The Hunter's Angel

Sunday Morning

If I had to choose a favorite day, it would undoubtedly be Sunday. 

Specifically, Sunday morning. 

It seemed like no matter what kind of week it had been - cloudy, raining, or just outright shit - the sun always came out to see Sunday morning. 

Everyone I knew spent their Sunday's complaining, dreading the horrid Monday that was soon to arrive. I always found it puzzling how they complained, because, to me, Sunday's seemed like both a warm welcome and a tender farewell. 

Whether it was the greatest week of our lives or the worst one yet, Sunday was always there at the finish line, waiting with a sunny smile as if to say - you made it. 

On this particular Sunday morning, however, I was having trouble remembering why it was my favorite day. 

I woke up with a migraine from hell. Flipping over in bed I shoved my face into my pillow, the cushiony material muffling my groan. My head felt like a construction site, the dull pounding making it seem like someone was taking a jackhammer to my skull. Light trickled in from the window, making me squint as I glanced over to the clock on my bedside table. 

9:00 AM. Great. I barely managed to sneak in 5 hours of sleep, though I was surprised I even got that. It was a little hard to unwind after the chaotic night I had, and I kept replaying my conversation with Hunter over and over. 

Tomorrow, he had said. I'll see you tomorrow.

Way to be vague, I thought to myself. What the hell did that even mean? Was he going to just pop into my house whenever he pleased?

This was simply fabulous. A drug runner - no, scratch that - the son of one of the most powerful drug traffickers in Los Angeles, knew where I lived and was coming to see me. For what, exactly, I didn't know, but thinking about it didn't make me feel any better. 

I imagined the thought of Hunter would have made me terrified, or at least a little scared, but I was surprised by my lack of fear towards him. When I closed my eyes and saw his wicked grin, I was overwhelmed with a sense of nervousness, and despite my best efforts, slight...attraction. But no fear. 

Stifling another groan, I forced myself out of bed and headed over to the bathroom to take a long-overdue shower. After Hunter had left last night I had gone straight to bed, tossing and turning, the idea of a shower long gone. 

The steam helped ease my headache, and I stood under the scalding water for a while, trying to figure out what I was going to do. 

Before my little chat with Hunter, I was planning on spending the day at the police station, after heading over to the mall to buy a new phone. It seemed like none of those cards were on the table anymore, seeing as Hunter had returned my trusty little device, and I couldn't exactly bring myself to report him either. 

I always thought the rules of the world were simple. You commit a crime, you go to prison. Don't commit a crime, and you're a free man. Easy. 

Only, I was beginning to realize it wasn't so clear. I never considered myself a violent person, by any means, but I was having a hard time ignoring the depth behind Hunter's actions. 

No matter how much I detested the man my father was, he was still my father, and I would imagine that if someone took his life I would want some form of justice. Recognizing the kind of man Hunter's father was, it's not like he could just report his death given their shady, and definitely illegal, business. So, he had to take matters into his own hands. Given the kind of men he was dealing with, Jay Miller, for example, I couldn't say I blamed him for his approach.