HYBRID

by Emery Skye

  "So, you're going to let the other night go and not say anything about it?" I ask, hopeful and naively.

  A glint that says, "not a snowball’s chance in hell," gustoes in his eyes and my hope fades away like a whisper in the wind. "I thought I'd wait till appetizers. I'm starving."

  Of course he is. The boy eats like a camel guzzles water.

  "Okay," I glance down at the menu. So, it's probably Latin, but I'm not picky and don't want any guy ordering for me. I decide it'll be best to guess.

  “The vegetarian options are here,” Hunter points to a small section on the menu. I don’t understand the header, but trust Hunter.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry there aren’t more options. Pretty much all of us eat meat,” he tells me. He turns the page on his menu.

  I glance at him. “What do you mean? There are a ton of vegetarians these days.”

  He pauses before lifting his shoulder in a half shrug. “Right. I guess some people are old fashioned.”

  “I’m sure they have something,” I smile.

  Now that I have some direction, what's the worst I can order? This is a nice place, right. Right?

  The food arrives shortly after we order. The appetizers were amazing so I'm not worried. Hunter ordered just about everything on the menu. It's hard to tell since the words blended together, but by the piles of food stacked high on porcelain plates, my guess is that yes, he ordered everything.

  I made sure to eat some of everything so long as it looked vegetarian friendly and Hunter steered me away from the plates that weren’t.

  I pointed to the menu when the server—a creepy, thin man with a long, charcoaled goatee—took our orders.

  When the food arrives, I know that I, indeed, ordered something far from typical for the Alexis diet. This is painfully obvious when the center part of the entrée is skin-toned and jiggles. The outer ring of the dish, I’m guessing vegetables, is more appetizing. I grab my fork like an inspector grabs his devices and poke at the jiggling form on the table. I'm sure my face reveals how totally disgusted I am.

  Hunter chuckles. I glance up. His eyes, the color of a blue bayou, twinkle from under thick, sooty lashes.

  “What?”

  “Going to try it?” he asks.

  I blink. “Yeah, of course.”

  He smiles wide.

  I stab the gooey blob and swallow hard. One bite. I have to take one bite.

  “Oh, stop. You’re going to hate it,” Hunter guffaws.

  I shovel the substance in my mouth and fight back the urge to puke.

  “Great,” I tell him and chug my soda. I didn’t want to seem rude, ungrateful or incompetent.

  “I can’t believe you ate that,” Hunter laughs.

  He’s gorgeous; his scars catch the glimmer of the dull light resounding from the ornate light fixture.

  A story of struggle exists behind every thin line written across his face.

  "How was it, really? You don't seem too enthused," he says with a hint of jest.

  I shrug. "Had too many appetizers," I tell him. We laugh. “It’s terrible!” I say finally.

  He slams his hand on the table. “I knew it. Why eat it then? We could have ordered something different.”

  I shrug.

  He exhales, shaking his head slowly. The waiter strolls up with two more plates and sets them in front of me. A huge salad with everything I could ever want and a large pile of fries. My favorites. I’m amazed Hunter remembered.

  Regardless of what I said, I'm still starving with what seems to be an insatiable appetite.

  I dig in with a speed that would make both Hunter and Pierce proud, and probably have Caity gasping for breath in horror.

  Hunter's eaten all of his what once looked like ribs, aside from the few skeletons arched on one of his gold embroidered plates.

  "That's disgusting," I gawk.

  He licks his lips in response, to which I gag.

  "You know you want some," he says suggestively.

  I grimace and he chuckles.

  He places his ivory, linen napkin on the table after cleaning his hands of grease and blood.

  He stares at me.

  "What were you doing at a bar and at that time of night?" he asks in a controlled timbre. Despite the anxiety the question creates, that smooth lull of his voice causes a shiver of delight to spiral down my spine and burst out my toes.

  Now back to the anxiety.

  My eyes shift.

  "There's something I haven't told you," I tell him with mock earnestness. He raises a brow. "I have a drinking problem.”

  That's probably because you're a gambler, Lexi, stupid angel on my shoulder yells at me.

  He cocks a brow. "Right."

  Sweet baby Jesus. "Of course, I don't have a drinking problem," I grimace.

  "I didn't think so. So, the truth?"

  I'm grateful from the interruption of goatee guy when he collects the plates and hands Hunter a leather fold.

  It's the bill. I reflectively reach for my bag to get some money for my portion of the bill, which I'm sure there's no way I can afford, but realize I have no bag; hell, some of the clothes aren't even mine and there's nothing in the back pockets. Dammit. I hate when guys pay for me.

  "I'll pay you back," I tell him with honesty.

  He pins me with angry blue lasers.

  "There's nothing to say," I tell him. "You goin' to tell me what the hell the Scottish gingers were talking about?"

  He cocks a quizzical brow. I know the gesture is for show. Hunter is far from dense and is usually two steps ahead.

  "Don't play dumb with me, Hunter," my teeth grind in anger.

  "What exactly are you referring to?"

  Talking in circles isn’t accomplishing anything, so I try a different tactic. Negotiation.

  "You tell me what they meant when they discussed my so-called healing abilities and I'll tell you why I was at the bar," I say, digging for a needle in a haystack.

  His eyes flash neon. "Dangerous. Making deals with a supernatural being that you know nothing about. How do you know I won't force you to tell me what I want to know, or won't dig into your mind and find the information for myself?"

  My heart beats erratically in my chest. He's right. He's a supernatural creature that seems to kick a lot of ass. Who am I kidding? Then again, if he did have the abilities he's talking about, then wouldn't he have already done what he's saying?

  Deciding to take a step onto the slight edge, I sit a little straighter and raise my chin a little higher, "What can I say, I like danger." It's not the best, big-girl saying, but it's something and the depth of the timbre in my voice even surprises me. "I'm not scared of you," I drawl out in a stern, low voice.

  "That's your problem. You don't know what to fear and what not too; when to fight and when to surrender," he tells me earnestly.

  I bite my lip. I know that fear only creates more fear. It's done nothing for me, aside for create loneliness that's fostered distrust, anger and melancholy. He mustn’t know me at all.

  "I know fear. I know fear like you could never imagine and I know when to lay the cards down,” I hiss.

  He frowns. There's something in his face, in the scars tracing his cheekbone, in the small wrinkles around his eyes, that tell me, he too knows of fear and surrender, but I ignore it.

  "Sometimes surrendering means living. Admission that you can't face the odds that you're against," he pauses as if deeply considering his next words. The wrinkles around his eyes eat at me in ways I can't begin to describe.

  "Tell me what they meant by the healing shit," I snap, at my breaking point.

  "It's not important," he says.

  "Why do you do that? It's important to me!" I break; my weak point has hit its ultimate level. "I'm sick of people telling me what's important to me, what I should be doing, how I should be living. Tell me!"

  He flinches in the slightest and I regret the harshness of my tone. I'm mad and yeah, I'm mad at him, but h
e doesn't deserve all the trials and tribulations of my life put on his shoulders. It's not his fault that everyone feels the need to rule my life and inject his or her opinions on how I should live.

  Within a second, Hunter is sitting beside me. He swiftly glides with such elegance, like that of an eagle, that it's his warmth beside me that alerts me to his presence.

  The feeling of loneliness evaporates as an air of companionship replaces it...

  "There's things about my world that I want to protect you from," his eyes search mine. "I know you're strong, capable and independent," his broad shoulders rise with an inhale, he's so close, I smell the sweet mint and evergreen permeating from him, "I can't help the feelings I have toward protecting you and I won't apologize for that."

  The idea of Hunter protecting me and the thought of Hunter by my side sends a flurry of butterfly wings fluttering through my stomach. I'm on the verge of giggling like a stupid schoolgirl, but on the flip-side, a part of me is seething that he thinks he needs to protect me.

  "Why do you feel that way?" is what I want to ask him, but I skirt around it and say, "Tell me what they meant, Hunter."

  My breathing hitches as I realize he's staring at my lips. The lids of my eyes begin to drift shut as if they have a mind of their own as I lean into him, pulled by an unknown force.

  Hunter, after a long second places his warm fingers under my chin and pushes it up so that now our eyes meet.

  "I care for you more than I should," he tells me and takes a deep, shuddering inhale. I silently will him to kiss me, needing his lips on mine, needing to taste him like he's all my body craves.

  My silent prayer is never answered, as goatee guy collects the bill, breaking our moment of solidarity. As Hunters breaks eye contact, I fleetingly imagine stabbing goatee guy with one of the million forks on the table.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I check my phone for anything from Pierce or Caity, but there's never a call or message. It's been over a week and I have yet to hear from them. Beth comments about my obsessive tendencies and I explain my new tick and the situation with Pierce and Caity.

  "She reminds me a lot of you," I finish describing Caity.

  “I'm excited to meet her. Tell me more about the night in the alley.”

  "What about it?"

  "So, he left you there?" she wonders aloud.

  "I guess so. Hunter said he found me alone," I explain.

  "That's so wild. It's too bad I haven't met him yet," she says as she plays with a loose thread in her tie-dyed blanket.

  "Why?" I muse.

  She smiles mischievously.

  "Oh no, what are you thinking?" I say with the full force of worry in my voice.

  "So, Hunter and Pierce don't seem to like each other," she clarifies and I nod. I watch the wheels spin in her head.

  My brows draw together as her smile widens like the Cheshire cat on Alice and Wonderland.

  Beth and I hideout and watch the Disney classics for the rest of the night. She spends a lot of time checking her phone. Usually, she glares at it or throws it down on the blanket. When I ask who it is, she tells me it's a friend from home.

  The simple act of watching movies in my room makes my heart cry for Caity and the simplicity of our friendship. I can't help but feel abandoned.

  The week continues. Hunter and I attend classes and I try to pay attention and do what's asked of me. I move on autopilot. The looming cloud of depression is back and with a piercing vengeance. I hate myself for feeling such hopelessness, but it worsens every time I review the situation.

  Thoughts of Chase are monopolizing my mind's inner workings these days. When I try not to think about Chase, I catch myself worrying about Caity and Pierce; and when I'm not fretting over them, I'm hit with a brick of Hunter. His crisp, blue eyes, the way his strong jaw curves, the definition of his cheekbones, the thick sooty eyelashes, his broad chest. The night we almost kissed. It's like a net that I can't escape.

  Hunter and I don't converse much and that's fine with me. I ask questions about Chase, my parents, the Hordes, but he tells me to drop it and someone or something always interrupts anyway. I almost expect it now.

  Beth seems worried, but I can't bring myself to care about that either.

  Friday is different.

  Hunter and I leave class and head to the barn like every day. I trip a few times and Hunter catches me before I have time to catch myself. I glare up at him. "What's wrong with you?" he asks as a "V" forms between his brows.

  "Me?" I question sarcastically.

  Disdain is plastered on his gorgeously scarred face. "Yeah, you? What's with this routine? It's like you're a zombie."

  Emotion stirs and it catches me off guard.

  He grabs me by the arm and it halts my feet.

  "Dead's the new alive. Haven't you heard?"

  "It's not a joke."

  "Why do you care?"

  Hunter flinches like I smacked him across the face.

  "Let’s get chores done so I can go take a nap and you can get away from me," I tell him. Lately, it seems like whatever little progress we made, caused him to take twice as many steps back and it hurts. It hurts a lot. I can't understand how someone can tell you they care about you one second and the next, act like you're a chore.

  He shakes his head, but releases me. I can't tell what he's mad about, but I know asking him won't do any good. I've tried asking questions and it gets me nowhere every time. So why try?

  THIRTY-TWO

  I'm engulfed in the familiar sweet aroma of hay. Hunter knows the drill for chores and he often helps me. Doing chores is more efficient this way and I think he does it so that we can finish quicker. He starts with the grain and I head toward Big Jack’s stall.

  Hunter’s boots make little sound on the pavement, but I've grown accustomed to spending time with graceful people; I hear the slightest stirring nowadays.

  "Hey, boy," I coo once I reach Jack’s stall. Usually Big Jack sticks his head out the square opening in the door to greet me and he doesn't. I peer through the oversized opening and see that the stall is empty. I sense the trickle of panic at the back of my mind.

  The sky is brightly lit up by the sun. I wonder if someone left Big Jack out in the pasture. I run past Hunter, who's scooping grain into Playgirl's stall, and out the far metal door that leads to the pasture. My eyes burn against the brilliance of light created by the snow reflecting the sun's luminance. I squint my eyes.

  At the sound of an echoing bang I jerk my head toward the enclosed round-pen. The round-pen is a circular space enclosed by fifty-foot metal slabs standing upright. I hear the noise again.

  I pump my arms and climb quickly over the tall fence and run to the round-pen. There are metal stairs leading up, so one can see over the edge and into the pen.

  I run up the stairs and peer over.

  My breath hitches in my throat. Big Jack runs the outer edge of the pen, while Masterson, the school's pompous trainer, swings a long whip around, snapping it like he's a lion tamer. Big Jack’s dark coat is drenched in sweat, blood oozes from slashes on his sides and face, his nostrils flare with each heavy breath.

  A fire, like nothing I've ever felt, kindles from my core till it's explosive and heating even my toes.

  I always knew Masterson hated Big Jack, but I didn’t think he was capable of this type of cruelty. My fists clench at my sides.

  Before I know what I'm doing, I grab hold of the railing and throw myself over the side. My stomach rises into my throat as I free-fall the fifty feet to the sand below. A guttural sound emanates from my center.

  My feet hit the ground and I reach my hand outward around Masterson's throat. He's a short man.

  "How dare you!" I shout.

  His grimy paws claw at my wrists. I feel nothing. It's like I'm a wolf watching my latest prey struggle for life.

  Only, any other prey would deserve life more than this vagrant, pitiful, waste of space.

  A vessel pops in his eye and soon the whi
te is tinted with a bloody redness like mine. The red looks good on him.

  "Lexi!" Hunter shouts; it sounds far away, drowned out by the ringing in my ears. I see nothing but the life draining from Masterson's eyes.

  "Lexi," Hunter grabs my wrist and pry's my fingers off Masterson. My fingers cling together with the grip of a Pitbull’s jaws. I watch Masterson fall to the ground.

  Hunter has a look I've never seen in his eyes; fear, maybe?

  I blink hard. The haze of anger lifts and I realize what I almost did. I almost killed a man...with my bare hands.

  "Lexi, it's okay," Hunter soothes, as if seeing the despondency claim my expression.

  "Oh, my God," I say.

  "I don't think so," Hunter mutters.

  I gaze at him from a still red-faced, choking Masterson. What does that mean?

  "You...crazy...bitch!" Masterson sputters, still gasping for air. That's not the first time someone's called me that. Hunter was there the last time. "You're done at this school! I'm make sure you never show your face around here again."

  His threat is enough to make my heart compress in on itself, but not before a string of needles shoot through my abdomen. I bend over and yell out in pain. This is such a bad time for my new cramps to show themselves. I curse this health problem.

  "Lexi, it's okay. Just breathe. Breathe," Hunter repeats.

  "I can't," I gasp. The pain is unbearable and I welcome the darkness that slowly creeps from the exterior of my vision. It swallows me whole.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I feel around and tighten my fingers around the plush down comforter. I know I'm in my bed.

  To my left, on the nightstand, sits four Advil and a bottle of water like the last time. "Good morning, sunshine," Beth says, I welcome her sweet tune.

  "Crap!" I bolt to a sitting position and cradle my face with my hands.

  "Whoa, girl. This is going to become a habit, huh?" she asks, and I remember the last time she asked me that and I assured her it wouldn't be. Guess I was wrong.

  "Sorry," I say.

  "Oh, it's okay," she jumps on my bed; her hair jumps with her. "I hate seeing Hunter this often," she scrunches her face up in annoyance and I laugh at the funny way she's concocted her mouth.