The Cat Hunter

by Krishna Ahir

  An almost motherly need to help him rose up inside of her. A mental image of her patting Christopher on the head and hugging him passed in front of her eyes. Within a matter of seconds, however, she had laughed it away. She knew what he responded to; what made him feel better. And it wasn't babying.

  "Hey babe."

  Marty Sallinger sauntered through the doors to the common room, at the head of a gaggle of students, and raised a hand to wave at his girlfriend. Sinking down into the sofa next to her, just as Barbara moved her legs out of the way, he leaned over and planted a quick peck on her.

  "Sup hot lips," Barbara shot back, grinning.

  "Not bad, not bad. How's your day been going so far?"

  "What, you mean in the two hours we've been apart?" She forced a swoon, throwing her head back comically. "It's been agony! Darling, I don't know how I could go on any more, without you in my life!"

  "Again with the sarcasm," he laughed.

  "It's what I do," Barbara replied with a smile.

  Looking over at her, Marty pulled an exasperated face and sighed; all the while fighting to keep a smile off of his face. "Why do you read that shit?" He pointed at the tabloid paper and shook his head.

  Glancing down at the tabloid, Barbara started to laugh. "Hey I don't read it all the time. Just when they do articles on tattoos." She hurriedly flipped back through the pages, until she arrived at the photos. "Look at it! Isn't it gorgeous!"

  Dan joined her in a chuckle. "Yeah, but the articles are garbage. I mean, look at this..." He reached out and took the paper, thumbing through it until he arrived at a text-ridden page. "They spelt 'fuel': F-E-W-L, Barbara. It may not be The Independent, but I'm expecting at least some standards."

  Snatching back the paper, to observe the typo, Barbara maintained her smile. "Yeah, but this is a Jessie Goodwin article. He always spells stuff wrong."

  "That's not an excuse," Dan replied, with a grin. "Ask Christopher. He'll agree with me."

  "Can't, he's gone home."

  "Shit, is he alright?" Concerned, Dan sat up and looked down at his girlfriend through sympathetic eyes.

  "He's better," Barbara said, staring off into space as she spoke. "I wouldn't have blamed him for taking the whole day off, after what happened to him yesterday."

  "That's not good..." Dan said, scratching at the side of his spiked brown hair. "It must have really gotten to him then?"

  "I don't think so," she replied, finally looking up at her boyfriend. "Like... I know he's affected by it — he'd be nuts if he wasn't — but he's taking it better than I thought. Honestly I think the only reason why he's gone home is because he doesn't want to see Georgina just yet."

  "Really?"

  Barbara wagged a finger and chewed the inside of her cheek. "I know how he thinks."

  Chapter 8

  Daddy has always looked after me. Comforted me when Mum went off the rails and snapped. He would tell me that it was okay and hold me close, making me promise not to make her angry again. And yet even when I did, and when I got punished, he would always treat me the same. He wouldn't punish me for crying.

  Whenever she used the kettle, he would rub aloe on my skin and bring me ice. The chill always stung a bit, but that just meant that it was working. It always turned my skin the most wonderful shade of pink; so bright that it almost seemed to glow and bleed out into the air.

  He would coo gently as he lathered it on and once he was done, he would stroke my hair and kiss my forehead.

  Daddy always made me feel loved.

  And so when I was seven and he came into my bedroom, I welcomed him in.

  He laid down on the bed and cuddled me, and I could feel his warm breath on my neck; the scratch of his stubble. He smelt like aftershave. A musky and heady scent, like worn leather. Even now, when I smell that, I think about him.

  It hurt when he forced himself inside me, but it was okay. When he brushed away my tears, he told me that it was supposed to. Hurt that is.

  Love hurts.

  I can see that now.

  That's why Mum always hit me. Always punished me. It's because she loves me.

  That's what love is.

  And I can feel it again now. Love. The same as with Daddy.

  I met a boy. A wonderful boy.

  The way he looks at me, with those gorgeous hazel eyes, sends tingles all over me. Like my body is full of bees. My heart feels like it's vibrating and my skin prickles like I've been stung.

  I talk to him sometimes, but it's never enough. It feels like ice is being jabbed into my heart every time he walks away and leaves me. So I've been following him for a while.

  Nothing obvious, of course. Just from a safe distance. And every time I see him, I feel like my body is on fire. Like gasoline has been poured down my throat, soaked into my hair, and I've been set alight. Sometimes I think that if he were to touch me, I would crumble into charcoal.

  It terrifies me, but thrills me at the same time.

  I often find myself wondering that if he did touch me, if his skin were to graze against mine, what color I would burn.

  I bet that it would be beautiful.

  Maddie DeWhitt lived in a world of hopeful curiosities.

  Jovially intelligent, cuttingly sarcastic, and with a glancing touch of ADHD, she found herself in a perpetual state of listless boredom. There was only so far that the teasing of her fellows could take her, only so many remarks that she could drop before they had enough and, inevitably, turned on her.

  Even flirting with members of the opposite sex was beginning to lose its luster. While she enjoyed the attention, her opinion of the conversation was never particularly high. Lower still was her mood, following the disappointingly short-lived romp with most potential suitors.

  Men never quite seemed to get her.

  Maddie figured that it was something to do with the kind of males that she attracted. Whether it was the air that she held about herself, or simply the way that she looked, she only ever attracted two extremely definable categories of guys.

  First, and by far the more prevalent of the two, were the 'peacocks'. They strutted about, parading their good looks and expecting (demanding) praise. That isn't to say that Maddie found the arrogance unattractive. On the contrary, it stirred something inside of her that hooked her attention and demanded release. The only problem was the aftermath. Guys with faces like that typically had IQ's the same as their shoe size, leaving any semblance of conversation all but dead on arrival. There was also the fact that the majority were extremely selfish lovers and, whenever the thought did enter into their head to pass a piece of the pie her way, they would use a set of flashy (yet ultimately ineffective) moves that they had undoubtedly learned from pornos. They were uncomfortable and designed more to make them feel accomplished, than for Maddie to glean any form of release.

  The second category she preferred, however not by much. These were the intellectuals— the hipsters. The kind who wore black framed glasses, waistcoats, and fedoras. They trimmed their beards and carried boot polish, to shine their leather shoes on the fly. The pretension hung thick in the air and, in spite of their smarts, the conversation was still stifled. Bearing such strong liberal opinions (and being convinced that such was the only one to be considered, through nothing more than politically-correct entitlement), Maddie's own views were little more than phlegm, clinging to the repartee. They regarded it in the same way one would observe their own snot in a handkerchief, before discretely disposing of it. And when they did eventually make it to the bedroom, they treated her like she was made of glass. Being treated with respect was nice, but not in that kind of situation.

  Maddie wanted to get fucked, and nobody seemed to want to do it right.

  And I doubt anyone here would even know how... she thought, bitterly.

  Having returned home from university earlier that day, Maddie had found her parents gone and her younger brother in the midst of preparing for a party. With all of her local friends away, and bearing the begru
dged sense of duty of an older sister, she had decided to stay and chaperone. At least that was what she had told Eric.

  Truth told, she had missed these kind of parties: The daunting sense of nerves, knowing that everybody you had ever said hello to at college would be showing up; the hopeful lust that gripped you knowing that, by the end of the night, you would at least find someone to lock lips with; the worry that, due to the noise, the police would inevitably be called. It appealed to her nature, causing something expectant to stir inside her.

  Gripping the cold glass of the bottle between her fingers, she brought the rim to her lips and threw her head back. The pulse of bass throbbed in her ears. Across the room, the amp set against the wall vibrated over the floor.

  Tilting her head back, Maddie closed her eyes and emitted a half-hearted sigh from between her lips.

  "Something tells me you're not exactly enjoying yourself right now."

  The voice came from behind her, splitting the roar of music and slipping its way into her ears.

  Cool air wafted over the smooth skin of Maddie's exposed arms, plucking up goose bumps, as a figure stepped through the sliding patio doors behind her. He was tall, but not overly broad. She could sense his body heat behind her, giving her a general idea of his build.

  "What can I say, I'm not really feeling welcome," she replied, grinning as she turned to face the new arrival.

  "Now I can't imagine that. Though I'd be lying if I said I didn't understand. I'm feeling a bit out of place myself."

  He broke into a friendly smile and looked down at her. His teeth were bright and neatly straight, arranging themselves charmingly. Light brown hair fell messily around his face and shining from beneath matching brows were a pair of striking hazel eyes.

  So, she considered saying. Which are you? Peacock or hipster?

  What she actually said, however, was: "So have you got a name to go with that attitude?"

  "Christopher," he replied, scratching the side of his head bashfully. "Douglas. How about you?"

  "Maddie," she said, picking up her bottle and taking another swig. "I'm Eric's sister."

  Christopher laughed. "Really? I've got to say, that's a surprise."

  "And whys that?"

  "Well not to sound rude, but Eric's far from the best looking guy. And —well— you're the opposite."

  "I think there was a compliment in there somewhere," Maddie laughed playfully, pushing her hair behind her ear.

  "Trust me there was," he replied, returning the laugh. "Though now that I know who you are, I am curious about why you feel unwelcome. This is your house."

  "If you were having a party, would you want your brother or sister to show up?"

  "Point taken."

  "So you've got siblings then?"

  "Do you usually analyze people like this, or is it just me?" Christopher asked, raising one eyebrow and taking a sip of the Budweiser gripped between his fingers.

  "I'll let you figure that out. You want to take this conversation outside? I'd hate it if you missed the chance for a good comeback, just because you couldn't hear what I was saying."

  "Sounds like a plan."

  Exiting through the sliding glass door behind Christopher, the pair ventured out into the garden. Overlooking a long and narrow patch of grass, they stood by a low wall that bordered the stone patio. All around them, pockets of people chattered amongst themselves, smoking. A sickly sweet scent hung in the air as, down the garden, a detached group passed around a joint. Stood off to the side, leaning against the garden fence and nursing a small plastic cup of alcohol, a girl was busy texting her friend.

  "So why is it that you feel out of place?" Maddie asked. "Stud like you, I thought you'd be the life of the party."

  "Stud, huh?" he chuckled once to himself. "Sorry, but you're not even close... I dunno, I guess I feel out of place because I'm kind of sick of people."

  "Then why are you talking to me? Does that make me special?"

  "Well, sick of people I know. And as for you... What can I say, I guess I felt like I found a kindred spirit."

  Maddie grinned and raised an eyebrow. "That a fact?"

  Pressing the translucent brown bottle against his lips, Christopher swigged a large gulp of beer before nodding. "You seemed like you needed someone to talk to. God knows I do."

  "Why not your friends?" The young man had piqued Maddie's interest. His responses were fast and confident, like he was used to her form of back-and-forth banter, and he gave off an air like he was more mature and older than his years.

  Christopher Douglas was a rare find. Someone that Maddie felt could actually understand her. Understand the intricacies of her personality and not become offended by the tiniest little thing.

  It also didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

  "My best friend is here," he replied, running his fingertips across a scar on his left hand. "But at things like this she tends to hang around with her boyfriend. And like I said: I'm kind of sick of people. I mean, best friends are the exception, but she gets that I'd prefer being on my own over hanging out with her boyf'."

  "That's fair," Maddie smiled. "So I guess this means that I get the honor of keeping you company?"

  He chuckled again. Lines creased out from his eyes as he did so. Maddie realized, with a flush, that when Christopher smiled he did it with more than just his mouth. His entire face smiled, and she liked that. A lot.

  "You could say that," he grinned. "If you want, that is. I'd hate to think that you keeping me company would be a waste of you time. If you have better things to do, please, feel free."

  "No, it's okay. I like talking to you. And anyway, it's not like I had any better options, did I? Or did you somehow miss everyone else avoiding me like the plague?"

  "You know, I did catch that. Honestly, because I'd only actually seen the back of your head, I thought they were avoiding you because you were, like really, really ugly."

  Maddie burst out laughing.

  Christopher's smile broadened. "I'm glad to see that I was wrong."

  Recovering from her sudden flash of giggles, Maddie eyed him with a sidelong glance. "You know most other girls would have slapped you for that."

  "Well something tells me you're not like most other girls," he replied.

  "Are you always this smooth, or is it just the booze talking?"

  "Trust me," he said. "I'm not smooth at all. I'm like fucking sandpaper. If you were anybody else, this conversation would already have gone up in flames."

  "But didn't you just say I'm not really like other girls?" Maddie paused to take another drink from her bottle, before setting it down on top of the wall.

  "That I did."

  "See. Really it just goes to show how smooth you are that you picked the one girl here that would appreciate your conversation. You're good."

  "You know, if I didn't know any better, I would say that you were flirting with me."

  "If you didn't know any better, huh? Who's to say that I'm not?"

  "Me." He laughed again and took another drink. "I don't flirt. Sick of people, remember?"

  Something about the unassuming way that he was oblivious to her advances thrilled Maddie even more. He wasn't like the guys that went out of their way to try and impress her. Christopher seemed genuine. He was talking to her because he enjoyed the conversation, not because he was trying to get in her pants. It was a welcome change.

  Just as Maddie was about to speak again, the blaring voice of her younger brother interrupted their conversation. Eric, as drunk as the night, staggered out of the back door of the house and tripped once on the frame. Sprawling out as he went, his arms flailed wildly in an attempt to steady himself. He was, thankfully, caught by a number of his own guests and hoisted into an upright position. There was blood on his face, dripping out from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, in a line as thick as a thumb.

  "For fucks sake," Maddie muttered, eyeing Eric disapprovingly. "Sorry about this, Christopher, I'll be back in a se
cond."

  As the hazel-eyed boy casually reassured her, Maddie marched over towards her younger brother. Hooking his arm over her neck, she steadied him and hissed into his ear. "What the hell have you done this time? And why are you bleeding?"

  All she got was a burbled and disoriented response. His breath stank of vodka and cheap cider.

  "He was dancing on the table in the dining room," one of the party guests said, offering their assistance before Maddie brushed them off. "One second he was fine, and the next he'd fallen over."

  "I think he kneed himself in the face," another added.

  Perfect... Maddie thought, bitterly.

  Hoisting her brother up higher, she started to practically drag him back towards the house. "Come on, you heavy shit. Time for bed."

  Turning her head and calling over Eric's arm, Maddie directed her attention back towards Christopher. "I'm just going to put him to bed. Don't go anywhere, alright?"

  As he watched Maddie lug her younger brother inside, Christopher caught himself breathing a sigh of relief. The last thing that he expected was to find someone that he could just —just— talk to, without any kind of sympathy of morbid curiosity.

  He was sick of the forced bonhomie of everyone that knew him. Too many people had asked him about what he had seen, all the while maintaining a sad smile. Like they wanted him to feel better, but were still gunning to find out exactly what had happened. Niceties were just a means to an end.

  The only person that wasn't like it was Barbara. And even then, Christopher felt like it wasn't enough. Especially at the party. He didn't want to seem like a lost child and cling to her the entire time. It would be weird and would have gotten him nowhere. He needed to talk to someone; have a conversation that didn't actually start with the phrase: "Are you alright?"

  Maddie, so far, had been everything that he was looking for. In many ways, she reminded him of Barbara. The quick wit and the teasing nature of her conversation was something that he was more than used to. In fact, it was something that he enjoyed.