Hoodwinked

10: Forgotten?

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He hasn't shown up again.
Your shoulders are tense and your movements stiff as you scratch notes on your notebook, eyes flicking from the textbook to your notes.
It does nothing. The words feel unreadable, like a blur of black. You groan, frustrated, and fling your pen to the wall.
What is up with you today?
You tap your feet on the floor, and you think you're making noise, because a witch glares at you.
"Sorry." you mutter, your voice faint. You return back to your notebook.
Absent-mindedly, you scribble a doodle of a witch. They have a chip in one of their ears, and his hair is wavy with a messy undercut, and he has a cow lick, and a scar on his cheek, and large eyebags—
Your grip tightens on your pen. You scribble out the drawing and slump on your seat.
Why can't you focus today?
You know why.
He's been tormenting your mind ever since the last time you saw him. His pleasant chuckles, his questionable food taste, his quips. It seems like you find another thing to like about him everyday!
You highlight a phrase in your textbook before jotting down a few other notes. Your handwriting isn't as neat and tidy as it would be, and the amount of loops you've added in your g and y's are ridiculous!

Hunter's handwriting has a lot of loops.

Stop it, you tell your mind firmly. Stop thinking about Hunter and do your damn work.
It was easier when he helped you. When you read it on your own, it's like the words can't register in your mind, but when he reads it to you in his ridiculously deep but-somehow-also-high-at-the-same-time voice with the voice cracks and a slight scratchy feature in his words, it all clicks for some reason.
Hunter isn't here to help you, you remind yourself. And you shouldn't rely on him to do your schoolwork.
But why isn't he here? A nagging voice asks you. Are you not important enough to help?
You chew on your lip.
It's not like you and Hunter have fixed times to meet up, though. You're being dumb. He's busy, that's all. It's not like he's forgotten about you.
Has he forgotten about you?
Your mind argues with itself, like the tide of the boiling seas pushing and pulling. Actually, that's too peaceful to be your mind.
Like a game of tug-of-war. Only there's firebees everywhere, flinging their red-hot honey. And people are throwing spells left and right.
Yep, that's a perfect example of your brain right now.
You scowl at the inked words, as if simply staring at it would make you understand. It doesn't.
But really, has he forgotten you? Or is he busy? Are you worth going to the library at 6 am on Saturdays and sundays? Are you worth it, with your stupid questions and annoying voice and unfunny jokes?
Obviously, not to Hunter you are.
You're not mad. Of course you aren't. How could you be mad at Hunter?
It's resentment you're feeling. You resent him because he's rarely there. You resent him because he can't miss you like how you miss him. You resent him because...
Because to him, you're the second choice.
Your entire relationship is built off of you being a moron and not understanding shit about abominations. He hasn't talked about his personal life in any way. You don't know what school he goes to. You don't know his last name. You don't know his favorite food or his favorite color or what he likes to do in his freetime.
Essentially, you and Hunter are strangers without him tutoring you.

You two aren't friends.
So you shouldn't be crushing on him.

You mumble under your breath, "Why are feelings so difficult to understand?"

•─────•

Hunter rushes into the library, breaths coming out like gasps. His usually neat, slicked back hair is disheveled, and his sweater is dirtied, and his shoes are scratched up.
Well, don't blame him! He changed out of his uniform the second he could, okay?
His eyes dart around the dark library. He bolts to his left, weaving his way through the maze of bookshelves, ignoring the stern voice of the librarian going, "The library closes in three minutes, young man,"
He skids to a halt, and his scarlet eyes scan the corner. They drop in disappointment.
The desk is deserted, the two chairs neatly pushed aside under the table.
No scattered papers. No highlighters. No (reader) Blight.
He groans, angrily running his hands through his hair. He had just missed them, hasn't he?
"Curse my missions and wild witch chasing," he says in a hushed, irked whisper.
His entire body ached from all the running and flying and magic conjuring he had done during the day.
Before he can stop himself, he's moving to the wooden chair (reader) usually sat, and plops himself down. He buries his face in his arms, resting his head on the table.
(reader) must hate him now. How could they not? He hasn't been meeting up with them. He hasn't been tutoring them. Titan, last time he had seen the Blight was the ice cream thing, and that was a week ago! He wouldn't be surprised if (reader) had replaced him and found a new tutor. Someone who actually shows up. Someone who actually helps.
Guilt and fear and panic welled up in Hunter's chest. He can already see (reader) now—disappointed, angry. Their eyebrows furrow and their lips are twisted in a frown. The look makes his stomach churn with regret, and he tries to explain, but they interrupt and their voice goes, 'Hunter, I found a new friend. I don't want you anymore.', and then they're walking away with a shadowed person, their face clouded with black, and then Hunter's shouting, saying come back, please, that he promises he won't leave them again, that he'll wait for them in the library every day.
But they don't glance back. They're laughing at a joke his replacement said, and Hunter can see that they're happier with them than him, and that it'd be better if he let it be–
"Sir, the library is closing." says a meek voice, tapping on his shoulder. He jolts up from the table.
Hunter forces his eyes to dry. "Okay." he croaks out.

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