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HUNTER
I open the door and throw my backpack inside, watching it slide across the floor. The place looks the same, although pretty quiet without Lucas and Seth’s bickering and Rachel’s laughter. I frown, leaning against the wall and wondering for the thousandth time today if I made the right choice. I was being a big bump on the log. I didn’t want to ruin their vacation anymore than I already had. And I certainly didn’t want to talk about what was going on.
What other choice did I have?
I sigh, sliding my body down the wall and staring at the empty kitchen and the empty living room. What should I do next? I guess I could make myself something to eat. I hadn’t eaten the whole day, and it was already four.
I push myself off the floor and walk towards the refrigerator. When I open it, I frown, finding a carton of orange juice, half drunk and probably fermenting given the expiration date was from last year. There’s also a pizza box, although I don’t think I want to open the lid and see what’s underneath given the smell wreaking out of the door.
I slam it shut and sigh, scratching my head and wondering if I should just go to the grocery store.
Or maybe I could go home. It’s not that far away. Dad would probably be there and I could go visit Mom. I grimace just thinking of my father, recalling the last time I saw him, which was at the doctor’s appointment. I don’t think he would want to see me after that little discussion. I did pretty much call him useless.
Why did I say that?
If anyone’s useless, I am. I’m the one who’s been with her throughout her disease and even after having both breasts removed, she’s still ill, she’s still fighting death.
And I don’t think she can win this battle. Not this time.
I feel my bottom lip tremble, feel my heart swell at the thought and I lean against the refrigerator, allowing myself to be weak this one time, now that I’m alone. I sob into my hands, allowing the tears to flow out of me, allowing myself to feel the guilt wrack through me. I haven’t been to visit my mother since I discovered the truth. I haven’t seen her since they diagnosed her again. What kind of son am I?
Terrible.
Exhausted.
Nothing.
Nothing. That’s exactly what I am.
I gasp, wiping the tears from my eyes as I try to regain some level of control. I can’t go to the grocery store looking like this. I need to look somewhat decent.
My phone beeps and vibrates and I reach into my jean pocket, grabbing it and seeing that I have two text messages. One is from Rachel, the other is from Millie.
I frown, not knowing which one to open first. The text from Rachel is about twenty minutes old. She’s had some time to think and reflect on why I was gone and about our fight. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I read it.
But at the same time, I don’t want to deal with it. I want a break. I don’t want another screaming match and her demanding me to open up when all I want is a hug.
Instead, I open Millie’s text message, seeing that she just sent it: Hey, party tonight handsome! Want to get freaky? ;)
Millie is fun. Also, an exceptional lay. It might be fun to get out, hang out with some different people for a change. My gaze goes to Rachel’s message, lingering there for a moment before finally making up my mind.
I text: Where’s the party at?
***
The house is only a short twenty-minute walk away and easy to find due to the banging music and the clusters of jocks and scantily clad women hanging out on the lawn and porch. I nod my head at those I recognize while stuffing my hands into my pockets to keep them from fidgeting. I don’t know why, but I feel nervous. Anxiety tenses my shoulders and I can’t help but feel guilty, knowing that I should be with Rachel and the bros enjoying our last night at the cottage and sliding my dick in and out of Rachel’s mouth.
The image makes me hard and I nearly turn around as I reach the top step up the porch, wondering what the hell am I doing. I haven’t talked to Millie in the last few months and she had blown me off before.
I should go home.
Despite that, I don’t want to be alone and I reach for the door, throwing it open and stepping inside. As soon as I enter the bass of the music hits me, making sound nearly impossible. Smoke and something else permeates the air.
Pot?
I dodge several jocks heading towards me. The whole place is crowded, sweltering. I’m tempted to throw off my coat, but I’m afraid I might lose it in this mess. I pass by a kitchen filled with bros holding a guy’s legs as he does a keg stand.
“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” They shout while the guy’s legs sway in the air.
