Adopted By Hamilton One Shots

Hunter (Part 1)

*trigger warning*

I was sitting, curled up on the couch, under my boyfriend, Eric's, arm. My parents were both out, they were always out. My dad was a surgeon, he was never home, but my mom wasn't any better. She was producing a new musical, and they were still in the preliminary workshop phase.

"Babe?" I looked up, and smiled, as Eric pressed a deep kiss to my lips.

"Love you." I breathed.

"Will your parents be home soon?" He asked.

"Mmhm." I nodded, and smiled brightly, "they promised family dinner, my dad's cooking, my mom made a cake, I'm really excited."

"Oh." He sighed, "when'll they be here?" He asked.

"Soon, like, any minute."

"Let's do this quickly then." He smiled at me, and lifted me onto his lap, he held the back of my head and kissed me gently. He ran his tongue across my bottom lip, and I pulled away. "Hey? What's going on?" He asked.

"Not right now." I sighed, and pecked his cheek.

"Why not, baby?" He asked, slipping a hand up the back of my shirt.

"Just, not now, Eric." I sighed, getting off of his lap. I pulled my phone out to see a text.

Mom:
Mijita, I'm sorry, I... one of our leads quit unexpectedly, I have to stay and start recasting, get phone calls out and schedule, I'll be home in an hour-ish. I'm so sorry. Can you do dinner with your dad and I'll be home soon? I really am sorry.

I frowned, and shoved my phone in my pocket.

"What happened?" Eric asked.

"Mom canceled dinner." I sighed.

"Oh. I'm sorry sweetheart." He gently rubbed my shoulder and I smiled. "I'm gonna get a drink." He announced, and went into the kitchen. I heard him rummage around in the pantry and cupboards for a minute, then he peeked his head back into the living room. "Where's your parents alcohol cabinet?"

"Huh?" I was confused, and I spun around, "we don't have one."

"C'mon, where do they keep wine and stuff like that?"

"My parents don't drink." I explained, "we don't actually own any alcohol."

"You're joking." He laughed.

"I'm really not." I looked at him, oddly.

"Like, no wine with dinner? Or like, your dad doesn't drink scotch or something?"

"My parents won't tell me why, but it's something about my mom."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, something's wrong with her." I sighed, "she's on a ton of meds."

"Really?" He asked, and went back into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" I asked, following him.

"Okay, uh," he pulled a few pill bottles out of the cabinet. "Birth Control, that's normal, this ones for depression." He tossed me the little orange bottle.

I looked at it sadly, I didn't know she was depressed. It did explain a lot, it explained how careful my dad was around her, and brought her flowers a lot. It explained why some days she wouldn't get out of bed. It explained a lot.

"Okay, uh, both of these are PTSD." Eric said, and I looked up, shocked.

"What?" I walked over to him, and looked over his shoulder.