I listened to the lyrics, noting that there was nothing subtle about the chorus: Make it nasty! Make it nasty!
“I’m gonna find a guy to grind on. I’ll see you guys in a bit,” Daniela said before grabbing a random guy nearby and tugging him to the open dance area.
Although this wasn’t my kind of music, I began warming to the song from seeing everyone having fun. I was considering dancing as well but didn’t think Hunter was the dancing type.
“C’mon, babe. Let’s dance too,” Hunter said with a mischievous grin. “I wanna see your twerkin skills.”
He led me by the hand over to where Daniela and her dance partner went.
“You like dancing?” I asked Hunter.
He gave me a lopsided grin. “You know what they say about fighters: they’re good both on their feet and off.”
I smirked at him. “I agree with the ‘off’ part. I guess we’ll find out about the ‘on’ part.”
I began swaying to the beat, dancing in front of Hunter. I wasn’t the best dancer in the world, but I knew how to move my body to at least look like I knew what I was doing. I was surprised to see Hunter actually moving his feet and dancing instead of just nodding his head like I saw most of the guys doing. Most of the guys were just shifting side-to-side with a drink in one hand while their girl did all the work. I noticed that during the chorus, the girls would bend over and vigorously shake their butts in front of the guy’s crotch.
As we continued dancing, I saw a few girls eyeing Hunter. It would’ve bothered me before but after everything that’s happened between Hunter and me in the past week, I felt confident shrugging it off. I was enjoying myself and having such a great time with Hunter that I decided to be adventurous and try twerking on him. I bent over and began shaking my booty. I looked back to gauge his reaction and saw his eyes wide and filled with lust.
“Jesus, Lorrie. That’s so sexy.”
Encouraged, I bent further until I was parallel with the ground, continuing to shake my bottom like a salt shaker.
“Yeah, you go girl! Make it nasty!” I heard Daniela shout over to me. She was twerking on her man too but that guy looked lost, like he couldn’t handle what Daniela was shaking.
I bent down until my hair was touching the ground then I slapped the floor and arched my back as I came up slowly. Curious, I glanced back and saw Hunter looking borderline ready to ravage me on the dance floor in front of everyone.
I glanced at the other girls admiring Hunter and noticed their expression had turned from jealousy to disdain.
Yeah, that’s right. Hunter’s MY man, I thought smugly.
Hunter lightly slapped my backside. I turned around and playfully tapped my hand against his chest. “Cool your jets, Hun, you’re burning up.”
“My jet’s on fire. I wanna crash into you so bad, it hurts.”
“Save it for later tonight. We’ll crash and burn together,” I whispered into his ear seductively.
By the time the song ended, I’d worked up a sweat and was breathing hard like I’d ran five miles; I desperately needed a glass of water. Who knew booty-shaking could be such a workout?
I had a lot of fun dancing and letting loose with Hunter. After Daniela remarked on how she’s never seen me so lively before, I went to the kitchen to get myself and Hunter another drink, a smile on my face knowing that Hunter and I were going to have some amazing sex tonight.
A curly-haired frat guy wearing a striped polo over a noticeable beer gut approached me, cheeks rosy from a few drinks. He face seemed familiar but I couldn’t place it. “Lorrie Burnham, out partying.”
“Hey . . . what’s up?” I smiled at him, my mood chipper. “Do I know you?”
“Name’s Jimmy.” He leaned against the kitchen island, taking up the space beside me. “We’ve got the same art history class together.”
“Ah, nice to meet you Jimmy. I’m Lorrie—err but you already knew that.” I laughed.
“You’re like the talk of the campus,” he said casually as he popped an orange cheese ball into his mouth.
“Oh. . .” I continued smiling but suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Let me guess, it’s because of Hunter?”
“Yeah, that and what happened in the news. Man that’s crazy stuff.”
The smile on my face disappeared. I stood there silent, dreading where this conversation was headed.
“Hey, you know I’ve been curious—” He chuckled. “I saw you on TV when they read the verdict. I was like ‘wow, that girl’s pretty cute’. But man, what was up with your reaction? You were like stone-faced.” He made an exaggerated blank-faced expression. “Totally emotionless.” He chuckled again. “Did you even like your mom?”
My jaw tightened. I blinked a few times, hoping the situation wasn’t real. “What?”
“You know, when you were in the courtroom and the judge was like ‘guilty’!” He pounded his fist against the island like a mallet. “I woulda jumped outta my seat and been like ‘hell yeah!’ Give that fucker what he deserves!” He laughed.
“Stop,” I murmured softly, in a daze.
“What?” He leaned closer, tilting his ear to hear me.
My hands became cold. I remained silent as my past crawled back into my mind drowning out the ruckus of the party around me.
“Helloooo?” He smiled as he waved his hand in front of my face. “Earth to stone girl.” He chuckled again.
I slapped his hand away. “Fuck off, douchebag!” I yelled.
He took a step back. The chattering around us halted; I could feel everyone’s gaze on me. My pulse pounded and my ears roared.
“Whoa, chill out. What the hell’s your problem?”
“You,” I shot back, too angry to care about the onlookers.
He looked around at the people staring at us. His jovial expression became serious. “I was just trying to be nice and talk to you. Then you act like a stupid loner, bitch,” he spat. “No wonder you don’t have any friends.”
“She’s got one right here,” Hunter snarled coming up behind Jimmy. He grabbed the Jimmy by the shirt and shoved him, making him stumble out the back door and tumble across the backyard lawn. Hunter followed him and I followed Hunter. Everyone else in the kitchen followed as well.
“Jesus, dude. What the fuck’s your problem?” Jimmy barked at Hunter, getting back on his feet.
“Don’t fuck with Lorrie,” Hunter warned, his tone serious and cold.
“I wasn’t doing shit to your girlfriend. That bitch is the one who started it!” He pointed an accusing finger at me.
“You better watch that mouth of yours,” Hunter threatened. “Apologize to her.”
Jimmy looked at all the people watching the spectacle. “What? Hell no! You think I’m scared of you, you stupid musclehead. I didn’t do anything wrong! She’s the one who should be apologizing to me!” He gestured to his sleeve that had been torn from tumbling across the ground. “Look you ripped my fuckin shirt, bro! That’s NOT cool!”
Hunter was approaching Jimmy, his hands balled into tight fists and I ran over to stop him. “Hunter!” I cried trying to keep my voice controlled despite feeling frantic. “Come on, let’s get out of here, I don’t want to be here anymore . . .”
As I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, Hunter seemed to cool off, vibrating rage pacifying. He turned to me and his gaze softened. “Okay, Lorrie. Let’s get outta here . . .” His arm protectively around my shoulder, we began to walk back into the kitchen.
Behind us, Jimmy scoffed. “That’s right, get the fuck outta here. Neanderthal and his stupid stone-faced bitch.” I heard Jimmy laugh and a few people around us gasped.
My arms around Hunter’s waist, I could feel every muscle in his core tighten. I tried restraining him even as I felt him turn around to face Jimmy. “No, Hunter! Don’t!”
He broke from my grasp, stomped over to Jimmy—who was now scared shitless—and lifted him a foot into the air by his shirt collar. “Don’t you ever fuckin talk about Lorrie like that!” H
unter tossed Jimmy backward like a ragdoll, making him crash through a wooden fence. Broken splinters flew across the grass. A few onlookers cried “Holy shit!” as Hunter approached Jimmy who was dazed and trying to recover.
“Hunter!” I cried desperately, panic taking hold.
Hunter picked Jimmy up and socked him across the jaw. Jimmy crumbled to the ground, out cold. Hunter was about to mount him but I ran over and grabbed Hunter and screamed into his ear, “Stop! Stop! Hunter!” Tears streamed down my face.
He turned to me, his expression changing from anger to a mixture of confusion and concern. “Lorrie . . . I’m sorry . . . I . . . Let’s get outta here.” He put his arm around my shoulder and guided me through the house. We asked Daniela to leave with us but she suggested she would stay behind to assess the fallout.
Most of the people in the Tau Beta Pi house were still bumping and grinding to the music, sipping liberally on their drinks as if nothing had happened in the backyard. But for Hunter and me, the party had ended.
After ten minutes of walking with Hunter’s arm around my shoulder and us looking out for campus police, we arrived at Hunter’s apartment.
“Lorrie, it’s okay. We’re at my place, we’re safe now.” He pulled my coat from my shoulders and hung it up on the rack along with his own.
“I’m sorry I got you involved in this,” I said, hugging him tightly. “This is all my fault.”
“No, you have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault,” he consoled me.
“Yes it is. It’s because of my past, Hunter. . .” I began to cry into his chest, emotions newly resurfaced since the party getting the best of me.
“What are you talking about?” His voice was soft and filled with concern.
I took a step back and looked into his eyes with uncertainty. “Haven’t you heard about me by now? About Lorrie Burnham?”
He furrowed his brows. “I haven’t heard anything other than what you’ve told me.”
“. . . I’m messed up, Hunter.” I exhaled deeply as a tear rolled down my cheek. “I told you my parents are divorced and dead but I didn’t tell you how it happened.”
He paused. “. . . How did it happen?” he asked softly.
My throat tightened and I had to swallow a few times before speaking. “My mom . . . she . . . oh god—”
A tear fell down my cheek as I recalled the details of her death and Hunter quietly consoled me. “Shh, you don’t have to tell me, Lorrie. Nothing’s gonna change the way I feel about you.” He kissed my forehead and rubbed my shoulders.
“You deserve to know, Hunter,” I said, feeling strengthened by his words. “My mom . . . after her and my dad got divorced she married this guy and he . . . he murdered her a year and a half ago.” Another tear rolled down my face. “. . . Then my dad took his own life a few months ago. The story was in the news. All of it was . . .”
“Lorrie . . .”
“I loved my parents!” I sobbed. More tears rolled down my cheeks. “To think that asshole would accuse me of not caring about them . . .”
Hunter clenched his jaw. “That asshole got what he deserved.” He growled. “I made sure of that. I’ll make sure of it for anyone who hurts you.” His muscles tightened again the way they did when Jimmy had called me a bitch. “Lorrie, where’s the murderer?”
Realizing Hunter probably wanted to go after him to do what he did to Jimmy or worse, I started crying. “You can’t do anything, Hunter! He’s in jail.”
“I’ll find a way,” he grunted.
“No Hunter! Please, I don’t want to talk about this anymore . . .” I pleaded. “Can we just go to bed?”
His body relaxed as he looked at me. He took a deep breath then hushed me softly by sealing his mouth over mine. It was just what I needed. I parted my lips and his tongue slipped inside placating my quivering tongue.
When we broke the kiss, he tilted my chin and stared deep into my eyes. “I love you, Lorrie.”
My heart stopped for a moment. His words flowed over me washing away all the stress in my life. Hunter was the most amazing person I ever met. “I love you, too, Hunter.”
We fell asleep in his bed, the one place where everything was right—where the world couldn’t touch us. All through the night we kissed and touched each other like we were the last two people alive.
Chapter Twenty-one
THE LETTER
The weekend passed along with the beginning of next week. There’d been no sign of campus police showing up at Hunter’s apartment, which meant Jimmy probably had kept quiet about the incident to protect his own pride. I was surprised by how supportive Hunter was after hearing the details about my past. I’d been reluctant to tell him, afraid of how he’d react, but now that I had it felt like a burden had been lifted from my shoulders.
After finishing another study session with Hunter at the library, I returned to Floyd Hall and decided to check my student mailbox before dinner. Most of the mail I got was from the college, but sometimes my aunt and uncle would send a care package.
Although there had been incidents of drama here and there—particularly with Hunter—I couldn’t imagine the semester going much better than it was. My relationship with Hunter was amazing; I felt more alive with him than I ever had since the trial. The sex was even more amazing. I’d been worried he would destabilize me, but instead he made me feel safe and secure. Hunter was my anchor.
Being so happy with Hunter, I didn’t care that I was doing bad in a few of my classes. In the three days since the party, I’d tried to study but always got distracted thinking about Hunter. It was always a welcome distraction though. Spending so much time with him at his place, I had time to work on art pieces for the portfolio competition. The pieces I was doing on the kittens were coming together nicely.
The kittens had finally graduated from being bottle fed to eating hard kitten food, which was a relief. That meant Hunter and I could just feed them once a day rather than having to give them a meal every few hours.
Smiling from musing on the positive developments in my life, I opened my mailbox, grabbed the stack of mail, and took the stairs up to my floor. When I got to my room, I began flipping through the envelopes. Most were from the college as usual, but when I saw the last piece I nearly dropped everything.
It was from the Cook County Penal System.
Possibilities raced through my head. My heart began to pound and my skin started breaking out in a cold sweat. What the hell was going on? Was he really trying to contact me?
Sitting down on my bed with my fingers shaking, I tore the envelope open and pulled out the contents. The name on the cover sheet sent a fresh wave of queasiness to my stomach. I had to look away to avoid throwing up.
Marco Peralta. The man who murdered my mom and threw my dad into such a depression he took his own life.
My entire body went numb. My brain felt frozen. I looked up and stared at the wall for a while, unable to move a muscle. My breath was shallow, but it was still coming. I was still breathing—I was still alive. Just me.
Finally, I pulled out the letter Marco had written and began to read.
Dear Lorrie,
I am very sorry for the pain of you and your family. Kelsey’s death is something I regret every moment. It hurts me to think about you and how much your mother’s death has hurt you. I hope you are recovering well.
I’m sure you are very angry with me, but I hope that you can eventually find it in your heart to forgive me. If you could write me a letter back, I would be very grateful, even if it is angry.
With much love,
Marco
Finishing reading the last two lines—With much love, Marco—I looked up and found the room spinning. Tilting precariously on the edge of my bed, I gripped the mattress to steady my balance. The queasiness in my stomach suddenly became severe nausea. For a second I thought the letter could’ve been written by someone else, but the awkward English made me certain the words had come from Marco. Maybe I’ll wake up,
I thought. Maybe this hadn’t happened in real life; it felt like a nightmare where every bit of my good mood was being devoured by a ravenous monster who, unsatiated from killing my parents, was now coming after me.
I rolled onto my side and curled my legs into my chest to protect myself, dropping the letter to the floor.
Despite my best efforts, the past came rushing to the present with disturbing clarity. Marco had blindsided everyone. Growing up with Marco had been as normal as living with a stepfather could be. He treated my mom well and they seemed to love each other. Unlike my dad, Marco hadn’t even had much of a liking for alcohol. He would be the hundredth person you would pick out of a hundred to commit a grisly murder.
But that was what had happened. The forensics experts said there were no signs of resistance. It looked like Marco had come home one night, stabbed my mom to death—maybe in her sleep—and left early for a business trip scheduled to start the next morning. It took them days to find the body. When they found it and notified Marco, he was still in Iowa for business and pleaded ignorance.
It was summer after freshman year when it had happened and I’d been staying with my dad in Chicago. My dad was never the same from the moment he got the call from the police notifying him of his ex-wife’s death. He had never stopped loving Mom, even after the divorce. Dad had always enjoyed having a beer or two after work, but after he heard about my mom’s death, two became six or more. At first, neither of us could believe the murder had actually happened. If it were an accident, or Marco had been drunk, or even if he were trying to steal money, anything at all, it would have been easier to accept. But there was no motive.
"Why?" That was a question I—no, all of us—asked ourselves afterwards. We just couldn't understand why. Was Marco mentally ill? That was the only thing that could even somewhat make sense. He had shown no signs of violent tendencies before, no drug abuse or alcohol abuse. He and my mother hardly ever argued. So why?
But that was a question that I stopped asking myself long ago. It was only a slow poison that ate me up inside. Maybe it was even worse than the loss of my mom—not understanding why something like this could happen.
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