you read when I’m inside you. I can’t wait when those shirts of yours to be on my floor, right before I take you to my bed. I want you, Sera.”
I peek out of the covers for some much needed oxygen. His big body is another shade of gray in the darkness, but it’s there, ominous, alive, and all mine if I just step forward and take what I want.
Can I do that?
Can I?
“Fuck, baby. Do you think you could want me back?”
I didn’t sleep at all last night. His perfect words ricocheted around my skull, playing back at me at different angles, echoing and going on forever. Every time I shut my eyes, they were there – taunting me, telling me to do what he said – to be brave and want him back. To show him that I want him.
Coward as I am, I couldn’t move, or do anything to show him I’m ready to be with him in that way. I just stayed in bed, opposite him and Matty and pretended to fall asleep. I couldn’t even answer him when he said those words.
Fuck, baby. Do you think you could want me back?
Gah, what a thing to say. I can’t breathe just thinking about it. How many times has he put himself out there – for me? Telling me he wants me?
And we haven’t even kissed yet.
As soon as there was a little light outside, I high-tailed it out of there. Now, I’m watching Sunday morning cartoons. Where did the Power Rangers go? Or what about old school Sonic the Hedgehog, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? I swear, if Dora asks me one more question, I’m going to throw the remote at the screen and never have access to Netflix again.
