Floating (28 page)

EPILOGUE

Hunter

Halestorm – I Miss The Misery

              Do you ever wonder where life your life went wrong? I do, every single fuckin miserable day, lately.

Like everyone, I’ve got a shit ton of regrets. Things I should’ve handled better, or done differently. Things I should have spent time fixing while I still had the chance. Up until now, they haven’t bothered me. I figured it was the way of the world to be buried under a steaming pile of regrets. Did I learn from my mistakes, though? Fuck No.

In the end, I’m a man. We refuse to admit we ever made a mistake to begin with. It’s probably, for the most part, due to our stubborn fuckin pride. The truth is, we know when we’ve fucked up. We just don’t want to tell the women in our lives and never hear the end of it.

I’m now under the belief that there’s more to it than pride or ego. That most probably, I’m either too old or stupid to learn from my mistakes. At thirty-four, I might not be chronologically old by most people’s standards. Mentally, I’m fuckin spent. I feel like I’m edging closer to my nineties, as we speak. I swear life isn’t supposed to be this hard. If it is; what kind of motivation will that give us to want it to continue to old age?

Whoever said, “God only gives you as much as you can handle,” is an asshole. My reply to that is, God must think I’m some kind of fuckin ninja then, and he can suck my cock for cursing me with all this shit. How did I get to thinking about this shit? Easy. I fucked up. Epically.

The degree of this fuck up makes every one that came before it pale in comparison. It’s that bad. I have no idea how to fix it, or even if it can be fixed, in the first place. The only thing I know, for certain, is I’m going to do everything in my power to make it right. Regardless of who I have to maim, kill, or step on to make that happen. Right now, that includes assembling my arsenal and going to war with a specific mission in mind. By that, I don’t mean an arsenal of guns, knives, grenades, and fuckin rocket launchers loaded in an armoured Humvee driven into battle.

I mean the only other weapons I have at my disposal. Ones I can legally acquire and don’t need six months’ worth of requests and follow ups to have them delivered: my brothers, and not my club brothers this time, either. They are the only thing standing between me and failure. I made a call to each one of my five, genetically obligated to bail me out of the shit, brothers within the last week. Then, do something I’ve never done before, not even once. I ask for help. The ONLY reason I enlisted their help is because of the woman in question. The one I fucked up huge with loves the shit out of these five assholes. Why I’ll never know. According to her they’re charming, funny, pretty to look at, and they make her happy.

Hopefully, they can use some of their Adams’ charm, that she finds so endearing, to convince her to hear me out, finally. That’s all I want. A chance: a chance to explain what I couldn’t before, a chance to watch her temper flare, a chance for her to yell at me or argue. Fuck. I don’t care what she does, as long as she gives me the chance I need.

,

Yeah, this is all over a woman. By now, you’ve figured out who, too. Isn’t it always over a woman, though? I should never have gotten myself into this situation to begin with. Although in my defence, I didn’t go out looking for her. She was placed securely in my lap, in more ways than one.

The day I met her, I knew I didn’t stand a chance, and I was right. She had me hook, line, and sinker within five minutes of meeting her. There is nothing I won’t do for her. There’s a really easy way to explain what happened up to a particular point in time. Minus a few fuckin important details that will have to come later.

You remember the story I told Ronnie about my buddy, Hector? Yeah well, that was all bullshit. There is no Hector. If you replace the name Hector with Hunter, and wife with Charlee, you’ll be staring down the barrel of the first deception I’ve been caught out on. That isn’t the only one or even the biggest.

You think it’s bad enough that I married at nineteen, and as far as the courts are concerned still am? You’d think so wouldn’t you? In most instances, I’d agree with you. Not this time. Worse than that, I’ve fallen in love with a woman I can’t have. One that deserves more than a washed up ex-Navy SEAL, MC Enforcer, wife deserting piece of shit.

I’d fell in love with her knowing; I can’t do a damn thing about it. All the while, I give her false hope that we’ll be something more, one day. I never used the specific words, but with every action I make her believe there is a chance for us. I don’t do it for my ego, or because I need her to feel my pain. Or, so I have someone to share it with. I don’t want her to feel the intense longing I do, for something you’ll never have. I definitely don’t want her to fight the daily battle with the desire. To get to the point where she says fuck the consequences taking what she wants, regardless of the cost.

Why did I give her false hope? Because in essence, I’m a selfish fuck, that’s why. I can’t bear the thought of having to live without her in my life. The fact that it won’t be in the way I want her, doesn’t matter. I’ll take her anyway I can get her. I know as soon as I come clean, when I show her the skeletons in my closet; she’ll be lost to me. It is the only reason I hold off on being completely honest. Transparent even. That is not an option. I can’t lose her permanently. My absolute belief, that she’ll cut me out of her life, causes me to make even more stupid decisions on how to carry that out, as well.  So what do I do? I make it worse, of course.

I give her non-answers. Lie my ass off. Most of the time, I hide huge parts of my past and even bigger pieces of my present. When I can’t do any of these things, I avoid her like the fuckin plague. Priss was patient and understanding in the beginning. She accepts the little of myself that I can give her. As time goes on she becomes more distant. With every unanswered question and evasion technique I employ, I can feel her slipping away from me more. It isn’t her way to demand anything of anyone. Priss goes with the flow. Moving on from shit she knows she can’t conquer; until she can’t do that anymore. She can’t ignore what is right in front of her.

My last trip away, nine months ago, is the final straw for Priss. I should have seen it coming. Fuck. Who am I kidding? There are so many things I should’ve done. You’d think after all the training I’ve been through, all the drills, that I’d be able to sense danger by now. Obviously not. We don’t fight when I get back. There is no screaming or throwing shit. No accusations, threats or ultimatums. She’s eerily calm. That should be my first clue that something isn’t right.

I tell Priss I’m going away, for a while. I don’t know when I’ll be back, or if I can keep in contact with her when I’m gone. I know damn well I can’t before I tell her I’m not sure. It won’t be feasible where I’m going. Instead of demanding answers, or asking questions she knows I can’t answer, she looks at me with tears in her big blue eyes nods her understanding, and replies with a barely audible, “Okay.” Shutting the door in my face I know four things in that moment. They are like lightning bolts in an otherwise cloudy sky.

The first is Priss is done. As in had e-fuckin-nough of my shit. Secondly, that is the last time I’ll be face-to-face within reaching distance of my best friend. The woman I’m madly in love with. The woman who for all intents and purposes acts as my saviour.  The next lightning bolt isn’t a revelation, but it is a blindingly clear fact. Priscilla Anne Walker is a fuckin goddess. She will be the only woman; I have or ever will, love with every piece of my damaged heart and corrupt soul. Finally, she is also the only woman that has the ability to irrevocably break me.

Priss needs a saviour, though; someone strong enough to save her from herself. I’m not that man. I can’t be. I never will be because…What she and nobody else knows is I need a saviour, too.