Authors: Michelle M. Watson
Slowly but Surely
The
first week I had to convince Falcon that I was truly okay. I wanted him to go
back to school and forget about me and my pitiful life. He has a life to get
back to, and I have Tyler’s murderer to identify. But, of course, he didn’t
budge. I think I made things worse for myself.
He
not only told me he wasn’t leaving, he also told me to take a semester off, and
he made me call my one and only friend, Harmony, from UNCG and forced me tell
her
everything
. I never use the word
friend
loosely. Harmony is
my roommate back at UNCG. I met her my freshman year of college, and I was
attracted to her because she’s the total opposite of me. Harmony is outgoing,
strong, and independent. She’s also multiracial like me, her mom is Sicilian
and Swiss and her father is African American. I was drawn to her from the
moment my eyes landed on her deep bronze skin and naturally blond wavy hair and
striking grey-green eyes. It broke the fragmented parts of my shattered soul to
hear the pain in her voice from what I did or more like
attempted
. She
wanted to come down but she’s at home with her parents, who live all the way in
L.A. That’s half a world away from Cherry Creek, North Carolina. I made her
promise me that she would stay home and enjoy her winter break. Christmas is
just a few short weeks away. She should be with her family.
I’m
still living with Falcon and I haven’t heard from GreenFrog since that first
time we messaged. I’m wondering if this entire mystery murderer is just some
elaborate joke or game to send me further into the grave. I mean, it wouldn’t
take long. I wouldn’t be much fun to play with. I’m already fading away.
I
sit cross-legged in the middle of Falcon’s bed with a bowl of Lucky Charms in
my hands as I impatiently watch the screen of the Tyler’s laptop, waiting for
the little black box to pop up. It’s Friday night, around the same time
GreenFrog contacted me last week.
After
I finish eating, I place the empty bowl on the stand and tuck Tyler’s teddy in
the crook of my arm, intensely staring at the screen and tiny icons. Fifteen
minutes drag by and I give up.
Leaving
the laptop open, I reach for my cell that’s next to me and scroll down the list
of names until I come upon Hunter. I want so badly to hit the “call” button,
but I don’t. A huge part of me misses Hunter. Even though I had a glimpse of
the old Hunter Friday night, it was enough to make an impact that twisted my
gut and perception of who he is. Hunter
did
give me a concussion. He
couldn’t see past his anger and he hurt me. I don’t think it was intentional at
all. I even kind of understand how my stupidity could bring him to the breaking
point of losing control. He apologized and I forgave him. That’s the end of
that. Instead of calling Hunter, I send him a text:
Me:
Hey.
What are you doing?
Hunter:
At
the hospital.
Me:
OMG!!!!
What happened?? Are you okay?????
Hunter:
Why do you always
use too many exclamation and question marks? One of each will do just fine.
Me:
You’re
such a douchebag. So I’m guessing you’re okay?! Better?
Hunter:
Much
better. I’ve been called worse. And yes, I’m okay. I volunteer a few times a
month bringing down cupcakes and playing piano for the kids in the oncology
ward. It’s my favorite place to escape when I can’t escape my life.
Me:
That’s so
sweet. You make my heart hurt.
Hunter:
Douchebag one
second, sweet the next. Keep it up. I think you may set a world record.
Me:
You’re back to
douchebag again. But seriously, I’m super proud of you. I know it must be
difficult to see them all going through so much.
Hunter:
Actually, it has
had the opposite effect on me. I see their little bodies going through hell,
fighting every day for every breath, for every second, and seeing that makes me
so much stronger. They don’t give up when life slams them down on the ground
and tramples them nearly to death, so why should I?
Me:
You’re
right. That’s beautiful.
Hunter:
Tell me
something I don’t know.
Me:
I
missed you this week. Why didn’t you come over to see me?
Hunter:
I was busy.
It’s not good for us to be together. It killed me to know I put my hands on
you. It isn’t right. You know the things my father did to my mother. I’m
turning into him. No matter how hard I try to stop the cycle, history keeps
repeating
itself
. I don’t trust myself around you, the
thin lines between right and wrong get blurry and completely disappear when
you’re in my presence. Avoiding you is just easier than the pain I cause when
I’m with you.
Me:
Is
that why you cut me out of your life? If it helps ease a fraction of your guilt,
I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you. I think if we tried really, really
hard, we can make it together.
Because you make me better.
Hunter:
Isabel,
that’s a really fucked up way to look at this. You deserve so much better than
me and what I can offer. Jesus, I don’t speak to you for six years and you send
me a text like the one you just sent. As fucked up as it is, it does give me a
weird sense of relief to know you forgive me. And to be honest, that was one of
the reasons I didn’t want you to be involved in my life. Until I get myself
together, I think it’s best to continue to stay away from you. I gotta go. The
kids want an encore.
Staring
at his last message and trying to think of a good response, the telltale ding
of the black box echoes around the large bedroom, startling me.
GreenFrog:
How was your
week, sweet Isabel?
PureIllusion:
Stressful.
When should I expect you?
Only Fridays?
GreenFrog:
Fridays
are my favorite day of the week, so yes. I did gather a little information
about the night Tyler was murdered. It was storming that night and raining so
hard that visibility was nearly zero. The lights in this little town went off.
There was a blackout. The street lamps that line The Suicide Bridge are bugged
with cameras. The entire bridge has surveillance. With the blackout, the
cameras should still serve their purpose due to the backup generator. But no
tapes were produced and given to the local police or to you, so I’m assuming
that foul play
is
involved. The security company that
has surveillance over the entire town is, Gabai Industries.
PureIllusion:
Are you saying
that Omar, Max’s father, killed my brother?
GreenFrog:
Not
quite. All I’m saying is keep your eyes wide open when you’re around the Gabai
family. But there is a way for you to get more information. You might have to
get your hands dirty and get out in the field.
PureIllusion:
How dirty are
we talking?!
GreenFrog:
Tomorrow
Max’s little brother, Rex, will be turning eighteen. He’s having a grand
birthday party at their lavish mansion. You should go. Pry a lot and see what
you can come up with. It’s worth attending. Wear something pretty and silver.
Silver is Rex’s favorite color. Guys love a pretty girl in a pretty dress. Be
sugar sweet and airheadish.
The stupider, the better.
The party starts at 9:00 P.M. Good luck.
And
just like that the black window with the bright green text vanishes. I fall
asleep
watching RuePaul’s Drag Race and sniffing Tyler’s
bear that smells so much like Hunter. I dream of silver glitter and sparkly
dresses and catty drag queens.
Special You
Someone
nudges me on my arm. I grunt and roll on the opposite direction of the bed. The
same person pokes me in the side of the ribs and in the ass. “Stop,” I say
hoarsely. “It’s rude. I’m still sleeping.”
A
pair of hands pushes down on my back, pressing most of their weight on me and
bouncing my body up and down against the mattress as if I’m some kind of play
toy or ball.
“Seriously?
What the hell?”
Soft
giggling noises come from the individual at hand. Small hands cup my butt,
feeling me up. “Wake your ass up, love bird. I flew all the way from
California. The least you could have done was open those pretty little eyes for
me.”
What?
Harmony?
I
groan, turning over to face her. I’m greeted with warm grey-green eyes and a
mop of lustrous golden hair. I wipe the sleep from my eyes. “What are you doing
here? I told you not to come.”
She
tsks
, waving her slender index finger in my face.
How
Hunterish
of her
. “When a friend tells another friend
not to come that always means: come and please be with me, and I need you more
than you think. So don’t give that bullshit sob story that you’re okay, because
I
know
you. And you’re definitely not okay, love bird. I’m here, you’re
here, and we’re here together. Plus, I have to keep The Creep away from you.”
My
brows lift.
“The Creep?”
“Yeah,
The
Creep, Hunter Knight. That dude is a real fucking
stalker, like for real for real. I can’t believe he gave you a concussion and
spanked
you.” She frowns, shaking her head.
“How’s
he a stalker?”
I ask, a bit confused.
“Well,
I came up with that conclusion on my long flight over here. Just hear me out.
Hunter dropped you like a slimy used condom—”
“Really?
You couldn’t
just say ‘hot potato’?”
She
shrugs dismissively. “Who wants to use old ass similes like that? The point is
that he cut you completely and totally out of his life without an explanation.
You were his childhood best friend, Isabel. You just don’t erase someone so
important without something substantial enough to do so. You dated his other
ex-best friend throughout high school and moved away to college. This may just
be me, but what’s the chance of Hunter attending the
same
college or
wanting
to attend the same college as you. You would be nothing but a dark cloud of
misery from the past for him. Why would he want to be at the exact same college
when he had other options unless, unless he
wants
to watch you. Keep you
in his line of sight. I’ve never really paid attention to how many
coincidences
there were when it comes to Hunter Knight, how he eats at the same places you
do, how he’s involved in the same activities you are in, how he shops at the
same stores you shop at. I thought about every moment I saw him, but there’s
this one moment in particular that stands out from all the others. I was
running late one night. I was suppose to meet you at the library for our crash
study session, but when I arrived, Hunter, he was watching you so intently like
a predator that stalks its prey before it eats it. He was sitting
alone
at least six tables away without a book, piece of paper, or anything. He was
just staring, wide-eyed and alert. You were so engrossed in your books that you
never knew he was there to begin with. I thought it was weird but not important
enough to bother you with it. Now that I look back on it, it’s fucking creepy,
lovebird. He was your shadow the entire time and you never knew.”
It
takes me a long moment to digest this.
Hunter.
Stalking.
Me.
It
just doesn’t make sense.
“Why
would Hunter
want
to stalk me? I don’t think he even
likes
me.”
“He
likes you. He likes you a whole helluva lot, to the point where you are his
obsession, consuming his every waking thought and dreams as well. He probably
jerks to your picture every day and night. It’s always the good-looking ones
you have to be aware of. Hunter’s so far up your ass I bet he knows what exact
brand of tampons you use.”
I
feel my face heat. “You’re being silly, Harmony.”
“It
wouldn’t surprise me if he did—”
“What
are you girls in here chatting about?” Falcon interjects, leaning against the
frame of the door, dressed in causal straight leg jeans and a golden-brown
sweater that brings out his light brown eyes, his face smooth and his dark hair
is perfectly disheveled.
Harmony
smiles sweetly at him. “Hello, handsome. We are talking about tampons if you
must know.”
Falcon
smiles back. “Don’t be a smartass, Harmony.”
“Don’t
pick a fight with me, Falcon. I’ll win every time.”
He
lifts a challenging brow. “Are you sure about that?”
They
always play like this. It’s what happens when you put two alphas in one
room—they challenge one another to find out who’s weaker. It’s the law of
nature.
Her
smile broadens, turning sharper. “Do you want to test the theory?”
“Maybe
some other time, we should go out and get some breakfast first.”
***
I
sit in Roxy’s Diner in a booth in a tight corner with three of my favorite
people. Harmony and Falcon are in a heated discussion about the economy. Victor
is cutting his buttery syrup-covered waffles into perfect triangle pieces as he
hums along with the song that streams through the speakers. I recognize it “The
Edge of Reality” by Elvis Presley. Hunter used to listen to that song all the
time. No matter where I go, I can’t get away from Hunter. It seems impossible
now.
Spearing
a sausage link with a fork, I bring up to my mouth and take bites off it as my
eyes roam around the lively diner. Grandparents are scolding their badly
behaved grandchildren for jumping on the on the cushiony booths. Husbands and
wives are holding hands across the tables, conversing quietly among themselves.
Groups of teenagers are laughing loudly, talking about how “amazing” Max’s
party will be tonight. The sight before me looks like something right from a Hallmark
movie, except this little southern town has a very dark secret. A killer lives
freely amongst us.
“We
need to go shopping,” I mutter through mouthfuls of cheesy grits, “I need a
silver dress.”
Vic
shakes his head, offended somehow. “Honeybunch, I don’t go to art school for
any reason. I am a design prodigy. You want a silver dress then I’ll make you a
silver dress.
Custom-made dresses for the beautiful Izzy
always.”
“Really?”
I ask, smiling
in disbelief. It feels strange to smile, but it’s the kind of strange that I
like.
“Absolutely,”
Victor says, smiling too.
“What’s
the special occasion?” Falcon asks.
“Rex’s birthday party.
He’s turning
eighteen,” I say.
“You
want to go to Rex’s party?” Falcon asks suspiciously.
I
nod.
“Yeah.
I need to get out the house and integrate
with society.” I’m lying, but it looks like he’s buying it.
“So
we’re going to a party. Sounds exciting,” Harmony adds.