Willow
Dinner was an ordeal. I am relieved to have it over with so that I can finally be alone in my bedroom.
Aunt Beth served lasagne good enough to be sold at the finest restaurant, I'm sure. I love pasta dishes, lasagne being one of my favourites, which I strongly suspect is why she made it. Between his silly jokes, Uncle Ryan grilled my mother about Aunt Beth's past sins... and apparently, there were many! They exchanged stories that had everyone laughing along. The mood had been relaxed, the food tasty, the conversation entertaining, and yet I couldn't wait to escape to the sanctuary of this room... my room.
The problem boils down to only one word: Hunter.
I have no idea what's going on with me! Yes, I grew up in an extremely strict environment. I'm not used to comfortable dinnertime conversations and bantering... and fun. My only access to boys had been when the debate team of the elite boys' school visited Mount Sovereign Girls to compete. Or when the two schools had one of their awkward let's-stare-at-each-other-across-the-room get-togethers. Or when my grandmother dragged me to some formal business function or meeting during which I'd been the trophy on display.
None of the boys I've ever met had had this effect on me. James Radley is one excellent example of the type of male I'm used to. He'd been the male lead in the story of my life for the last two years. When it comes to looks, he is all sunshine and sparkle, probably outdoing Hunter by yards, and yet... nothing... No interest. He didn't ignite even so much as a hint of a spark in me; in fact, he'd expertly evoked the direct opposite. And he'd always been squeaky clean and polite.
The ideal man, right?
It might be because he is the biggest, most arrogant elitist I've ever met in my entire life, and that says it all because I've met many. Also, he admires himself with a passion. There is no room in his life for anybody but himself unless, of course, they can help him climb the social ladder. Most of my schoolmates went wild whenever they saw him, but he'd always left me completely cold. Terrifyingly cold, given the circumstances I'd been trapped in.
I may sound like a snob when I speak, but I'm not one at all. My world had been filled with scores of stuck-up people who value themselves more than others. People who remained my friends for as long as good fortune was my companion, and friendship with me could possibly benefit them. They'd abandoned me in an instant when my future suddenly turned dark. I abhor people like that and always have. I've never quite fit into my previous life.
Perhaps my father had made too big an impression on me during the first five years of my life. Seeing the way in which my mother had been treated this past decade without him there to protect her didn't help. I simply could not allow myself to become one of them.
So, am I becoming one of them now that I'm free of that life?
Just because Hunter apparently likes to attempt to murder his friends over a ball and doesn't seem to mind being covered in grime and blood doesn't mean that he has any less value than any other, more civilized person.
Besides, sitting across from me at the kitchen table, he'd been the poster boy for wholesomeness. That might actually be the problem. He is an enigma. The Hunter that sat across from me did not fit with the violent Hunter I saw in action in the park (not that I'd recognised him). There are too many versions of Hunter. There's the Hunter that cuddled my dog in the foyer, the Hunter that played with his little brother, the Hunter that smirked at me and looked more than a little menacing, and the Hunter that painted the mural I love.
Which one is the real Hunter?
His appetite was voracious tonight. He'd basically wolfed down his food, accepting more when Aunt Beth offered to refill his plate, and her portions were more than generous. I've never seen anybody eat like that before. Fascinating! By his fourth refill, Uncle Ryan remarked on it with an amused grin: "Hungry, Hunter?"
Hunter just smiled back, not stopping to answer.
"He was playing ball in the park this afternoon," Aunt Beth offered, which seemed to answer Uncle Ryan's question to his satisfaction. He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes hovering on his son's face. "Eat up, then," he encouraged, returning his attention back to his own food.
Yes, it has been confirmed. Hunter is one of the scary people from the park. Playing ball! Now that is a good example of a huge understatement. Honestly, do these people not care that their son participates in life-or-death activities?
That isn't even what bothered me and turned dinner into an ordeal. It was me! Or, more importantly, my eyes. Yes, Hunter is very good-looking, but surely, he's not the most gorgeous boy I've ever seen and yet my eyes kept on straying to look at him all by themselves. They didn't have to work hard at it since he'd been seated right across from me. I was mortified to catch myself studying him every few minutes.
The way his t-shirt moulded his broad shoulders and chest. The way his lashes threw shadows on his cheeks. The way he grinned when his father said something witty and the movement of the muscles in his jaw while he ate. I swear by now, I'll be able to draw an exactly accurate sketch of him with my eyes closed, and I don't even have any talent for drawing portraits.
Oh, my word, I'm turning into a creepy girl!
He must've noticed my blatant interest; it's impossible that he didn't unless he's particularly thick. He doesn't seem to be stupid. He seems strange.
That's it! He's nothing like James Radley and others of his ilk, and he's nothing like the men I had the misfortune to encounter in the last neighbourhood I lived in. He is strange and new. It will pass. I'll be used to him soon, and then I'll barely notice him anymore.
My tendency to stare at him is equivalent to Frankie constantly trying to climb up my legs, ending up under my skirt, where I have to fish him out and hold him up so that he can play with the ribbons in my hair. It's just new. Novelty wears off over time. In a week, I'll be blissfully unaffected by Hunter's presence... and his glorious eyes... and his lips...
"What? There's nothing glorious about him at all. Do be quiet!"
I hang my dress in the closet a little aggressively and smooth the material of my sleep shirt over my stomach. It's an oversized t-shirt featuring a cartoon puppy with large eyes and long ears asking: "If I followed you home, would you keep me?" I look down at my feet, snuggling in knee-high, bunny-eared sloth socks. I am ready for bed.
Earlier, when we were all loading the dishwasher and cleaning up the kitchen, my mother discovered my dress in the basin where I'd left it to soak.
"Willow? What happened to your dress?" she wanted to know.
"I took Piddles for a walk in the park," I answered as if that would explain everything to her. My mother was baffled, but apparently, it explained a lot to Hunter. He turned to me with that odd dorky laugh of his.
"So, you're the ditzy chick Asher ran into!"
I climb into my bed and pull the duvet over my head, almost kicking Little-Piddle off in the process. He is already curled up where my feet are supposed to go. So, my saviour even has a name now. It all suddenly feels too real. Those aggressive thugs are a part of my life now. I turn over, punch the pillow, and sit up straight.
"I'm not ditzy!"
It's new; it is all simply a novelty. Personally, I am enjoying the novelty of my wonderful bedroom. Last night I lay awake in a hard bed at a dingy motel; tonight, I'm resting in heaven. I would love to sleep with the light on, looking at the mural as I drift off, but as much as I fear darkness, I'm unable to sleep when the room is too bright. I'd hated the shabby apartment I shared with my mother for the last three months, but I didn't hate the way various lights spilt in from outside, chasing away the scary shadows. I should get myself a nightlight. I give the mural one last admiring look before reaching out and switching off the bed lamp.
The mural could have been painted by virtually anyone on the planet; why did it have to be him? I still can't believe that this stunning piece was created by that cave dweller. Aren't artists supposed to be soulful and imaginative?
Well, I don't know any male artists, so...
He even painted my face! It seems far too intimate and personal for my comfort. He is the creator of the unicorn too. The magnificent animal scares me more every time I see it; it no longer seems like a strong guardian; it seems rather threatening. But still, it is really beautiful.
I'm about to lie down again when my attention is drawn to the wall with the mural. It's supposed to be black now due to the lack of light, but it's not. It's glowing as if bathed in moonlight. Fluorescent paint? How wonderful that I can see the painting even with the lights off! It also breaks the darkness of the room a little. This is so much better than a nightlight. I can really admire the painting until I fall asleep. Maybe Hunter has some redeeming qualities, after all.
It's not quite the same painting, though. I can see the unicorn and the girl and a gloriously large full moon. The flowers have been transformed into leafy plants, and the entire scene seems to be created from shadows and moonlight. It is magnificent.
My eyes follow the mellow lines of the large leaves and the mane of the unicorn. Confusion starts as a tickle in the back of my mind and grows in intensity as I register more and more of the details.
The unicorn's tongue is protruding now, and it is ridiculously long, snaking from the animal's lips, reaching out toward the girl's open mouth. The medieval gown is gone as well; the girl is partially draped in a translucent garment that is in the process of falling to her feet. I am horrified to see my face on the extremely buxom semi-nude woman. My mouth falls open in a shocked gasp.
"What the hell is this?!" I shriek, nearly falling in my haste to jump out of bed. Not being a very vocal person, the sound of my loud exclamation startles me. I almost knock the bed lamp off the bedside table in my rush to get the light back on.
Everything returns to normal at once. Sweet flowers, virtuously dressed girl... Was it my imagination? I am rather exhausted and overwrought after our long trip. All the things that happened since my arrival has left me mentally and emotionally disoriented. I would not be too surprised if those somewhat pornographic images were conjured up by my own warped imagination.
I turn the light off again, and the moonlight and shadows return in all their glory. And their beauty is not the only magnificent thing about the mural. The unicorn is one of the best-endowed animals I've ever seen alive or in a fantasy painting. And if I'm judging correctly, he is very, very happy to see the semi-naked girl.
"Are you okay?"
Hunter has entered my bedroom through the bathroom, causing me to jump when he suddenly speaks behind me. His voice doesn't convey concern at all; it is bursting with pent-up mirth.
What is it with him and appearing behind me like a ghost?!
The bathroom doors can only be locked and unlocked from inside the bathroom, something that has already been causing me some anxiety. The door cannot be locked from my room. I didn't hear Hunter knock just now. What if I'd been busy getting dressed? Would it be mean to lock the opposite bathroom door that leads into his room, thus forcing him to use the guest lavatory under the stairs?
"What?" I breathe, too stunned to give him the tongue-lashing he deserves.
"I thought I heard you scream."
"No..." I step in front of the mural, attempting to block the raunchy image from Hunter's view. I'm being ridiculous; he is, after all, the one who painted it. I'm becoming painfully aware of the fact that I'm not exactly dressed to receive male guests. My own state of undress might be more of a problem than that of the girl in the painting since Hunter isn't looking at the mural; he's looking at my legs. His grin is telling me and anybody who'd care to look that he's enjoying the view. Or maybe he just wants socks like mine.
"I was just surprised, that's all." Stepping past him, I reach for my bathrobe hanging from the coat tree next to the bathroom door. I hurry to pull it on, obscuring Hunter's view of my exposed body parts. He has the audacity to smirk at me.
"Yeah," he grins. "I will, "
"Will what?" He is not making sense at all; I didn't ask him to do anything.
"I'll keep you since you followed me home. I just need to get a bigger cage."
Wrapping the robe tighter around me, I roll my eyes while he laughs at his stupid joke. Honestly! And could my cheeks stop flaming red and hot, making me feel like a warning signal at a train crossing?
"Do you like it?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow and nodding toward the mural. The only light in my room is coming from the fluorescent glow on the wall and the bathroom light spilling partially into the room, and yet I can clearly see his amusement. I self-consciously chew on my bottom lip. He did this on purpose to mess with me. Pest!
Taking a deep breath, I give him a tight smile.
"It is quite... astonishing." I stroll over to the wall and run my fingers over one of the curvy leaves, "but I'm afraid I don't quite understand it."
"What's to understand?"
"Well... it's a girl and a unicorn, so... uhm... why?" I flap a hand towards the unicorn's most disturbing parts. "Makes no sense," I whisper.
Hunter laughs. "How should I know why that's happening? He's an animal. Maybe it's spring. I'm just the one who painted them; I don't know what's going on in his brain. Maybe there's a girl unicorn on the other side of the field, and we just can't see her. Maybe he's an enchanted prince. Maybe-"
He laughs at the menacing frown I'm directing at him. My discomfort is rising. I try to hide it by turning my back on him to study the beautiful moon hanging toward the top right of the mural.
"Well, as long as he's not supposed to be some metaphor representing you."
"Some what, now?" Hunter squeaks, and I feel a smile plucking at my lips.
"How did you do this?" I ask, turning to face him again.
"Fluorescent paint. It's invisible in light, but it absorbs it and reflects it in the dark."
"How do you paint with invisible paint?"
"I expose the paint to light for a while, and then I paint in the dark."
"How do you paint in the dark?"
Hunter casually motions with his hand in the air. "This is all the light I need."
We're having the most mundane conversation ever, and yet the atmosphere seems to be loaded, crackling with static energy. Since turning to face him, I haven't been able to look away from his eyes for even one second of it. But then again, he doesn't seem to be able to look away, either. Drawing another deep breath, I turn my back on him again, breaking the spell, to look at the mural instead. My heart and eyes filling with wonder, I stroke the waves of the unicorn's tail with my fingertips.
The night version of the mural isn't painted in the same playful and detailed style as the day version. It's more artistic, containing bold brush strokes and textures. Passionate. I honestly cannot imagine how Hunter managed to use the fluorescent paint to capture and bring out the normal paint under it in order to create a different scene.
"It is positively the most splendid thing I've ever seen," I say sincerely.
I take a couple of steps backwards and raise my hands to block most of the offensive parts from my view. "It's like having my very own moon. It's absolutely beautiful. You may actually be a genius... in spite of your proclivity for perversion."
"My what?"
"Has your mother seen this?" I ask, turning to look at him again. His eyes are trying to pop from his head now, and I almost laugh at his comical expression.
"Why would my mother be in your room in the dark?" he clearly hadn't considered the possibility of anybody but me seeing his thoughtful surprise.
I shrug. "I should show her then. She's a huge admirer of your work. She'll love it," I say sweetly.
"Huh? I... doubt that..." he's looking at me as if he's trying to figure out if I'd really show it to his mother. Oh, my word, I'd die of embarrassment if she saw this mural in my presence. I might die of embarrassment regardless if Hunter doesn't leave my room soon.
I am thoroughly enjoying his sudden discomfort, but I'm also starting to feel uneasy about being alone in my dusky room with a boy I barely know. Especially a boy exuding so much... boy-ness... Mount Sovereign Academy for Girls had at least 12 rules warning against this sort of thing.
"Thank you," the smile I offer him, though nervous, is the first sincere smile since I met him earlier today. "I really appreciate the hard work that went into these murals. They're incredibly beautiful paintings. It breaks my heart that I shan't be able to take them with me one day when I leave. Thank you."
Hunter's eyelids lower slightly, shading his eyes. He smiles almost shyly; no mockery or arrogance is present anymore.
Awesome, now we're standing here, smiling at each other like idiots.
We're wordlessly gazing into each other's eyes, and yet there seem to be many words flowing between us. Staring at him is becoming a habit I don't know how to break. Hunter swallows, his discomfort palpable.
"Okay..." he seems to have lost his vocabulary and most of his voice. He sucks his lips into a tight line and nods his head. "Good night."
"Good night."
I turn back to the mural to admire it some more, and after a short while, I hear Hunter close the bathroom door on his way out of my room. I breathe a laugh, wrapping my arms around myself. He definitely is a mischievous fellow. I doubt that there was any malice in his intentions. No problem, I'll simply blank out the offensive bits in the mural by pasting paper over them at night. That way, I'll be able to fully enjoy the night-time mural as well.
♫
Hunter
Willow is once again using her fingertips to trace various curves and lines in the painting when I enter the bathroom and turn to close her bedroom door. I can't stop myself from watching her for a few seconds. She seems to be lost in her own world. I grin, looking at her silly socks again.
Why does she have to be so friggin' cute?!
I finally realise that I'm being creepy, and closing her door, I cross the bathroom and enter my own room. Closing the door behind me, I lean my back against it for a few seconds, my mind racing alarmingly.
This is not good.
All the pictures I've seen of Willow were rather formal, with her surrounded by her preppy friends, usually wearing a stuffy school uniform. Ma told me that she was rather innocent and that she'd grown up very sheltered. Judging by the pictures, she'd seemed like a full-on prude and extremely uptight and snobbish. When Ma asked me to decorate her wall with whimsical fantasy images, I was a bit surprised to hear that she likes that kind of thing. Naturally, I added a few extra touches.
Why? Because I'm an arsehole, who likes messing with people. No arguments from me.
My best friend earnestly advised me against it multiple times, but I was feeling inspired. I don't really listen to people when I'm inspired, not even Dex. I'm not sure what reaction I've been expecting, but I'm pretty sure that that wasn't it. A tantrum, maybe, some sulking, hysterics, perhaps. Verbal assault was a definite possibility. Some teasing and a very sincere sounding "thank you," though? No.
I don't like people who are always looking down on others. Willow looks like the type, and she acts like the type with her stiff manner. She also sounds like the type with her perfect enunciation and high-class vocabulary. She seems to be everything that I actively dislike, and all things considered, I have good personal reasons to dislike people like that.
I am, however, starting to realise that it might all just be on the surface, that I'm being a judgmental ass, and that Willow might not be the kind of person I've feared her to be.
Still, teasing her is fun, and I'm quite impressed with how she turned the tables and ended up making me feel awkward. I laugh, pushing a hand through my hair. I can barely remember the last time someone had been able to make me feel uncomfortable and even a little embarrassed.
She won't really show my mom the mural, will she? Maybe Ma already saw it. She's been giving me more of those strange looks of hers lately. Nah, if she'd seen it, she would've said something. She definitely would've made me fix it.
The way Willow looks at me is starting to freak me out a little, though, in ways I cannot quite name. Girls always seem to like looking at me for some weird reason, I'm sort of used to it now, and I'm not easy to freak out. Willow makes me feel uneasy, and I don't know why.
♫
Ryan
"Are you going to be alright down here alone with Willow?" I ask, flopping down on Hunter's bed. When it comes to discussions with Hunter, shooting straight is the best approach. Any other approach could get one tied up in weird conversations for hours. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, shooting straight could have the exact same result.
His bedroom is a mess, as usual; the use of clothing hampers seems to be lost on the boy. Why use the basket in the bathroom when there's still room on the floor, the dresser, the shelves loaded with canvasses, and the nightstand? There's even something hanging from the ceiling light fixture. A sock?
I see the look Hunter is giving me and realise that I've left the door wide open. As usual, he doesn't disappoint.
"I don't know, Dad," he grins, tossing his discarded sweatpants at my head before pulling on a pair of soft briefs to sleep in. "Have you seen the muscles on that chick? To be honest, I'm actually a bit scared -"
"Oh, shut up. I'm being serious," I laugh, throwing the pants back at him. He dodges and makes a dive for the bed, landing next to me. That the base has not given up and died yet, is a strong testimony in favour of its craftsmanship and durability. I should contact the manufacturers and offer Hunter as an advertisement for their brand. Actually, there are only a few things around the house that have been able to survive the Hunter test. Using him as an advertising tool could be a lucrative business opportunity. Or there might be a huge career prospect for him as a Furniture Quality Assurance Tester.
"I mean, Willow is not quite what we've been expecting, Bud," I say in my reasonable voice because I'm trying to be reasonable. "She seems gentle and sweet, and she is rather... well... pretty -."
"Dude!" Hunter exclaims, feigning horror. "You're a married man, and she's way too young for you!"
I punch his shoulder, and he pretends that it hurts. He is clearly not going to try to be reasonable. Looking at him stretched out on his side, the picture of vibrant young adult health warms my heart. I am so proud of him. He'd come a long way from the broken, scrawny little runt I struggled to protect from the entire world.
"Come on; I'm trying to have a serious, deep father-son talk here."
Hunter pulls a face. "Yeah, don't like those."
"Be serious for five seconds," I say, punctuating each word with a poke in his ribs and chest. He laughs, gently swatting away my finger with each jab.
"Seriously, Dad, the girl looks like she's off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz," he sings. I chuckle at the rather apt description. "I'm not the tin man or Scarecrow or whichever dude it was that had the hots for Dorothy, so..."
"I'm not sure that's quite how the story goes-"
"Her virtue is safe with me. I'm not going to sneak into her room in the middle of the night and have my wicked way with her. I'm rather offended that we're even having this conversation, Sir! I thought you trusted me!"
His voice rose dramatically nearing the end of his speech, the last couple of sentences taking on an accent that sounded suspiciously close to Willow's posh way of speaking. I roll my eyes at him.
"I do trust you. That was not my point. I was actually just asking on behalf of your hormones and general mental state but thank you for clarifying it in so much detail. I feel a lot better now."
Hunter laughs, shaking his head. "A bit late to start worrying about things like that now, isn't it, Dad? Don't worry," he adds, raising a hand, forestalling any arguments from me. "I've promised Ma that I'll be good to her goddaughter, and you taught me to keep my promises. My hormones are undisturbed, and my mental state is as sober as a celibate monk's." He considers his last statement for a few seconds, and then he frowns.
Here we go...
"Except that I am actually sober, not like that monk in that Ghost Rider movie. Wait, don't celibate monks drink a lot to keep the edge off? Seems to be the logical thing to do... Or do they just pray all the time instead? I have no idea; I'm not a monk... Well, we're not even Catholic, so I'll have to google... or maybe Dex knows! He's not a monk or Catholic either, but he knows something about being Catholic, so-"
"Alright then," I interrupt, saving my son from himself. Hunter's explanation could go on for the rest of the night and become more and more disturbing as he loses his way and stumbles into the village of the ludicrous. I smile, feeling slightly better. Hunter is known for keeping his promises. Yes, despite having a formidable mischievous streak and virtually no filter between his brain and his mouth, he is one of the good guys. Still, he's a virile young man, and having Willow around all the time might be hard on him.
On the other hand, if Willow's presence does mess with his equilibrium, it might actually be a good thing. It could get him back on the track I know he longs to follow and away from the strange route he'd been choosing for his life due to some misguided ideas about himself. Ideas that nobody has been able to help him debunk. Mostly because it is the one topic, he steadfastly refuses to really talk about... ever. It's hard to get him to shut up about virtually any other topic.
It hurts when Hunter suffers. Beth and I don't want to add to it.
"I just wanted to make sure that you're not struggling under a heavy burden of temptation. Temptation can be hard to..."
"You dirty dog..." he rolls away when I aim another punch at him. "Okay, okay. I get it," he laughs. "Thanks, Dad, but as I said, she's not my type."
"Oh, you have a type now?" Hunter has never done much in the line of dating, and lately, he'd been actively avoiding it.
"Yes, and Miss Strawberry Shortcake is not it."
"So, what is your type then?" I ask, really interested in his answer since he's never mentioned any preferences before. Hunter and I have always had the kind of relationship where we could talk to each other about anything at all.
"Lara Croft."
I laugh; that's a surprise. "Tomb Raider? Which one, Angelina Jolie or Alicia Vikander?"
Hunter gives me one of those looks of his. The one that always means that he's about to spit out a load of nonsense. Actually, it might be his default look since he's always spewing nonsense.
"The one from the very first game. The slightly pixelated PC version."
"Uh-huh," I say, "a blurry girl who talks little, shoots a lot, and can easily vault over really high walls? Seems like perfect wife material."
"You're so sexist."
"What?!" I gasp. "Hey, don't change the subject, you sneaky bastard. Just remember that Willow is not Paisley. She's not used to all your quirks."
Hunter gives me a dark frown. "A father is not supposed to say that his son has quirks. Aunt B's car has quirks; I have personality."
"Well, okay then, don't overwhelm the girl with your personality."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he grins, and I cringe, wondering what he has up his sleeve. "Speaking of Becca's car. We need to take a look at its engine, see what we can fix before it croaks completely."
"Sure, Dad."
"You managed to do it again!" I exclaim, and Hunter seems genuinely puzzled by my accusation. "You changed the subject."
"Dad, you're the one who started talking about engines..."
I sigh, giving up. We're not going to get anywhere tonight. "Please just come talk to me if you're having a hard time and need my help, okay?"
"Same to you, Dad."
"Thanks, Buddy, but I was referring to the whole Willow proximity arrangement."
"So was I..."
"Seriously, you're making me old!"
"I'm keeping you young," he laughs, and then he waves his hands, letting me know that he is going to stop messing with me for two seconds. "Sure, Dad, I'll speak to you if my hormones and animal instincts are threatening to get the better of me, but I'm pretty sure that you have nothing to worry about."
Well, that's as good as I'm going to get from him. I tousle his hair and roll off the bed, jumping to my feet. "You need to change your bedding; it's starting to smell."
"It's the aroma of cosiness and comfort, the fragrance of home, but fine, I'll destroy it tomorrow," he says, scrambling around until he has buried himself in the aroma of cosiness and comfort under his duvet. "Thanks, Dad, it's been a great father-son chat."
I laugh, shaking my head at him. "It's been awesome, as usual. Have a good night."
"Thanks, you too, Dad."
I cross the floor, sidestepping gym bags, clothing, scrunched-up drawings, and other crap to reach the door. The most disturbing part of all this chaos is that Hunter actually tidies his room about once every day.
"Ma just wasn't very clear on exactly what being good to Willow involves. I mean, it could potentially include all kinds of interesting activities..."
I stop, grab a volleyball from the ball basket near the door, spin around and shoot it at Hunter, making him laugh.
♪♫♪