by Coralee June
I reached over and gripped her knee, squeezing where I knew a severe bruise from the crash was. She winced but didn’t cry out in protest. Strong, pretty little debt. I was hurting her, but she didn’t want to even give me the satisfaction of her pain. I squeezed harder, watching as her gaze pinned my hand as I applied more and more pressure, letting her know just how much I didn’t care. She whimpered, and my chest constricted. I watched as she squirmed in her seat, tears filled her eyes, and terror coursed through her expression. I leaned over her, trying to appear more threatening, but I couldn’t stop watching the thudding vein in her neck or the way her face turned pale. Roe’s fingers trembled as she reached for the door handle, but still I kept up. I felt my stomach drop, and somewhere between my desire to show how much she didn’t matter and her pain, I realized that I couldn’t do it. Eighteen years of paying a debt was a hard habit to break. I tried to send more pressure, but I couldn’t fucking do it. Pussy.
Letting go, I shifted my attention to the steering wheel, gripping it until my hands went numb. “I work for some bad people,” I began. I didn’t see the use in sugarcoating it, but it was safer if she didn’t know the details. “I’ve been watching you since the day you were born, and some of my enemies think you’re a weakness of mine.”
She gulped at the air and rubbed the ache in her knee before swiveling to face me. “Am I a weakness of yours, Hunter?” she asked, a bit of snark to her tone. I didn’t like how smug she sounded.
“Depends on how you define a weakness,” I rebutted. “I owe someone a debt. A life debt. I watch over you because I take my obligations seriously.” The more I spoke, the deeper she sunk in her seat. I was more than happy to deliver disappointment on a silver platter. “Look, I don’t give two shits about you. Don’t romanticize what’s happening here in that stupid little head of yours. I need you to keep safe because I owe it to someone to watch over you.”
“Who could you possibly owe a debt to? Who could possibly care?” she asked. “My father died the day I was born, and my mother was a crazy recluse until the day she died. I can count on one hand the number of times she left her house. No one knows me. No one could possibly care.”
I bound my mouth shut, swallowing my explanation like a bitter pill. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does matter,” she urged. “What if I don’t want your creepy protection? Do I have a say in the matter?”
No. She didn’t. The only person that could relieve me of this duty was dead.
“I don’t really care what you want. I gave you your stupid answers. You’re going to listen to me. Go to school. Live your life. Give Mack a break. Nothing has to change here.”
She shook her head. “Everything has changed, Hunter.” The way she said my name made me shiver. It was tender and soft, but full of resentment. I preferred anger.
I pulled down her street and parked the car. “Listen, I’ve always watched. Mack has always taken care of you. The only difference is now you know what’s happening behind the scenes.”
“How often do you watch me, exactly?” she asked. She ran her hand through her brown hair, a nervous tic I knew all too well. I looked down at her leg, watching as she bounced it.
I didn’t know how to answer her without sounding like the creep I was trying not to be. “Often.”
“Do you have cameras in my house?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch with every question.
“Yes.”
“In my room?”
I didn’t answer her squeak, but my silence weighed heavily between us.
“This is fucking insane. I should go to the police,” she said before unlocking her seatbelt.
I rolled my neck and turned to stare at her. “I wouldn’t do that. Like I said, I work for some powerful people. They have deep pockets and badges on the inside. You could try to go to the cops, but it would just put more attention on you—attention you probably wouldn’t want.”
She let my words sink in. I saw the indecision on her gentle, distressed face. “Fine. I’ll play along for now. But no more watching me in my bedroom. A girl should be allowed to flick the bean in the safety of her bed without some old pervert watching.”
I’d never actually seen her flick the bean, as she so eloquently put it, but now my fucked up brain couldn’t stop imagining it. I could almost see her now. Her plush gray bedding ruffled from her writhing body. Her hand dipped between her thighs. Her back arched as she moaned into her pillow.
I didn’t like the girl, but a show was a fucking show. She wasn’t ugly, just too much of a pain in the ass for me to feel anything other than responsible for her. My traitorous dick hardened, though, making me clench my teeth.
“Sure. I’ll stop watching you in your bedroom,” I lied effortlessly.
“Liar.”
She sat there for a moment longer, playing with a hole in her jeans until she found the courage to speak. “You say you’ve watched me since the day I was born. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” I replied.
“So you’ve been watching me since you were ten? That doesn’t make any sense. Ten-year-olds don’t have life debts,” she quipped. She wasn’t wrong.
Most ten-year-olds didn’t have life debts. Most ten-year-olds had families and normalcy and a roof over their heads.
But not me.
I ignored her statement and nodded toward the house. “Go. Mack ordered you pizza.”
“That’s seriously all you’re going to give me?”
“Yep. And if you don’t get your ass out of my car, I’ll give you another reason to be afraid, Pretty Debt.
She sputtered at the nonchalant way I threatened her before giving in to her good sense. With a huff, she pushed at the door and eased herself outside. I watched for any winces or staggering. Maybe I needed to have Gavriel’s home doctor make another visit. “Oh and, Roe?” I called out as she grabbed her backpack.
“What?”
“If you try to run away again, I’ll drag you back here. If you sneak out, I’ll find you. If you go to the police, I have people that will rain hell on your naïve little head.” I pulled my gun out of the glove box and flashed her the black metal with a menacing grin. “If you do something stupid, I won’t be afraid to ruin your life. The only person allowed to hurt you is me, and I’ve been dying to end this debt for ages. Don’t give me a reason to.”
She stood there in disbelief for a moment, then slammed the door in my face. Stomping off toward her driveway, Roe looked furious. I watched her fume with anger until she was safely inside. I didn’t leave, though. I grabbed my cell phone and opened the surveillance app like the creep I was. Sure enough, she was in her bedroom, looking around for the camera I had hidden there. It was almost cute how angry she was, but she’d never find the microscopic device I had stowed away in the vent. And if she somehow did find it. I’d just replace it. Again and again.
She started spinning around with her middle finger in the air, screaming “FUCK YOU!” as loud as she could.
I honked the horn in response, making her jump.
Stupid, pretty little debt.
ROE
An entire week inched by, filled with empty moments. Most of my minutes were spent in a bedroom that didn’t feel like mine anymore. I hid under my covers and read books, passing the time in my own little private space where Hunter’s eyes couldn’t see. Mack tried to pry me from the safety of my room, but I ignored him, leaving only to eat. I felt profoundly alone, yet I knew I wasn’t. I could feel Hunter’s watchful presence, though I hadn’t heard from him since my half-assed runaway attempt. I hated how smug my uncle looked when I waltzed back through the door. He was absolutely right. Hunter brought me back, kicking and screaming.
I called Joel a couple times to update him on what was happening, but he didn’t answer. His silence was strange, but I tried not to dwell too much on it. He was probably off somewhere getting high and ramming something with his whiskey dick.
Monday, my self-imposed impr
isonment came to an end. Apparently, school was more important than an existential crisis, and I’d healed from the accident just enough for Mack to force me to go. I’d debated on putting up a fight, threatening to tell the world what he’d done so I could stay home, but when it came down to it, I was actually excited to get out of the house. At least at school Hunter couldn’t watch me as much.
Or, at least, that’s what I was hoping for.
Hunter. I’d whispered his name over my skin every day like a spell caster trying to ward off evil spirits. It was a haunting sort of name, one that induced nightmares and chronic paranoia that kept me awake most nights. The harmless collection of letters became my greatest fear. My questions became an anthem of doubt. I caught myself singing them out loud without reason. Why me? Why you? Why this fucked up existence of watching and waiting and protecting and hurting?
And in my darkest moments, I felt like my mother. She was obsessed with fear. She could spout death statistics better than any search engine. She focused on what could hurt her, and let it ruin her mind, and I was so focused on Hunter that I feared the same fate. He was a killer, the epitome of what my mother wanted me to avoid. Part of me felt drawn to him in some sort of rebellious outburst. The other part of me understood my mother. I’d always loved her in that special sort of way young children idolize their parents. She was my whole world, mostly because she intended it that way. But now that I shook hands with the deadliest man I’d ever met, I could understand how she let fear chew her up and spit her back out.
I was thinking of Hunter again when a concerned yet chipper voice called at my back. “Oh my gosh, Roe!” I struggled to put my books in my locker while bracing myself for the inevitable questions she’d have at the sight of my cast and bruises. I wore concealer to hide the ones not hidden by my clothes, but it was the healing beneath the skin I was worried about keeping secret. Mack made it clear on the drive to school this morning that I wasn’t to say anything to a single person. Keep it simple, he’d said. Tell them you were in an accident and it was too scary to talk about.
It was good enough advice. Everyone I knew expected me to clam up when it came to difficult conversations. I turned around to face Nicole, who was eyeing my cast with trepidation. “Joel told me you were in a car accident. You poor thing!”
Joel told her, huh?
“Yeah, it was rough for a few days, but I’m better now. Not looking forward to all the makeup homework,” I breezed, praying she didn’t hear the anxiety in my tone or sense the lies hiding just below the surface of my smile. Lies had a sort of buzzing quality, like a persistent fly perched on the ridge of my ear. Hunter’s threat was at the forefront of my mind: Tell no one. Continue as if nothing has changed.
“I was so worried. I would have called, but my parents took my phone. You wouldn’t believe how they reacted when they found out about the party. My mom even canceled her business trip to Japan!” she squealed, a little too excitedly in my opinion. I figured out her motivations early on, but she could at least pretend to be disappointed about being punished.
Slamming my locker shut, I nodded and smiled at all the appropriate times while trying to ignore the tingling feeling traveling up my spine. She went on and on about herself, a habit I’d encouraged since the day we met. I was a pair of ears to this girl, nothing more. I preferred it that way.
“Mom is making us all have dinner together every night, too. She says she needs to keep an eye on me,” she added while pausing at the door leading to her class.
I frowned like I was supposed to. “That sucks, bro,” I responded. What I wanted to say was, I guess you got what you wanted. You go, girl. We couldn’t actually say what we wanted, though. She’d continue to act out for the sake of feeling close to her parents, and I’d continue to push people away to keep hidden the fears I’m harboring deep inside.
“Let’s catch up at lunch, okay? I want to hear all about your accident. An entire week off from school? Maybe I need to break my arm,” she joked over her shoulder while waltzing into her classroom.
I wanted to tell her that I’d attend this shitty school for the rest of my life if it meant I didn’t have to see Hunter again, but I kept my dry lips pinched shut and simply waved goodbye with my fingers. Even here, in a crowded hallway, I felt him. Hunter was a predator I couldn’t escape.
I made my way to English class, and the moment I walked through the door, Mrs. Sellars glided toward me. “Miss Palmer, I heard you were in an accident. I’m so happy to see that you’re okay!” Mrs. Sellars was probably the only teacher who actually gave a fuck around here. She was just a couple years away from retirement but treated each year like a brand new teacher, investing in the lives of her students and building us up. I liked the woman, with her kind brown eyes and sporadically speckled hair. She wore purple daily, like she didn’t know any other color existed, and today was no exception. I looked her up and down, grinning at the sight of her periwinkle pantsuit.
English was always my favorite class. I wasn’t an exemplary student by any means, but I found reading and writing to be a calming experience.
“I’m fine,” I replied with a wave of my hand. I wasn’t looking forward to a day of lies. I wasn’t fine, not even in the slightest.
Mrs. Sellars went into a long discussion on the readings I missed and the homework she’d help me with. I was just about to ask for an extension on a paper due at the end of the week when a brusque body shoved past mine. “Excuse me,” Joel gritted while pushing his way to his seat. I gaped at his harsh brush off before excusing myself and sitting down at the desk next to him.
I was just about to flip open my text book when Joel huffed and grabbed his bag. I twisted to ask him what crawled up his ass but gasped at the sight that greeted me. His right eye was black as night with an outer layer of shaded purple. There was a cut on his bottom lip and his eyes were bloodshot. “Shit, Joel. What happened to you?” I asked as he stumbled to put distance between us. More students filtered in and started to watch our exchange, probably hoping for another public lovers’ spat.
Joel leaned over and hissed low and steady, anger coursing through his tone, “Stay the fuck away from me, Roe.”
“What? You’re acting like an ass,” I replied, fixing my face up into a scowl.
Joel’s nostrils flared as he watched me. “I want nothing to do with you, Roe. Don’t sit by me. Don’t talk to me. You’re nothing but fucking trouble.” At the end of his speech, he scurried over to the corner and plopped down with a wince in the vacant seat.
I knew Joel and I weren’t exactly on the best of terms, but he’d never been this cruel before. My mouth dropped open in shock, and I tried to make sense of his hatred. The last time I’d seen him, he was helpful and kind, driving me to the bus station and offering me cash. Now he couldn’t stand to breathe the same air as me. What changed?
I knew the answer to that question before I even had the chance to ask it.
Hunter happened.
He told me he didn’t want his secret getting out, and I’d told Joel. If Hunter watched me as much as he said he did, then he knew I’d told Joel.
My gaze flared to the corner of the room, where Joel was now sulking in his seat.
I swallowed and tried to compose myself as Mrs. Sellars clapped her hands and ordered the class to settle. “Come on, everyone. Sit down and get out a sheet of paper.”
I was stuck on Joel’s words and couldn’t force myself to move. Everything felt sluggish, and my reality was nothing but an echo of devastation. “Miss Palmer, are you alright? Do you need to see the nurse, dear?” Mrs. Sellars asked while peering at me. I felt the entire classroom’s attention hot on my face, but I didn’t look at any of them. I was too focused on the fact that Hunter had his fist wrapped around my life, and there was no shaking him off. School wasn’t proving to be the distraction I’d hoped it would be.
“I’m fine,” I gritted while picking up my pen and clutching it.
Mrs. Sellars smiled charmingly,
ignoring my mood. “I know just the place to put that attitude, Miss Palmer. We’re getting into the poetry unit, and I have a lot of amazing poets lined up to study.” She started writing an assignment on the board as she continued to talk. “Maya Angelou. Sylvia Plath. Gwendolyn Brooks. I also have a few contemporary poets we will be studying, such as Rupi Kaur, Steve Roggenbuck, and Suli Breaks.”
Each of those names went in one ear and out the other. I was too busy stabbing my desk with my ballpoint pen. “But before we can study the style, tone, and flow of a poem, I want you to try writing your own. It can be anything. It doesn’t have to rhyme. It doesn’t have to have structure. I just want you to write what you’re feeling right this moment. I’ll set the timer for thirty minutes, then each of you will read what you’ve written.” She giggled at the various groans erupting throughout the room before continuing, “Begin!”
I glared at the blank page for a moment, taking in the perfectly perpendicular blue lines covering it. With careful script, I wrote my name in the top right corner, then tried to come up with something that made sense for the project. I was a mediocre student. Never really excelled at anything, not that I applied myself much.
I was too distracted by everything that had happened over the last week and a half to actually pinpoint what I was feeling, let alone write it down into something that could pass as fucking poetry.
My eyes slid over to Joel, who wasn’t even bothering to write. He was staring back at me, his eyes like needles poking my skin. I could feel his hate, and even though I didn’t know what exactly happened, I knew that it was warranted. I led him on, broke his heart, used him to escape, and probably brought Hunter into his life. Every blister and bruise on his face was my fault.
I started to write. I thought about all the relationships I’d fucked up. I thought about the distance I put between myself and others, my shitty fail-safe painted into a vibrant shade of self-preservation. I thought of how everything around me felt controlled. I pictured the illusion of safety I’d been wrapping myself up in. I wrote something that was probably total shit, but I drained all the things I wanted to say to all the people I’d run away from. There was no room for anger toward Hunter on the page. That would be for another day.