Hunter (Broken Bad Boys 1): A New Adult Bad Boy Romance (5 page)

I
slowly make
my way out of the classroom. So many people around, so crowded. I’m not used to it yet. I’ve been locked up in my room or my parents’ house for most of the summer, and
if
I escaped, I went to the forest behind the neighborhood. I didn’t really go places where there were a lot of people, no matter how much Lola or my parents begged me to. They took me away from my dream college, I don’t think they deserve to put more pressure on me now.

I stop when the sun hits my face as I step out of the building.
Oh.
This feels nice, the rays hitting just right, warming me up, while there is a little bit of a breeze, not too hot and not too cold.

A laugh behind me makes me twist around. Hunter is staring at me, still standing inside the building.

“What?” I put my hand on my side as I shrug my bag up higher.

“I wouldn’t think that you’d like the sun. With all your black clothes and gothic stuff and things.” He steps outside, next to me. The sun hits his bleached hair, making it whiter than it really is, creating a halo that doesn’t match his personality.

“So? What’s it to you?” I don’t get why he keeps saying weird things to me.

“Hey, I’m just enjoying myself. No worries.” He steps away but then turns around to me. “You wanna take a look at Tamara’s workshop?”

I could go home and have fun with some paint and pencils… On the other hand… I guess checking out the workshop would be a good idea too. It’s not like I’ve got places to be. I shrug. “Sure, why not?”

Hunter walks in front of me. Apparently he knows where the workshop is already. The warmth makes me a bit fuzzy, in a good way. It’s nice to just feel comfortable. To not feel cold all the time.

“Aren’t you hot like that?” Hunter breaks through my thoughts.

“Why?”

“You know, dressed in black with long sleeves and all that.” He stops and really looks at me.

I keep walking. I hate it when people stare at me, and he’s definitely staring. I’m not hot because I’m always cold. What does it matter anyway?

“Not very talkative, I guess.” He walks next to me. “Did you enjoy Professor Cartwright’s class?”

I shrug. Why all the questions? It’s not like this is any different from what I did last year. Drawing objects, it’s easier than having to draw people.

“Can you at least try a little bit more? It’s hard to keep this conversation going on my own.” Hunter laughs, but I’m done.

I take one hard look at him and turn around. I’m better off going home. There is no need to hang out with people who will try to change whatever I do or say. No, I’m not very talkative, deal with it.

“Lizzy.” Hunter walks after me, and I automatically swerve to the side. His hand grazes my arm. He tried to grab me! So predictable. “Please. Stop. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just curious.”

I shrug and keep walking. That’s not my problem.

Then Tamara pops up from the parking lot. She smiles as she sees us. “Are you on your way to the workshop? I’ll let you in. I was going that way too.”

I shake my head. I was going home, away from all the crazy people.

“Aww. Just… come on. You’ll love it, and you haven’t been to the new workshop yet. Neither of you have.” She touches my arm for a moment and then starts walking. “I’m looking forward to seeing some new work from both of you. I know that you, Hunter, haven’t done much drawing in the last couple of years. Are you feeling up to it this year?”

“Definitely. I was working on something new this morning.” Hunter walks on my other side. Now I’m between them and I can’t do anything but just follow them. “I guess that actually knowing that I should be working on my art, and having deadlines, works better than playing to be working on my art.”

I can’t imagine not working on my art. Even when I’ve been at my worst, I was always creating. Then I remember what Hanna said, something really bad happened to him—something that made him drop out of class and get into trouble and stuff like that. I look up at him. When he talks about his art, he’s just a different person, he relaxes and even smiles. But when he came into class this morning… that was a whole other Hunter. The darkness in his eyes and the scowl… So not attractive.

Then we stop, standing in front of a modern building. I wouldn’t have guessed that this would be the place, but it says it on the door: ‘Winter’s Workshop.’ I laugh. That sounds like a Christmas shop, not a place for artists.

As Tamara opens the door I can already hear voices inside, loud voices. To the side, in the hallway, there is the steel bench that Hunter showed me a picture of yesterday. I’ve seen his art for years without knowing it.

Hunter sits down on it, sprawling. “I didn’t think you’d keep it.”

“Why not? It’s functional and shows that my students are the greatest.” Tamara waves us further into the building. “Out here there are the toilets, the storage room and my office. You need to be through here.” She steps into a large open space.

When I say large, I mean huge. It is maybe three floors high and as large as a gymnasium. In one corner a couple of people are trying to raise some white curtains with ropes and pulleys and other things. It doesn’t look very safe. Just off to the side there is a tripod with a camera on it. They must be some of the other artists.

“Tamara!” One of the boys from the group comes over, a big smile on his face. “We’ve nearly got the curtains up. We got them for a couple of bucks at the thrift store.”

“That’s great. Do you think you can make it work?” She follows the guy to the others and Hunter and I stay, looking around. There are some paintings, some clay statues, other mediums, all strewn around the room. When I look up, I realize that even the lights overhead are pieces of art. I’ve definitely been away too long. Just seeing all this art in one place makes me want to stay here and work on something myself. Just being here makes me want to be creative.

After a while, Tamara comes back to us. “This is the main room. There are some small, more private, rooms off to the side. And upstairs there is a small kitchen. We’ve got anything you need here.”

“Do you have stuff for scrap metal?” Hunter gives her a look like he’s challenging her. This must be something that they’ve discussed in the past.

“Okay, almost anything. You know that metal and welding supplies would be much harder to store.” She rolls her eyes with a smile and walks to the other end of the room. There are some couches and a door to the outside. “We’ve even got some outside space, for spray painting, but also to just hang out if you’d want. Also”—she looks at Hunter—“no smoking inside.”

“I assumed as much. I wouldn’t do that with all the cloth and paint fumes.”

We step outside and there are more couches out there too. Tamara sits down on one.

Hunter pulls out his cigarettes and lights one as he slumps down on another couch. They both look at me and I lean back against the wall, right next to the door.

“What did you think of your first classes?” Tamara talks to both of us, but looks at me.

I shrug. What is it with everyone and all the questions today?

Hunter starts talking and I zone out, just listening to his voice and standing there in the sun. I don’t care if I get a tan. The black clothes are mostly just because people won’t talk to me when I wear them, and, I guess, a leftover from when I was still in high school.

My phone buzzes and I check it. It’s a message from Lola.
‘Hey, I’m done for the day, you want to go home together?’

‘Yeah. See you at the car park.’
I reply and look up. Hunter and Tamara are both looking at me. “I’ve gotta go. My sister wants to go home together.” I turn around, and I’m gone before they can say anything back.

I like the place, but I’m just too tired to really deal with people right now. I want to curl up with my drawing tools and make something, or maybe even just curl up and do nothing at all.

* * *

“
A
re
you sure it’s okay?” I wrap myself around the pillow in front of me. Lola is sitting on the other end of the couch. She’s been really cool about letting me have the garage. I know that she may have wanted it more, a place of her own, but I just didn’t want to live in the house with our parents and everything, so we converted the garage. This way I’m close without actually being in the same house. I like my independence, even if it’s only a little bit of it.

“Of course. I don’t mind living at home. It’s not like I’m used to anything else.” She shrugs. “I like it when there are people around.”

Lola likes people, she always has. I don’t remember her as anything but a social butterfly.

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to work on that?” She points to a canvas at the back of my small living room.

“I know. I was…”
Distracted?
Everything that happened yesterday just left me wanting to do some pencil art instead of paint.

“Do you have something new to show me?” She leans forward. She knows that when I’m not painting, I’m doing something else. I’m always doing something creative.

“Not yet.” I don’t want to show the drawing of Hunter’s dragon from the square we went to to anyone just yet, especially since it’s not done. “It will probably be done in a couple of days.” I’ve taken his design and just added more and more things. I like where it’s going, but for now, it’s not ready to be shown to anyone just yet.

“Fine.” She pouts. “Then I won’t tell you about the new story I’m working on.”

“No fair!” Lola is magical with words, she can do such awesome things with them. While my creativity is on the hands-on side, her creativity is all about words. Novels, short stories, even lyrics for music.

“Okay, fine.” She sticks out her tongue and then sits next to me on the couch. I lean against her and she wraps her arm around my shoulder. She is the only one. She is the only person who is allowed to touch me. I like curling up with her, because it feels like we’re back to being one person, one ball of creativity.

As she talks about the plot, the idea, the story, I can see it in front of me, slowly unfolding, and it gives me more creative ideas to keep working on. We’ve worked together before, made a short children’s story, with text and images, all together. It’s still somewhere in a drawer. Maybe we should do that again.

A
fter Lizzy left
, I hung around the workshop a bit more, helped the group of people with their curtains and looked at some of the supplies that they have. Like Tamara said, they have a good range of things at the workshop—even if I can’t work with metal, they have good-quality clay, paint and thousands of pencils.

I remember the feeling when I used to come into the supply room. I was only a boy. It was almost magical, all those supplies, all the different pieces of art that could be made from them. All these tools, just waiting around until they would be used to make amazing art. I could almost feel the creativity in the room.

But then I went to boarding school for high school and was away from here for so long. A boarding school for
gifted
children. I had to basically beg my parents to let me go there. It’s where I met Tessa—we loved the same things and learned so many things together. And then Joey, my younger brother, got sick, so sick. I almost didn’t graduate and I turned down all colleges. I just couldn’t leave my parents to deal with Joey on their own. So many good things turned bad, sometimes I wonder why I’m even still here. I lost Joey, I lost Tessa. I lose everyone I love. In three years I went from a happy guy to… I don’t even know anymore.

“Hunter.” Tamara’s voice is quiet as she stands behind me. “Are you okay?”

I try to smile. I try to not make her worry. “I’m okay, just remembering the good old days.”
And then the not-so-good days.

“Yeah, you were so young. I remember how you fought to get the metal for the bench under control.”

I roll my muscles. “There are some upsides with working with materials that aren’t as pliable.”

Tamara laughs. “Yeah, I can see that. Do you still have your workshop at your parents’ place?”

“Yeah, I can’t fit it in the studio apartment. Plus, I don’t think my neighbors would appreciate it.”

“I can imagine that.” She turns around. “These are all available—if you need anything else, tell me and I’ll try to get my hands on it. I don’t think working with metal would be best here, but I can do lots of other things.”

“Thank you.” This is as much of a safe haven as it is a creative space. I hung out at Tamara’s last workshop a lot before I just… stopped. After Tessa’s crash… I didn’t want to do anything anymore. Tamara understood, luckily. “Hey, I’m gonna go home. I’ve actually got homework to do.” Finish that damn book.

“That’s cool. Do you want me to get you a key to this place, or are you okay for now?”

“I’m okay. I’ll just make sure there are other people around when I want to come in. Maybe I’ll even socialize.” I joke, but I can see that Tamara takes it exactly as I meant it. I’ve not been very good with other people around, I know that she knows about the fights I’ve been getting into. I don’t want her to know. I want her to see me as something else, but I’m not. It’s my own fault.

“Just… Stay safe. And I’ll see you soon, I guess.” She lets out a small smile as she gets back to her other students.

Yeah, staying safe. I’m not sure how good I am at that these days.

* * *

I
tip back another beer
. It’s late and I know that if I want to get up on time tomorrow I should leave now. But the atmosphere in the bar changed a while ago. There is some nervous energy going around, something volatile. It makes my skin itch and I can’t leave here now. The beer in my system puts me on edge and I just want to
do
something.

A guy bumps into my back, and I twist around, grabbing him close. “What did you do that for?”

“Sorry,” The man slurs. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You don’t seem that sorry. You just kept walking on.” My voice rises and I know that people around us are now paying attention.

The guy’s eyes go wide and I raise my other hand, balling it into a fist.

“H.” A low voice tries to pull my attention away from the man in my hands. “Don’t do this.”

But it’s too late. My fist flies and connects with the drunken man’s nose. Blood immediately starts dripping on my hand and I let him go as I hear footsteps all around me. Then a fist collides with the side of my face. I try to mow the guy on my side down, but it only scrapes his shoulder. Another guy hits me right on my jaw and I blink, trying to make the stars go away.
I did it again, didn’t I?

I take a deep breath and rush into the guy at my other side. If they’re going to take me down, I’m taking as many people down with me as I can.

The next moments turn into a blur until a police car and an ambulance pull up right next to me. When did I get outside? I try to stand up, but that doesn’t seem to work. I sit back down as two men walk to me. One of them is holding a pair of cuffs.
Kinky.

“I think it’s time to spend another night in a cold cell, Hunter.” Now that they are closer, I recognize one of the officers. Oh, great. This is the fourth time in the last six months that he’s picked me up outside a bar. Because of fighting, naturally.

I try to stand again, but it’s not working—the booze and the adrenaline don’t make my coordination any better. The two cops pull me up and get me over to where the EMTs are looking at one of the other guys.

“Can you check him out before we take him in?” The guy who has taken me in before puts the cuffs on me. I try hard to remember his name, but I can’t come up with anything, and the blur in my head is not helping.

One of the EMTs starts poking at me and shining a light into my eyes. Then he steps back, a look of disgust on his face. “He’s fine, just drunk. He’ll be really sore in the morning, that’s all. Unlike some of the others.” The man walks away and the cop starts pulling on my arm.

“Let’s get you into the car and then into a cell. Even though I have no faith that it will help one damn bit.”

I’m roughly shoved into the car and then the door closes behind me. Another guy is already in the back of the car. He doesn’t look that good and I’m pretty sure he’s one of the guys I just fought with.
Whatever.

I look out the window as the city passes me by. Unlike the bus ride a couple of weeks ago, this is something I’ve gotten a bit too familiar with. The city at night, passing me by in a blur of booze and adrenaline. Not the best way to view it.

* * *

I
groan
as I try to turn around in bed. Waking up in a cell this morning was such a bad idea. I grab next to the bed and find the glass of water. I down it before I sit up properly.

Luckily they let me go without getting anyone involved. I apparently broke a guy’s nose, but he is not pressing charges, which makes me very lucky. I know that some of the cops there would have gladly sent me to prison. And I’m not sure I can blame them.

I’ve slept through most of the day, not having slept very well last night. I check my phone but there are no messages, so the news hasn’t gotten to my parents yet. Maybe I can keep it that way. They don’t always have to know… I open my eyes fully and the sun shines straight into them, intensifying the headache that’s coming on.
Ugh.

Why do I keep doing this? Why do I keep drinking and then getting into fights? I used to be somewhat of a hothead. But last night… I just started a fight over nothing. Because I was bored, because I was upset, because I’m always angry inside.

My phone starts ringing. It’s not my mum, it’s Tamara.

“Hi.” I try to sound normal, but that isn’t really working.

“Hey, do you want to come with some of us to the museum tonight? They’ve got some modern sculpture, art, music, dance thing going on. I got a couple of free tickets.” She sounds so excited, but I’m not sure I should show up like this.

“Eh. I’m sorry, I can’t.” I close my eyes. I can hear from the pause in her breath that this was the wrong answer.

“What did you do this time?” The words are sad, and it makes me feel even worse. “Did you get into another fight?”

“Yes.” I try to say it as quietly as possible, but it doesn’t make the guilt any less.

“I thought…” She lets out a sigh. “I thought that you coming back to classes meant that you were over
that
.”
That
, fighting, getting in trouble, making trouble…

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. I thought I was over it too.

“You need… I’ll see you next week.” She sounds so defeated, like I disappointed her the most I’ve ever done. And she has seen her fair share of my fuck-ups. “Just… Please feel well.” And she hangs up.

I put the phone down and a tight feeling in my chest threatens to overwhelm me. Why won’t I stop being stupid like this? Why do I keep messing up? I slowly get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I need to check the damage, and I definitely need a shower.

I take my shirt off and there is a big bruise blooming on my ribs, the dark purple not promising much good. There is a bruise on my jaw too and my lip has split. There are some random bruises on my arms and upper body, but none of them as dark as the one on my ribs. I think someone might have kicked me there.

I take the rest of my clothes off and step under the shower, the hot water easing some of the tension in my body. I put my face under the water and twitch as the first blast stings the bruises. Ugh, that is gonna stay for at least a week. Now I need to get to class with a bruise on my face. So not good. That’s not going to help my reputation…