by Coralee June
But I liked the power of doing the unexpected. I loved withholding my questions because it confused him. He liked having control of a situation. He prided himself on having me figured out. I wanted to knock his ego down a peg and bring him to the brink of exasperation before finally releasing my demons.
It wasn’t until we were in Holbrook, Arizona, that he broke. I smiled when the rough tone and clumsy words escaped his lips. It felt like a win, despite the condescending thing he chose to say.
“Are you seriously going to give me the silent treatment the entire way?” he asked. You’d have to truly understand Hunter to hear the pleading undertones in his voice. He was sitting up tall and proud while nervously spitting sunflower seeds into a cup. His salty mouth was ready for a fight, and I refused to give it to him.
“Didn’t you fight to come with me? You made all that fuss in Joshua Tree, and now you’re sitting there digging into your skin with your nails and ignoring me.” I hadn’t even realized I was hurting myself. Sure enough, there were bloody marks in my arm from where I was pinching myself.
It sucked, didn’t it? I thought to myself. Knowledge was power, and there was something to be said about being the quietest one in the room. It was nice sealing your mouth shut when the world expected you to scream. “You found me, by the way,” Hunter argued. I listened, waiting for something to use against him. “I was perfectly fine leaving you alone. I had a life. You were no longer my responsibility. If you hadn’t come, you would have never had to find out. If you hadn’t come, Mack wouldn’t be in this situation.”
There was no use in pointing fingers and placing blame. He was gaslighting. We both knew it. This was a classic example of the chicken and the egg. None of this would have happened if my mother hadn’t loaned his mother two thousand dollars. None of this would have ever happened if he had been a normal boy with normal coping mechanisms, not some ten-year-old with a guilty conscience, trying to work through the trauma he’d seen.
Maybe it was my fault for opening old wounds, but I spent five years with my damage breathing, and I needed closure before I bled out.
More time passed. Hunter fluctuated between fuming and softening. I could practically feel the energy in the car twisting and turning as his thoughts progressed. Man, what I wouldn’t give to crawl up inside his mind. But the longer I stayed quiet, the more the walls of his filter shattered at my feet.
“I never wanted you to find out like this,” Hunter whispered. I scoffed. He never wanted me to find out at all. “She was sick, Roe. Very sick.”
I closed my eyes and then opened them again, this time my vision blurred from the hushed tears in my eyes. It was dark outside. The only thing I could see was what the truck headlights illuminated on the pavement.
“I was twenty. I had been working with the Bullets for a couple years. I had a couple kills under my belt. I liked the freedom the gang offered me. I had more resources to...watch you.”
I refused to look at Hunter. I refused to turn in my seat and cock my head to the side to better hear him. Inside I was begging him.
Keep talking.
Please, keep talking.
Let your damage breathe, citrine lover.
“I also had access to your mother’s computer. I learned a few things, like how to track her searches.” Why was he tracking her searches? I wanted to ask. But again, I held my power close to my chest.
“She was getting worse. She started looking up remote places to live. I could have let you go, Roe. In fact, I would have gladly let you go. I thought that if she left, maybe I could feel normal. Maybe I could stop obsessing over your safety and release my debt.”
She wanted to move? That was news to me. Occasionally mom talked about leaving the city, but I never took it seriously. She talked about a lot of things. She was always focused on running. She always thought it was safer somewhere else.
Why didn’t you let us leave, Hunter? We could have avoided all of this. I could still have a mother…
But what kind of life would that have been? A homeschooled life of seclusion and fear? Would I ever have met friends? Kissed a boy? And despite it all, a life where Hunter didn’t exist didn’t feel right. I knew it was wrong on a carnal level to have thoughts like that, but I couldn’t help it.
“But then…” Hunter’s voice trailed off. I forced myself not to hang on the edge of every word. “Roe, listen to me.”
My eyes flickered over to him of their own volition. I couldn’t really see him in the dark car; the lights from the center console cast a neon blue light across his shadowed jaw. His eyes were dark, his entire presence haunted. “You’re going to have to tell me if you want me to keep talking. What I’m going to say could change how you view your mother. Could change your memory of her.”
I wanted to scream. Didn’t Hunter know? Answers and clarity were all I ever wanted. “Tell me,” I whispered.
Hunter jumped at the sound of my voice. “She was looking up murder-suicides, Roe. She was researching the most humane way to kill someone.”
No. Certainly he was wrong. Maybe she was just focusing on another obsession. She found ways to die and feared them, becoming consumed with them. I cracked my knuckles and furrowed my brow. Swallowing the protests, I continued to listen.
“She bought poison, Roe. She wrote a note. It wasn’t just for her. She wanted you both—”
“You’re lying. How can I believe a single thing you’re saying, Hunter?” I could have bit my tongue off for betraying me. Silence, he deserved silence. But this was so absurd I couldn’t help myself. He was lying. He had to be. My mother feared death. She was terrified of it. Her entire existence was committed to keeping me safe. She’d never hurt me. She just couldn’t. She wasn’t capable of it. She. Was. Not. capable. Of. killing. Me.
My mind.
Had become a.
Choppy, disjointed.
Mess.
Of declarations and understanding and trying to feel the truth in his words. Hunter Hammond had a sandpaper tongue, and he was grinding me down for his pleasure.
“I called CPS, do you remember, Roe? They came to your apartment. Your mom made you wear a yellow dress.”
I shook my head and sifted through memories long forgotten. I remembered the dress, though. My birthday dress. I remembered the woman that came by. I remembered her clipboard and questions. As a child, I was just excited to speak to someone new. The yellow dress hit just below my knee. Mom tied my brown hair up in ribbons. The sleeves were ruffled and frilly. Mom never let me wear dresses, but she did that day. It felt special. I felt beautiful.
“They were going to take you away, Roe. Your mom got desperate. It was your birthday, remember? They gave her one more day because they didn’t want upheaval on your birthday.”
I closed my eyes. Most of the details of that day had been buried deep in my chest. I didn’t want to think about the foam collected in her mouth or the way her lifeless eyes stared at me as I shook her frail body. Hunter pulled off the highway and parked at a motel. I sat frozen in my seat.
“Roe. Tell me you understand. I tried to get her help. I had therapists knocking on her door. She didn’t want to get better.”
“You didn’t try hard enough.”
“I didn’t have to try at all, Roe.”
“Convenient, huh? You get to pick and choose when your obsession is worth it to you. You get to care when it makes you feel better, but right now you get to pretend to be the hero. You killed her out of the kindness of your heart, right? Put her down like an old dog because you didn’t want Mom to suffer?” I asked. My words were spewing from my mouth like vomit.
“She would have killed you eventually, Roe. I gave you a life. Freedom,” Hunter began. He grabbed my arm, tugging me toward him. I shrugged out of his grip. “She was sick. She had a plan. She had the motive. She didn’t want the state to take you away…”
I didn’t listen to the rest of his excuses. I got out of the truck and slammed the door, shouldering my duffel ba
g and a frown. Hunter followed after me, and I felt his eyes scanning the parking lot like the predator he was. I had half a mind to make a scene. “Roe,” he called at my back. I spun around and pinned my lips closed. “I didn’t want you to know.”
“Well, I know now, Hunter. I’m not the same girl you left behind in Denver. I’m not even the same girl that showed up at your door a few days ago,” I began while stepping forward. Hunter looked down at me, his eyes soft and swimming with emotion. “We keep doing this. You keep hurting me. You don’t deserve me, Hunter. You can spend the rest of your life feeling good about the debt you paid. You can sit up on your high horse and pat yourself on the back for saving me from my crazy mother. You can smile when you think of Mack. You can pad my bank. You can save me from the enemies you’ve made. You can kill everyone I know and sleep well at night, thinking you’re my savior.” His mouth dropped open. “But you’ll never have me. You’ll always be forced to watch from the outside. You’ll never be a part of my life, Hunter. You got what you wanted. I’m going with you to save the only family I have, then I’m done.”
I marched up to the lobby, leaving Hunter standing there with my cruel words. My chest constricted, and I wanted nothing more than to scream. I should have just given him my silence.
Those words didn’t feel true. Even as I spoke them, I knew that this wasn’t done.
She wanted to kill me? I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again.
“Just one night?” I bounced on my feet as he gave the woman a fake ID to check us in.
“Yep,” he replied. She stared at the pretty murderer in awe, disarmed by his beauty as she swiped his credit card and explained the amenities. She was gnawing on her plump lip, running her hands over the smooth dark skin of her arm while asking him if he needed anything.
“Do you have a gym?” I interjected.
She turned to look at me, as if just realizing Hunter wasn’t alone. “Yes,” she said with a cough. “On the third floor.”
Good. I needed to run until I vomited.
HUNTER
Just as she predicted, I watched her. I stared until my eyes burned, unwilling to even blink. I’d slipped back into my obsession and compulsively locked my eyes on the broken woman before me. It was late, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but I refused to leave her side. Roe Palmer wanted to work out her frustrations, so I sat on a nearby bench and watched her slowly fall apart. Patiently. Painfully.
Her tight gray leggings moved with every deep stride of her legs on the treadmill. She had the speed turned up high. Sweat dripped down between her breasts, her bare abs flexing as she moved. She wasn’t graceful. She ran like a machine, effortlessly working her frustrations out through each thundering step. Though she was stationary on the treadmill, it felt like she was running from me. There was symbolism in this moment. I could feel the poetry rolling off of her as she worked out. Running as hard and fast as she could yet never going anywhere. Our relationship was the same. I was always pushing her away, yet we kept colliding. I kept destroying her.
I didn’t know what to say. I kept chewing on my tongue, wishing I could further explain my motives or why I thought it was the best way. My relationship with Roe back then was flat and one dimensional. I saw a problem and acted out the solution that made the most sense to me. I was thinking like a robot, fueled by the logic my job as an assassin had thrust upon me.
Mrs. Palmer wanted to kill the girl I felt responsible for; I had to kill Mrs. Palmer.
I was kicking myself for fucking this up so epically. Roe was never meant to know. Not just because I couldn’t handle her looking at me like the murderer I was, but because the truth about her mother would likely ruin her already skewed perceptions about their relationship. It was bad enough I killed the woman, but now I killed her memory of her, too. Roe wasn’t disillusioned about her mother’s mental health, but she still loved her. She loved her deeply. And I was so desperate for forgiveness I shoved the truth in her face the first chance I got. I hadn’t even lasted eight hours before I was begging her to understand why.
I killed for Gavriel without conscience. I didn’t need backstories or motive. If I was given a job, I didn’t ask any questions. I acted on duty and responsibility, pulled the trigger as if it meant nothing. I battered bodies and commanded blood without a second thought. Some assassins thought of their kills before bed, but I slept soundly.
But not this kill. Mrs. Palmer’s ghost stuck with me. I still stood by my decision, but the repercussions were something I’d be forced to live with for the rest of my life. Roe was right. I found comfort in the knowledge that it was the right thing to do. But I couldn’t pretend anymore. I had been pushing down her death since falling for Roe, pretending that chasm between us didn’t exist. But now that the truth was out, I was consumed with what I’d done.
Roe kept running. The rhythmic pounding of her worn sneakers on the treadmill thudded through my ears. Boom, boom, boom. Each step was loud. Like a pattern of thunder and force. I think I always knew I’d tell Roe. I was a weak man, confessing my sins the first chance I got with ridiculous reason. We both knew I’d bring her with me to save Mack. Not only because he was her only family, but because I was in too deep to say goodbye.
Roe grunted, then turned off the treadmill. I couldn’t help but feel relief that she was finished. Her legs shook with exhaustion, and her chest heaved in and out, those beautiful lungs of hers gasping at life as she punished her body for the pain she felt. She’d been running for an hour and a half, and we’d been traveling all day. Emotions were high. How much more could she take?
I stood up from my spot on the bench, prepared to go back to our room when she went to the free weights. “How much longer are you going to be?” I asked. It was nearing one a.m., and I needed to sleep for at least four hours before we hit the road again. I waited. And waited.
And
Fucking
Waited
...for her to respond, but the only sounds coming from her were harsh breaths and the clanging of metal from her systematically lifting and setting down the heavy weights. She was giving me the silent treatment again. I fucking hated the silent treatment. I spent our entire lives stuck in the silent treatment. She didn’t speak to me directly. She didn’t touch me with her words. I sat in this quiet little box of observation, watching her live her life while struggling to live my own. When we were together, I craved the fire she spat out.
“You’re going to make yourself sick,” I added. “You won’t be much help to Mack if you’re too sore to move.”
She paused, gripping the bar until her knuckles turned white. Her salty skin, slick with sweat, taunted me. “You’re more than welcome to go to bed. You don’t have to wait here for me.”
I knew I could. She wasn’t going to leave without me. She didn’t know where Mack was or how to get him back. Logically, I understood that she wouldn’t and couldn’t leave. But fear still kept me firmly planted wherever she was. I was terrified by the fleeting nature of this journey. If time wasn’t of the essence, I would draw out every mile and circle the globe six times for just a chance to be with her longer.
I’d pushed her away. Out of guilt. Out of fear. Out of necessity.
She deserved better than someone who not only put her in danger by his mere existence, but also played a part in the death of her entire family. It was fucked up.
“I’ll stay,” I replied quietly.
She scoffed and dropped her weights. “You’re about five years too late.” Ouch. I fucking deserved it.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, not sure what to say. I was completely exhausted and strung out. I couldn’t trust myself to say or do the right thing in the best conditions, so I sure as hell couldn’t say anything now. Not to mention, my mind was still focused on the logistics of my kill. I thought I’d be rusty or that it would be difficult to step back into the lifestyle of a killer, but already I was working through a plan to kill the highly public mayor of New York. I had
an idea, though, and there was a good chance I’d be killed.
“Please go,” Roe whimpered. I could hear the crack of her breaking point. All those walls she’d precariously built when she found out what I’d done were crumbling with a single plea.
My eyes snapped to her. She was wiping a mixture of sweat and tears from her face. She was falling apart, and it was all my fucking fault. I walked over to her with the caution of a predator. One wrong move could spark a chase. She was skittish of me now.
“Was she really going to kill me?” she sniffled. The question broke my heart. This was what I wanted to avoid. I held my hand out for her to take, a peace offering of support and…love.
I loved her. I really loved her.
She grabbed my hand, and I pulled her in for a hug, wrapping my arms around her small, shaking body as she pressed her forehead against my chest. “The signs were there, yes. But who knows what she would have done in the moment?”
My words felt like a hybrid of the truth and a lie. I recognized the murderous intent in her mother. It was the same sort of determination I felt when I got an assignment. I saw it. I knew in my gut that she was unhinged and prepared to end both of their lives. I’ll never forget the way she didn’t fight when I wrapped my arm around her head and covered her mouth with my hand. I was trying to stop her from screaming before injecting her with the drugs she wanted to pump through her own daughter’s veins. It was like I’d validated her in a way—as if she’d always known this would happen and she was relieved that her fears were warranted. She knew the world was out to destroy her, and I confirmed that knowledge. I was the monster that kept her up at night.
