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“Hunter,” he warns again, “look at me.”
I shake my head, the thought of losing her is ripping my heart out.
He grabs my face, holding me captive between his hands. “Breathe, man,” he orders.
I try and push him away but he keeps holding on.
“Hey, look in my eyes.”
I nod, trying to focus on his voice, a couple seconds pass before I can speak. “I’m okay.”
He gives me a hug. “Really?”
I step away. “I don’t know. She’s messing with my head, dude.” I take my seat on the couch, pushing the skateboard on the floor.
“Don’t get hurt,” he whispers.
“What is it with everyone telling me not to get hurt when I’m the one hurting her?”
He gives me a sad smile when I stand, watching me stomp around the room, pulling at my hair. “I know she is going back to New York, to NYU. I fucking know, okay? I’m someone to mark the days on a calendar with. Something in between until she gets married to a doctor or something.”
“Hunt,” Drew begs, tears pooling his eyes.
“What?” I stop pacing.
He keeps quiet.
“What?” I ask again, getting in his face. “What?”
He shakes his head, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m going to bed.”
“Sure, whatever. Fuck you.” I turn around, head to the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. After taking off my shirt, I hold it to my face. It still smells like her.
There is a knock on the door. “I love you, man, and I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
I hang my head, and place my hands flat on the wood.
“Tim is here as well whenever you need,” Drew says.
I nod, leaning my forehead against the door. Drew sighs and after a while he leaves but I still whisper, “I love you too.”
I look in the dirty mirror at the man staring back at me. The tattoos on my body and my neck, the piercings, my hair falling in front of my eyes … is this what she sees? The part of me everyone notices, not the man I am underneath, the man underneath this black ink?
I’ve shown her, haven’t I? Fuck, I don’t even know anymore. I should talk to her about what happened in the truck. It felt like she wanted to prove something to me, or to herself, I don’t know.
I spit out every swear word I can think of until I run out of steam. My knuckles turn white as I grab the cold surface of the sink. My pupils are dilated. And the only one I see staring back at me is my father.
“Motherfucker,” I growl, punching the mirror. It shatters into a million little pieces, and my hand turns red from blood. But I don’t give a damn. I only care about the fact she has woken a part of me I thought I buried a long time ago. Still, she is going to leave me one way or the other, and I’m not sure if my heart will be able to take it when she does.
