HYBRID

by Emery Skye

  "Pierce. I promised I would grab dinner with him," I groan.

  "You don't sound happy about it..."

  I didn't. "Pierce is my best friend, but he's been acting really weird lately." I catch myself, wondering why I'm freely giving this information away to Hunter and realize it’s nice to talk with someone other than Pierce or Caity. My shrink would probably be dancing in circles with joy if she could see me now.

  This is the awkward moment when I know I should be inviting Hunter but can't.

  "I need to do some homework anyway." Hunter offers me an out. I'm grateful he didn't put me between a rock and a hard place. I'm pretty sure Hunter won't be partaking in homework, but it's nice of him to help me out of an awkward position.

  I head to the scope to take one last look. When I gaze down to the path, I notice a couple hiding in the trees, making-out and I laugh. A few students walk toward the dorms. A boy with glasses picks his nose. Nasty, so nasty. People-watching can be so much fun.

  I move the scope up the path to the trees and my breath hitches in my throat at what I see. My muscles tense and I refuse to blink. I calculate exactly where he's at and take off down the staircase, out of the science lab and out of the building in a blink of an eye, my footsteps are sure and calculating. I don't stop when Hunter yells my name, I don't stop when I trip over the sidewalk and almost face-plant, I don't stop till I hit the exact spot he was just standing.

  My eyes dart around the area, there's nothing but trees and the sound of lifeless leaves crunching under my boots.

  "Lexi, what’s wrong?" Hunter grabs my shoulder.

  "I...I..." I collapse to the ground and wrap my arms around myself hunching over my bent knees. The crunchy bark is cool against my dark blue jeans and the crisp air taunts me with its emptiness.

  Hunter crouches to the ground beside me and holds me awkwardly until I let my frozen cheek find warmth on Hunter's chest. I bask in the smell of sweet mint and evergreens.

  At some point, Hunter and I head back to my room. Sharp stomach pains dart in and out of my muscles. The only position I find comfort in is the fetal position. I'm vaguely aware of how pathetic I look, but don't give a shit. Pierce and Caity come to check on me. They both ask what's wrong and I simply tell them I'm sick. I can't tell them the truth. They'll think I'm going crazy again.

  Caity kisses me on the cheek and Pierce plants a peck on my forehead before they leave me for the night. Pierce promises we'll do dinner tomorrow night and I notice him stare Hunter down as he leaves the room, to which Hunter returns an amused smirk.

  "Want to talk about it?" Hunter asks quietly after the door shuts.

  I shake my head, a measure void of real emotion.

  "Want to watch a movie?" He tries a different tactic.

  I nod, thinking it will give me a good distraction from my arduous thought: I wish I could drench in bleach and wash away for good.

  "Beauty and the Beast," he raises a questioning eyebrow and his upper lip curls.

  "It's a classic," I say in mock defense.

  "Do you need anything else?" I'm surprised by how helpful and caring Hunter is acting. I can tell by his body language-- hands in coat, jaw tense, painful expression-- that he's not used to this.

  "No," I try to say, but my teeth chatter so loudly it sounds like a grinding mill at work.

  He practically floats to the thermometer and tweaks it a little bit, then I hear him curse, apparently not happy with the results. It makes me want to smile.

  "Damn inanimate piece of shit," he groans.

  "I'm annoying and now the thermometer is a piece of shit? Do you think maybe you're the one that needs adjusting?"

  "What was that, chatter box?" Hunter mocks.

  "Not funny," I sneer.

  He gives me a lopsided smile, showing off those charming dimples that make my heart flutter.

  "Do you have blankets?"

  It's now that I'm upset with Caity for taking the blankets off the other bed. She must have done it on purpose and used "I'm helping with laundry" as her cover. Hell, she probably broke the thermometer too.

  I shake my head at her schemes.

  Hunter sits next to me on the bed and I'm cocooned in warmth. He peels his coat off, revealing A black sweater underneath and puts it on top of my blankets.

  "What are you doing?" I ask alarmed.

  "You're fine," he tells me with a hint of a devilish smile.

  I grumble and Hunter chuckles deeply. His chest rumbles with each wave of laughter and I find myself comforted by the movement. He's leaning against the headboard and I struggle to keep my eyes open, but the smell of sweet mint and evergreen mixed with Hunter's warmth wraps me in a deep sleep. The last thing I remember thinking about is my brother Chase and why I saw him standing on the path tonight...it couldn’t have been him. Could it? Maybe I am losing my mind after-all.

  TEN

  Caity's hounds me all morning for details about my night.

  "I felt like I was dying and all you care about is Hunter?"

  She feigns sadness with a pinched expression that makes me laugh.

  "Never, sweetie. Now, tell me what happened," she asks with curiosity illuminating her jade eyes.

  "I don't remember much. He put a movie on and sat in bed with me…because I was freezing my ass off, thanks to someone," I spout off the words with mock anger.

  Caity wears an impish smile. She nervously combs her curly red hair, which is held back with a thick green headband.

  "Yeah, about that... Your comforter is clean," she smiles sweetly.

  I shake my head at the devious little saint. "You know when you do stuff like that and wear green, I have half a nerve to call you a leprechaun. You sneaky shit."

  "You wouldn't dare," she snaps.

  "Oh, I would," I warn.

  She hates when people make fun of her Irish heritage. People used to call her a little leprechaun when we were younger. Caity would tell me not to worry about it, that they're only silly kids.

  It finally got to the point where I smacked Michael Medina upside the head in the eighth grade; he nailed himself on a wood plank, shattering his nose so bad that two mad rivers of crimson gushed down his face. He never called her a leprechaun again...no one did.

  "Don't be mad, sweetie," she pleads. "So, what else happened?"

  I grab my notebook for philosophy and hope Dr. Heringer won’t crack my skull with his weighty glare for missing class yesterday.

  "Honestly, I fell asleep," I say indifferently.

  "With him next to you?" she gives a big toothy grin and I envy the perfection of it.

  "Yeah, but when I woke up, he was gone."

  "You didn't expect him to sleep the whole night there, did you?" She sips her tea.

  I know she's saying this to help me realize that Hunter and I are simply friends who just met.

  She's not saying it to create feelings of insecurity, or anything of that sort.

  So, why do I suddenly feel more insecure?

  "No, not all," I say hardheartedly. There's anxiety weighing over us.

  "What?" she asks. Having the ability to feel other's emotions must be a real bitch sometimes, especially when your best friend is basket case.

  "I hope I didn't scream or anything stupid like that," I say seriously. I know Caity needs to hear nothing more. This worry is genuine and something she has seen for herself on numerous occasions. The night terrors have absolute control when I fall into blackness. They wait until I enter that stage of paralysis, until I'm defenseless, then they assault my mind. The subconscious part of me grips the events from my childhood with an unrelenting fierceness.

  As I stare at the shiny brown corner of Caity's desk, a boulder of a realization slams against my chest.

  I don't want to be a screaming lunatic who wakes up drenched in sweat, with a shrieking heart rate. I want to be a normal seventeen-year-old girl who hasn't had everything savagely ripped from her. I want one night where I don't scream bloody murder to the point that
people refuse to sleep near me. I want freedom from the emotional tornado that tosses me into the bleak sea of anguish. I don't want to see my presumed dead brother hanging out on school grounds.

  I wonder if I'll ever find that freedom.

  ELEVEN

  I know I'm zoning out, but don’t care. Philosophy is sorely lacking, mainly due to my attention deficit. I can't get Hunter off my mind.

  I stare openly, intensely at the bit of white chalk powdering the dull, green board. Aren’t chalk boards so 60’s?

  I expect someone to yell at me. No one does. Instead a gnawing pain in my lower abdomen pulls me away from the all-pervading whiteness. The first wave of turbulence ends rather quickly. However, the next, jerks me to my core, causing my fingers to release the pen I'm holding. I barely notice Caity seamlessly catch the pen falling soundlessly through the air.

  "Lexi, are you all right?" she asks with concern crinkling the area between her eyes.

  I try to speak, but quickly realize words are my enemy. I pinch my eyes together and ball my fists. My fingernails bite through my flesh.

  I shake my head side to side and attempt to focus on anything: the fluffy jackets hanging on the coatrack, coloring the white wall with pinks, purples, blues, greens; the shuffling of boots behind me; the potent stench of body odor, but quickly dismiss that as my focal point when a bout of nausea surfaces.

  "It's okay, sweetie. Do you need to go to the nurse?"

  I shake my head.

  She raises her head and says, "Okay," to calm my angst.

  She walks to the front of the room and speaks with the teacher. He's sipping his Styrofoam cup. When he nods, his turkey neck shakes.

  Bile rises into my throat.

  Caity gathers my book bag and coat, along with her things, and we slowly make our way out of the classroom.

  Once I'm walking, the pain and sickness desists. "Thanks, Cait," I tell my best friend.

  "Of course, sweetie. What’s wrong exactly?" she questions wearily.

  "Fuck me," I groan as another sweeping bout of pain rocks through my innards.

  "Alexis!” she scolds.

  My eyes meet hers. "You call them swear words, I call them sentence enhancers."

  She tilts her head in rebuff.

  The large hallway is vacant. I snag a wooden bench that's planted nearby. "I don't know what’s going on. It’s like the stomach flu, but that stomach flu grew fangs and nails and start attacking my insides."

  "That sounds dreadful," she admits. "But you're better now, right?" she checks, placing the back of her warm hand to my forehead. "You don't feel overly warm," she says with motherly attentiveness. Anyone else would have gotten their hand broken for the same action.

  I nod. "Yeah, feel great actually," and I realize, I do. I'm not tired or sad or in any pain. I feel like I can do a ten-mile run or maybe, even play volleyball...check. No, not that good.

  She glances to the door of philosophy in angst and I know she’s debating whether or not to go back to class. We still have thirty minutes and Caity hates missing school even more than I do.

  "You go on," I nod. "I'll be fine. I'm gonna get some fresh air."

  "Are you sure?" she asks in a singsong voice.

  "Yeah, go," I tell her, but she still doesn't look convinced. "Seriously Caitlyn, go."

  With that, Caity takes her belongings and goes back to class. I decide to leave. It's better not to get caught sitting in the hallway without a pass.

  The sun’s warmth filters in through the windows; I walk toward to the exit excited to enjoy a little fresh air.

  It's warmed up considerably in the short time since class started. Gotta love the fickleness of Colorado weather. The sweet smell of aspens permeates the crisp air. The sky is filled with white billows and there's still a deep mahogany hue lying behind the tall ice-capped mountain peaks.

  I exited the unused side entrance. No students or faculty lounge in the area around me. I know there's a bench through the overhanging shrubbery ahead and walk in that direction.

  I hear a twig crunch and realize I'm not alone. My eyes snap in the direction of the ominous sound and I see him.... It's Chase. It's my big brother. He's here... feet away from me.

  TWELVE

  Chase glares at me with his blue, blue eyes. He has more wrinkles around his eyes and he’s bulkier than I remember. He's wearing a fitted jacket, his hair is short to his scalp and his skin is pastier too, but one thing is undeniable...I'm staring at my missing brother, my presumed dead brother, Chase, and he's staring back at me.

  "Chase," I whisper. I squint my eyes to see through the brush that's obscuring his body from my view. My eyes sting, my chest is heavy against my beating heart.

  His Adam's apple bobs. I clench my eyes shut and count to three, taking my shrink's advice.

  After the fire, I saw my parents and brother everywhere, but was told Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was responsible for creating the images of my devoured loved ones. It never stopped me from running to the imaginary figures. It never stopped me from trying to hold them. It never stopped me from believing they could really be there. Be here, with me.

  They always fade into thin air, just when my fingers reach them.

  I open my eyes again and Chase still stands fifty feet from me. My heart thumps a million beats a second and I think it might break through my chest cavity.

  Please let him be real, I repeat mentally over and over as I take a step toward him. I watch as one side of his mouth quirks up and can't help but think he looks dangerous, but my brother's not dangerous. It's Chase.

  Chase is here.

  He's always looked after me. He fought for me. He protected me. He would never hurt me. He's here for me. He's come back for me. I clamp my jaws together to bite back the forming tears.

  "Chase!" I try to scream, but the words lodge in my throat and sound like a mere whisper—a whisper that drifts away with the breeze.

  I run toward the brush that's eclipsing my brother. My arms pump so hard I think they might snap off, but instead of reaching him, my face collides with the ground. Ugh!

  Hurriedly, I look back to where Chase stood only a second before and now the spot is vacant. Hopelessness fills my body. I drop my chin down to my chest in defeat and sit in the crisp snow, making no attempt at movement. I wrap my arms around my knees, which I've pulled to my chest, and begin rocking.

  Still, the tears don't come.

  "Chase, please come back," I beg and am answered by the eerie whistling of the wind. "Please," I repeat over and over.

  My stomach hurts, my chin trembles in anguish and my eyes burn as despair injects itself into my blood causing a ravenous flood to wash over my heart, my lungs, my soul. I'm alone again and drowning.

  I'm not sure how long I sit in the snow, but it's long enough that the pain of the cold comes and goes, and numbness sets in.

  Why? Why does this have to happen to me? Why can't I be normal-- with a family that doesn't haunt their daughter, but yells at her for not doing her homework, wakes her when she's slept in too late, makes her do chores, hugs her and holds her when she cries? Instead, I have no one. How could I be so stupid to believe things would ever change? The world feels like graves of dirt frozen in snow.

  "Lex." I don't lift my head to alert that I heard him. I simply stop rocking back and forth. I know I probably look like a madcap sitting in the snow, my hair obscuring my face, rocking to the steady beat of misery playing in my mind. Oddly enough, pain is the only thing keeping me sane, preventing me from falling into the void of nothingness.

  "Lex," he says again, his voice huskier than before. "What...are you doing out here?" he asks soothingly. Concern rings through his voice.

  I take a deep breath. The cold infiltrates my lungs.

  "I thought I saw someone," my voices cracks and I lick my raw lips.

  There’s a slight shuffling; I imagine Hunter shifting his weight.

  "In the woods?" he asks. Is that concern I hear?

&n
bsp; "Yes," I answer indifferently.

  I hope that he'll drop it. He doesn't and asks, "Who?"

  There are moments in life where everything stops. Moments that have the profound power to change everything. This is one of those moments. I can tell Hunter the truth and let him see a piece of me that no one ever has, or I can resist and choose to conceal my heart. The consequences of the former open a window for fear to climb through and bury its frosty essence deep within the crevices of my chest.

  Hunter must sense this internal struggle.

  More twigs snap and I know he's stepping forward...stepping toward me.

  I open my eyes and watch between the heart-shaped space created by my pretzel arms, and legs. At first, the light is blinding, then I see him fall lower as he bends his knees and crouches above the ground.

  He places a warm hand on my knee. That warmth, the warmth of Hunter, begins melting the igloo cased around my quavering heart.

  An air of struggle hangs in the atmosphere, making it claustrophobic. It's me against myself and I'm not sure who will win this battle in an everlasting war. Sometimes, the worst battle to fight is between what you know and what you feel... I don't know Hunter in the way I feel for him. I don't know that Hunter should be privy to my life and my fear, but I feel like he should.

  Finally, it's Hunter who raises the white flag on my inner fight when he says, "Another time.”

  I nod with appreciation, but I want him to know.

  When my eyes meet his, I don't know what I'm expecting, but it's not what I find. Hunter's striking blue eyes are both worried and loving. They search my face for answers.

  He lifts me up off the ground and cradles me to his body. I don't know when it happens or what causes it, but I realize that I'm hugging Hunter. And, oh no, he witnessed me acting liking a lunatic.

  I backhand my face, wiping violently at the nonexistent tears, trying to wipe the pain and misery from my face. I push off Hunter and take a good three steps back.

  "I... I'm sorry," I stutter.

  I need his closeness, my life depends on it, but I can't be close to anyone. I'm like a ticking timebomb and no one deserves to be injured in the wake of my explosion...especially not Hunter.