<3 Threats

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{ 3 Months Later }

"Hunter,"

"Coffee,"

"Hunter,"

"Coffee,"

"Hunter, get out of bed."

"Chris, make me coffee,"

I rolled my eyes and looked at Hunter from where he lay in the bed. He needed to get up for therapy, but decided that he should stay up until 7am..even though he knew he was up at 8. Strange, strange child.

"I want you to get up,"

"I want coffee,"

"You're so awkward," I face palmed myself. "What's wrong? Do you not wanna go to therapy?"

He sat up, cross legged in his boxers. He had on an antilife shirt, the black one with a white cross on it. Under the cross it said "believe it yourself" and I really thought he suited it. His black hair was shaggy and his bangs half in his eyes. He grabbed his lip, something he did when he was nervous and then he looked at me with his childlike eyes.

"I don't like it,"

"Why not?"

"Dr Brown,"

I sighed before sitting next to him on the bed. Wrapping an arm around his skinny body, I ruffled his hair. "What if we got you another therapist? Would that help,"

"I don't like it,"

"But Hunter, they're trying to help you,"

"No.."

"Yes,"

"You help more than they do," he muttered. "All they do is make me say shit,"

"What do they make you say?"

"Stuff...,"

"Literally, Hunter."

"lit..a..ly..?"

"Doesn't matter," I sighed and stood up, pulling him along with me. "I'll make you coffee, we'll go to therapy, I'll tell Dr Brown to make it short, 15 minutes at the most, then we'll come back and make pizza, okay?"

"Lisa's coming?"

I mentally kicked myself. "How did you know?"

"You're nicer when she comes,"

"That's not true," I assured him. "I just know you don't like her. I still don't get why you don't like her though,"

"Cause she's a fucking-"

I held my hand over his mouth and he cringed. "Don't say it," I closed my eyes, knowing exactly what he would've said if I didn't stop him. I didn't know why he thought Lisa was a whore. She wasn't. She was nowhere near close to that- "Hunter, what the hell?!"

He literally kicked me away from him and I fell back down on the bed. He didn't look at me, just sat down in the corner of the room and pulled his knees up to his chest. He held himself, putting his head on his knees and rocking back and forth a little.

"Hunter, what's wrong?" I asked him quietly. Anything could set him off. He had the moodswings of a bipolar girl when she was PMSing without medication. One minute he was the laid back, swearing teenager addicted to coffee. Then he was the scared little boy I first brought home.

I crawled over to him, listening to his whimpers. Putting a hand on his arm, he shoved me away. Had I done something?

"Hunter, what did I do?"

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