Willow
This morning, Hunter was kind enough to give me one of his gym bags when he saw me carrying a small canvas bag bulging uncomfortably with my gym clothes. I forgot to buy a bag for PE during our shopping trip on Saturday and found the barely-large-enough, reusable shopping bag in the pantry.
He assured me that he has more gym bags than any normal person requires and is often giving some away. Apparently, the school's rugby teams and the MMA club regularly receive nice gear from sponsors. He even allowed me to pick one from his collection.
When school let out, Paisley and I left the showers together and joined the boys in the parking lot. Hunter took my bags, put them in the trunk of Aunt Beth's car and retrieved the motorcycle helmet he'd stored in there this morning.
"You guys can take the car, and I'll take Tan's bike if you want," he'd generously suggested, and Tanner was open to the idea. They left the decision to me, and I chose the motorcycle for two reasons. One, I thought that the bike and car exchange and re-exchange would be more trouble than it's worth, causing one or both of them to have to do extra driving.
Two, I've never experienced Tanner's driving skills and thought that a motorcycle would be less problematic than a car since a car is bigger and could potentially land us in more trouble.
Clinging to Tanner's back while he drives the motorcycle as if we're travelling on the Knight Bus from the Prisoner of Azkaban movie, invisibly whizzing through muggle traffic, I am severely regretting that decision now.
This is Tanner, for crying out loud! What was I thinking? That he would drive like 'a stuffy old granny?'
Yes, a car is bigger, and yes, our chances of surviving a car crash are also much bigger. I really have no sense at all. I'm pretty sure I didn't just want to cuddle Tan-Tan, as Paisley pointed out when I picked the motorcycle. I should've realised my mistake when Hunter looked as if I'd struck him when I said I'd like to ride the motorcycle.
Tanner handles the motorcycle the way he handles everything in life. Fast, close to the edge and a little recklessly. At least, that's what I think he's doing; I'm struggling to keep my eyes open to confirm. Riding with Asher had been liberating, and riding with Hunter a sensual overload, riding with Tanner is downright terrifying.
I'm holding onto him so tightly that he might be running the risk of losing some of his ribs.
We come to a blissful stop at a red traffic light, and the hell-driver suddenly takes my hands in his own, his fingers gently massaging the cramps from mine. "Relax. I won't let anything happen to you, Priss," he says, and the sound of his voice sends calming waves pulsing through my heart.
I believe him.
In my defence, Tanner has the kind of voice any hypnotherapist would kill or die for. It is also the voice often associated with advertisements, featuring some dreamy man wearing nothing but well-oiled muscles enticing you to buy the ice cream melting down his fingers. I believed that man too when he told me that the no fat, no sugar, no taste ice cream he was selling would overwhelm my senses with its glorious flavour.
He lied.
I do, however, relax a little more when the motorcycle pulls away again. I soon realise that relaxing is not such a good idea either. The moment I'm not freaking out in terror, seeing every boring minute of my life flashing before my eyes, the succubus awakened in me upon my arrival in Briar Cove starts to revel in Tanner's own rather glorious flavour.
It doesn't take me long to remember his glitter-splashed muscles, angelic smile and sweet kiss. I wholeheartedly believe that he might be the one in serious peril right now.
Help! I'm turning into a completely different creature!
For more reasons than I can put into words, I am relieved when he slows the motorcycle to open the Drakes' gate with his remote and parks the vehicle on the paving in front of the garage doors. I'm too enthralled to realise that he is not just pausing to drop me off before going on his way to whatever destination he is heading for.
"Oh, you're coming in?" I remark, surprised when he dismounts with me and removes his helmet too.
"Well," he shrugs. "I guess I could just pee in the bushes over there if you don't want me in the house with you."
"What? Oh!" My cheeks flush a bright red, ashamed of my lack of consideration. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that... I just thought you were on your way somewhere and..." I trail off, shrugging when he just grins at me.
"Just the kitchen," he says, holding up a small cooler bag he'd taken from beneath the motorcycle seat. "I'm going to make the cheesecake I promised your mom."
My word, I am preoccupied today! I saw him take out the little bag, and I saw him put his schoolbag in the trunk of Aunt Beth's car as well, none of that registered with me. So, he'll probably be here when Hunter returns, which negates reason number one for choosing the motorcycle. I now understand Hunter's look, Paisley's remark and Tanner's grin even better.
"That is very sweet of you, my mother will be thrilled, but they're not coming home today," I remind him.
"It will taste even better tomorrow," he shrugs, and then he narrows his eyes at me, giving me a rather strange smile. He almost looks... awkward. Tanner Trent looking awkward. Most improbable look I've seen on his face up to date.
"Are you afraid of being alone here with me, Prissy?" He is not teasing me for a change.
Am I?
I trail my eyes over his features, his thick hair, unreadable, long-lashed grey eyes, perfect nose and lips ripe for kissing, and I swallow involuntarily. I see something else as well, something not clearly visible on the beautiful surface of his face, something radiating from within him.
Vulnerability.
In the week that I've known him, Tanner has shown me so many different sides of himself, and the ones that stand out loudly and clearly above all the others are his vulnerability and his capacity for random kindness.
"No," I say with a confident smile and turn away to skip up the patio steps and unlock the front door.
♫
Molly
Dropping my school tracksuit pants into the washing machine, I once again find myself hovering somewhere between a smile and a frown. I honestly cannot say for sure whether Paisley saved me from being emotionally mauled by those mean girls on purpose or by accident.
I guess it's mainly because, until yesterday, I wholeheartedly believed that she was one herself—a bully to be avoided at all costs. I'm not proud of myself for making such an unfair judgment, but then again, what did I have to go on? Scathing sarcasm, deadly glares and some rather rude observations. Really thinking about that now, Paisley usually just directs any of those at people who make her angry, get in her way or try to mess with one of her boys.
Nevertheless, I was grateful when she and Willow appeared from nowhere and simply extracted me from an encounter I was not enjoying. She even managed to make fun of my three ex-friends in the process.
I have no idea what she was on about when she talked about my duty, the bench, and Tanner eating her. That made no sense. Am I supposed to pay for my lunch? No, it didn't quite sound like that was the case. Perhaps she was just talking gibberish as an excuse to pull me away from those girls. That would mean that she saved me deliberately.
That Kichiwarawara truly is an enigma.
I was soon too winded to ask her about any of it, and she didn't say anything more. We jogged like pensioners out for an evening stroll, and yet I could barely talk after less than half the round.
I didn't stay to take a shower. After the pictures posted by Stephanie and Noelle, I'm terrified of ever being in a situation that has the potential of me being caught in any level of undress ever again. I do all my showering and undressing in the safety of my home. Alone.
"Hey, Alien. How has your day been so far?" I ask, picking up our pug when he comes wheezing and snuffling into the kitchen and sits down on my feet to look up at me with eyes that seem to be on the verge of popping right out of their sockets.
The poor thing has never looked or sounded like the healthiest animal on this planet, and now that he's nearing retirement age, I am actively distressed for him. The ridiculous amount of medication he's on just breaks my heart.
"Wanna go walkies? Hmmm... Walkies?" Well, to be more accurate, it will be carryings rather than walkies. Like me, he gets winded way too quickly. I'm searching for his leash - which I always seem to misplace - when the doorbell rings about a hundred times. That can only be one person.
"Seriously!"
I put Alien down because he is squirming to get out of my arms and step into the foyer to open the door and put an end to the annoying noise.
"Ronan! Come on!"
"Hello, to you too!" He grins, shoving a plastic container into my hands so that he can scoop up the dog drooling on his flip-flops.
"Your cat is not here; I'm not holding him hostage in my room today. I saw him pick a fight with 204's cat on 103's balcony a little while ago."
"I know, he's keeping an eye on my sister's canary right now. I brought you that," he says, nodding at the container I forgot I was holding.
I look at it now and flick a questioning glance at Ronan. "What is it?"
"It comes with instructions," he answers, not answering at all.
"What?"
"Why the hell didn't you come to the bench for lunch? Try these and let me know what you think. I'll call you." That wasn't even his own voice he was using just now. He sounded like a drunk gigolo. He has finally lost the few marbles he still had left.
"Were you wrestling with Hunter again and hit your head too hard?"
"I was being Tanner."
"When you were wrestling with Hunter?"
Now he's gaping at me as if I hit my head, I did... a few minutes ago, but it wasn't that hard. This conversation is going absolutely nowhere really fast, and Alien is leaving a trickle down the front of Ronan's t-shirt.
How nice.
The little dog loves Ronan and almost always becomes too excited when he gets a cuddle from my goofy neighbour. As proof of how often this happens, Ronan ignores the trickle, still grinning at me as if he is not wearing a shirt with a dog-piss design at the moment.
"Just now, when I said that, I was being Tanner," he gives a long sigh as if he is not the one irritating me right now. "Tan asked me to give you that and to ask you why you didn't come to the bench today and to tell you that he would like your thoughts and opinions on the stuff in the container. He'll call you later to hear what you have to say. There might've been a please in there somewhere, but I really can't remember. It's Tan, so probably not."
There are so many things about this conversation that I do not understand. I grasp the meaning of the words and the sentences, but... Why? Until yesterday Tanner and I hadn't even said two words to each other for almost six years, and before that, his last word to me had been something along the line of: 'Eeeeaaaaaaaaauuugh!'
Does Ronan even have the right address?
"Me?"
"Well, he didn't mean Alien," he points out, scratching behind the dog's ears. Alien is lounging in Ronan's arms, an expression of sheer bliss on his wrinkly face.
I look at the lid of the container I'm holding as if some kind of explanation might be printed on it. There's none. My heart is beating a little faster, imagining the wonderful things that might be waiting under this lid.
I've been eating salads and chickpea mush since dinner yesterday. I'm starving, and my cravings are all over the place. Earlier, I chewed on a picture of an oozing slice of chocolate cake. I'm a little depressed and am trying to find creative ways to get into shape.
Mostly my creativity came up with things like dismounting from furniture in death-defying new ways, walking backwards and pumping my knees high wherever I go in the apartment.
At first, I tried walking in lunges, but that is just too time-consuming, and I have trouble getting my feet back together after each lunge. I gave up on that stupid idea when I toppled over, hit my head against the coffee table and gave a robust fart. It hurt, and it reminded me of Stephanie's mean words during PE.
When we were in eighth grade, I once farted during a rather strange stretch exercise, which I am convinced was designed to release air from one's intestines. I am sure of that; I was, after all, not the only one who farted. When it happened, we all giggled good-naturedly, like it was the funniest thing ever.
Lately, Stephanie is bringing up that incident every chance she gets, and there is nothing funny or good-natured about it now. That's what happens when your best friends suddenly become your enemies for some obscure reason you don't even understand.
I do not know how to feel about this seductive delivery. I'm hungry, and I've been having rather lewd dreams about Tanner's cooking. Honestly, I could start a completely new genre of porn starring myself eating one of his dumplings. But I desperately want to lose weight, I don't need this kind of seduction. The boy is evil!
"This is torture!"
Ronan pulls a face, blinking at me. He doesn't know about the death-defying furniture dismounts, backwards walking, farts and dumpling porn. I can understand his confusion.
"I'll take it if you don't want it."
"No!" I gasp, hugging the container to my chest and that seals the deal. I've lost. I open the lid and roll up my eyes in bliss as the most enticing aromas all gather together and launch a merciless attack on my nostrils. "Ooooooooooooh!" I groan, causing Ronan to chortle happily.
"I haven't even touched you yet, but thank you, I'm flattered."
"Shut up," I say, opening my eyes to inspect this sudden, priceless gift. I think about it for a second, really think about it, dragging compassion, kindness and other generous crap from the depths of my dark soul. Then I glare at Ronan. "Would you like something?"
I begrudgingly hold the container out to him and clench my teeth while he laughs at me and gratefully takes one of the most slutty mini quiches I've ever seen.
"These are really good," he says, popping the whole thing into his mouth. It's like watching the Ring getting swallowed by the fire of Mount Doom in Mordor.
Nooooo! My preciousssss!
"How will you even know that? Did you even taste it?" I all but sob in despair. Well, inner despair. I do not show my despair to others; that would just be weird.
"Tanner gave us loads of them during lunch."
I close the lid, pressing my lips closed too, lest I end up saying things again. "Thanks for the delivery," I hiss, not wanting to open my mouth too wide and have more words escape.
"I'm taking your dog," Ronan says, turning towards the elevator and stairs instead of his apartment at the end of the corridor to my right.
"Wait!" I yell over my trauma now. "What do you mean he's gonna call me?"
"On the phone... technology... that kind of thing..."
"You gave him my number?!" I squeak.
"Duh!"
That is just... What? No! "How could you just give the guy my number? Ro, I thought we were friends!"
He seems baffled; he obviously does not see the problem in handing my number to Satan.
"We are, and he's my friend too and can be a bit scary. I can outrun him," Ronan can outrun his own shadow. He really is that fast. "But eventually, I'll need to stop and... he makes nice food."
None of what he just said made any sense.
"What's the problem, Moll? Most girls would pay Tan to call them! They even write their names and numbers on his abs! I've seen it."
I make gagging sounds, pretending to dry heave. I almost puke for real because I'm being so realistic in my acting. Ronan chuckles, throwing me a wave and disappears into the stairwell with my dog.
♫
Willow
Walking Little-Piddle has completely chased any desire for a nap right out of my system. Honestly, how could I go through the entire day valiantly fighting the urge to sleep just to have that desire disappear the moment I am able to fulfil it?
Tanner is in the kitchen making the cheesecake when I return home. He is wearing some of Hunter's clothes, I presume, because all he brought with him was the small cooler bag containing special ingredients for the cheesecake... and his attitude. He is no longer dressed in his school uniform; he is wearing a dark grey long-sleeved t-shirt, lighter grey sweat pants, and flip-flops.
Completely focused on his project, he doesn't seem to be aware of me standing just inside the kitchen door, watching him. He must have heard Piddles greeting Rover when we just got back, but if he did, he is showing no signs of it. There is something truly mesmerising and soothing about watching Tanner bake. He flows between tasks like a dancer in a perfectly choreographed performance. His hands don't miss a thing.
Little-Piddle, done playing with Rover, comes dashing past me, straight to Tanner and cheekily stands up against his leg, demanding his attention.
"Hey, Hairball," Tanner says. He drags a finger through the cream left over in one of the bowls he'd been using and holds his hand out so the dog can lick his finger clean. "That's good, huh? Want some more?"
Honestly, if I'd never seen anything but Tanner's less-than-stellar behaviours and attitudes, seeing this scene would've left me astounded. The gentle way in which he is speaking to the little dog completely shatters any illusions one might have of Tanner as an apathetic narcissist. I feel a smile tug at my lips, a warm, tingling sensation filling my heart.
After washing his hands at the kitchen sink Tanner finally becomes aware of me. He looks a little startled for a moment, but then he grins, dipping a teaspoon in the bowl containing the fluffy filling he'd made for the cheesecake.
"Wanna taste?"
Do I ever!
Me, the dog... same thing. I walk the few steps from the door to the counter and obediently open my mouth when he holds the spoon to my lips. I thought he was going to hand me the spoon! This feels a little too intimate, but at least he's not making me lick his fingers. Still, I would've become very flustered and embarrassed right now if the perfect symphony of flavours had not overpowered my senses and tumbled me straight into blissful oblivion.
"Oh, my word! Tanner!" I cannot say more than that. He gives me an amused look, one eyebrow raised and turns back to the task of transferring the mixture to the pie dishes eagerly waiting to be filled.
"Usually, when girls give me that look, there's no food involved," he says, grinning at me in that lecherous way he has that used to freak me out but now simply drives me up the walls. When I hastily change my ecstatic expression into a frown and roll my eyes, he adds: "just saying."
"You're so annoying," I huff, crossing to the cabinets containing the glasses to pour us something to drink. Besides, he's lying. Molly gave him many passionate looks yesterday when he was feeding her, and there'd been plenty of food involved. "Paisley said you're joining the army at the end of this year? Perhaps they'll cure you of your perverted tendencies."
Chuckling, Tanner grabs the end of my braid and gives it a sharp tug. "You've become very brave lately, Miss Priss," he says, flexing his wrist to wind the braid around his hand, ultimately drawing me towards him. I have no choice; I let him reel me in or lose my scalp. "Nothing can cure me of my perverted tendencies."
I feel a little breathless by the time I turn to face him. I'm still not used to being touched and handled by random boys, not even playfully, the way he is doing right now. My heart skips several beats, but then I look into his eyes and am surprised to hear myself giggle.
Tanner is not a random boy at all.
"Too late, Tanner, I've got you all figured out now," I grin. "Well, mostly."
Laughing, I push him away, and he lets me go, my braid slipping from his hand.
"Yeah," he sighs as if the knowledge that I've started to see through his armour and no longer find him terrifying depresses him.
"The person I'm struggling to figure out is Hunter," I say, taking a bottle of orange juice and one filled with a mango breakfast mix from the refrigerator. I hold them up, wiggling my hands, prompting Tanner to choose one. He points to the orange juice, and after putting the other one back in the refrigerator, I resume my rudely interrupted quest for glasses.
Once more, with feeling.
"What's there to figure out?" Tanner asks. "The dude is a moron; he says weird shit all the time, likes to sleep everywhere and anywhere, eats like he's auditioning to become the brand name for the next super vacuum cleaner, and pisses me off every single chance he gets. He's a lazy, noisy, glutinous... annoy-a-saurus."
I blink at Tanner's rather unflattering description, and then I laugh, shaking my head. "Splendid, does it come with a manual?
Tanner laughs too, sliding the two cheesecakes into the refrigerator. "It's really not that hard, Prissy. Think of the dude as one giant pet. Just feed him to stop him from talking, and you'll have won half the battle. The hardest part is teaching him not to pee on the carpet."
Though feeding Hunter certainly has proven to be very effective in stopping crazy words from coming out of his mouth, I don't think it is going to be very helpful with the real problem I'm facing.
"Paisley wants me to seduce him into staying in Briar Cove or to at least come back after basic training," I hear myself blurt out and nearly bite off my tongue. What is it about Tanner that always loosens my body's most dangerous organ? He is the least likely person I would ever befriend or confide in, and yet, here I am again, just saying things to him. Things that are now making me blush as if I'm on fire.
"Want some pointers on that?" he asks, laughing at me.
As I said, the least likely person!
"Noooooooooooo!" I exclaim, stopping any possible pointers from being directed at me.
"I'm starting to feel a little insulted, Prissy," Tanner laughs, taking the glass of orange juice I hold out to him.
"You should be," I grin. "Seriously, though, I don't understand it, Tanner. It makes no sense to me. Hunter has everything a boy could desire to have. Loving parents, a warm home, friends, a cute baby brother..."
"A hot chick in the room next to his..."
I roll my eyes and give a snort that would've made Paisley jealous; it's making Tanner laugh again.
"Why would he want to leave and never come back? I do believe that is what is being implied, correct?"
Tanner doesn't answer; he simply sips his juice, his eyes clouding over. I want to shake him.
"Why won't anybody just be straight with me and tell me what is going on? I care about Hunter, and the thought that something is driving him away from everything and everybody that he loves makes my head want to explode!" I didn't mean to say that out loud, but I did, and Tanner is blinking at me as though I've slapped him. "Please, Tanner, I want to understand. I'm pretty sure it's not because of lycanthropy!"
He pulls a face, looking at me as if I've lost my mind.
"Paisley?"
"Yes, Paisley," I sigh, a little irritated now. "I cannot imagine how heartbroken his parents would be if he just left them. Paisley is also desperate for him to stay. She said that she thinks I could help him." I put my glass on the counter, turn my back to lean against the edge and give Tanner what I hope is a beseeching look or at least a threatening one if that will work better. "Do you also think I could help him?"
"Yeah," he croaks, and then, looking away, he downs the contents of his glass and goes to the sink to wash it.
"How? How could I possibly help him? What could I have to offer? I don't even understand the problem. I feel like I'm walking around blindfolded in a maze, bumping into every wall and obstacle. I'm terrified that I'll say or do the wrong thing and make it worse rather than better. If I at least understood the problem-"
"You're right," Tanner mutters, interrupting me. He turns his back on the washbasin to face me and pushes a hand through his thick multi-shaded hair. He starts to nibble on his lower lip, a legion of expressions flitting across his face. Just when I think his biting is becoming intense enough to draw blood, he suddenly walks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders, gazing intently into my eyes. "At the very least, you need to understand the problem."
He pushes me to the nearest bar stool, forcing me down on it. "Sit; I'll tell you what's going on with Hunter."
♫
Tanner
Willow is right; she needs to know the whole truth about Hunter. He's part of her life now. Actually, I'm surprised that she doesn't know everything yet. It should come with the territory. Besides, she never talks this much, especially not to me. It must be very important to her. She clearly really cares about him. Besides, if Willow knows what happened to Hunter and reacts the way I suspect she will act, it might just be the thing to push the guy into facing his fears and dealing with what he feels for this girl.
I've made up my mind to tell her and can see that she's relieved by that decision. I fully intend to tell her, but standing in front of her, looking into her wide eyes, the words are sticking in my throat. My palms are starting to sweat, my heart is racing, and it's not because her proximity wickedly turns me on. It does, but it's not that.
I'm about to have a friggin' panic attack.
There are so many thoughts flashing through my mind in such a rapid-fire way I'm feeling dizzy. I think I understand why Paisley decided to put a fantasy spin on the whole thing.
I'm about to chicken out!
What if I told Willow, and it backfires, and she pulls away from Hunter? What if I tell her, and she starts to pity him and freaks the guy out? What if I tell her, and she somehow ends up hurting him? I don't want him to be hurt. I also don't want the guy to hate me. Should I really be doing this? Since when do I think before I act?
I don't like all this thinking!
I look into Willow's eyes for answers but don't see any. She has beautiful eyes, though. Right now, their pupils almost completely swallowed the light grey irises. Willow's expression gradually changes from ready to receive whatever information I'm about to throw at her, to uncertain, to flustered, to annoyed, until finally, she looks downright suspicious. It's like watching a really pretty animation.
"If you're not going to tell me, just stop playing with me," she says, pushing me away and sliding off the stool. "I thought you understood..."
"I do!" I grab her arm, stopping her from leaving. She's really upset now. "I... I want to tell you. It's just... I can't say the w-words. They're too... h-hard..."
Great, now I sound like a friggin' moron!
I clear my throat, drop her arm and try to look more macho and smooth and less like a princess having a meltdown. There's one thing I could do to let her have it all in no ambiguous terms.
"I'll show you."
Willow frowns at me, but she no longer looks angry or about to run away.
"You have a laptop?"
She has one, and she leads me to her bedroom to get it. She doesn't look completely convinced that I'm really trying to be helpful and am not just messing with her again. Believe me, I would so much rather just be messing with her.
The second I step into her bedroom I lose the ability to breathe. I try, but no air is coming in or going out, mostly because my heart somehow got stuck in my trachea. There are frills and lace and flowers everywhere. It's the second girliest room I've ever been in, in my whole life. The only room worse than this one was Tracy's bedroom. I can feel tears burning behind my eyes. My heart is beating in overdrive.
I have to get the hell out of here!
"Whoa! Livingroom!" I manage to gasp and make my way there as fast as I can. Willow follows after plucking her laptop off her bed rather angrily.
"Very funny," she grumbles, sitting on one of the bean bags I've pulled up to the coffee table. I've collapsed into the other one and am trying my best not to vomit.
"Sorry," I gasp, still struggling to get my breathing straight. I haven't been in Willow's room since I helped to paint the walls. I've never seen that mural, furniture, or anything turning it into the fantasy world it's become.
To be honest, seeing her on Saturday, wearing her cute dress and ballet shoes, pushed my anxiety up many notches. It wasn't that obvious because I was covered in glitter-goo at the time, having a massive meltdown. Fortunately, Paisley's ballet activities have managed to desensitize me to a certain extent. Submersive therapy, I guess. I no longer hyperventilate when she appears in costume and stage paint.
I just sweat a little more than usual, as long as none of it gets on me.
Willow's room just now caught me off guard because I'm already tense as crap. How the hell am I supposed to explain this to Willow without spilling the beans on every sordid detail of my past? A past I really want to forget but, for some reason, can remember in vivid detail.
Wow, I'm such an arsehole! Here I am, trying to act all smooth and indifferent to hide my secrets while I'm getting ready to throw headlights on Hunter's.
Well, Willow wants to know about Hunter. She needs to know about him. She could potentially help him, and I believe that she wants to. She doesn't want to know about me. She doesn't need to know about me. There's bugger all she could do to help me, and I doubt she'd want to even if there were.
"Let's just call it PTSD, okay? I can handle that kind of stuff when it comes in the form of cupcakes and icing flowers and crap I make myself, not in any other form," I throw her a crumb when she opens her laptop, turns it on, and levels limpid eyes on me. "My sister would've loved your room." I hear myself say, being completely honest.
Willow has this way about her that just destroys all my intentions of not being open and honest. Great, keep going on like this, and I'll be crying in her lap in no time, drowning her in a flood of things I'm pretty sure she'll wish she'd never heard.
I am surprised to see her expression soften, she smiles a warm and sympathetic smile, and now I'm wondering if she already knows all my secrets. She's never let on that she does. The idea that she knows is making me feel even more nauseous.
"I'm sorry, I thought you'd been in there before," she says, turning the laptop so I can see the screen. "I didn't realise that it would make you miss your sister. I should've warned you."
What the hell is she apologising to me for? So, she doesn't know then.
Now I'm actually a bit disappointed that she doesn't. If she knew and still treated me the same way she always does, it would've been kinda cool and a relief. I have no idea what to say to that, and right now, I'm going to reveal Hunter's deep dark secrets, not my own, so I just smile at her and pull the laptop towards me.
Finding the links I'm looking for doesn't take me long. Kyle has done a lot to make them harder to find, but it's easy enough if you know what to search for.
"I've opened two tabs. An article and a video that was made about a month after the article, so look at them in that order, or it won't make sense. It should answer all your questions." I start to push the laptop towards her, but when she takes it, I stop her, covering her hands with my own. "When you're done, make sure you close them and clear your browsing history. I don't want anybody else to see it. Especially not Hunter."
She gives me a distressed look. "Maybe I shouldn't..."
"No, you should. Just promise me you'll clear your history."
She nods her head, flicking her eyes between me and the laptop, suddenly not certain about her thirst for knowledge anymore.
"Okay," I say, letting go of her hands and getting to my feet.
"Where are you going!" she exclaims, alarmed at being left alone with whatever she's about to discover. She really looks afraid now.
I have such an awesome bedside manner!
"To make us some coffee and a snack," I smile, trying really hard to look upbeat and cheerful; I've given up on trying to look macho and smooth. "I'll be right back. Go ahead."
I flee into the kitchen before she can stop me again. I really cannot see any of that again. Ever.
♪♫♪