Heart Hunter

1

*Flashback (2015)*

Ivy (9 yo)

Getting punched hurts as hell. Seriously.

I watched as the cereal poured from the box into the bowl. I had just woken up and this was my breakfast.

I sat back on the sofa and turned on the TV. One of my hand was clamped under the bowl and the other twirled around the spoon a few times before I finally scooped my first bite.

One crunch and the spoon fell on the floor with a loud clatter. My hand travelled over my mouth once I felt the pain spread through my upper gums.

I still had the toothache from yesterday. Its less unbearable now, but yesterday I was a mess.

My brother should be punished for punching me.

The training yesterday was such a stupid decision. But was it even a decision, or was it forced?

Nobody has ever punched me as much as my brother did yesterday. First hit: he busted my eyebrow. Second hit: he hit me in the mouth, causing this very irritating toothache. And third hit: right in the jaw.

My master forces us to fight three days a week in order to learn self-defence.

Dad would have stopped us, if he wasn't in jail.

I went to change my spoon. And then I scooped the cereal again, and put it in my mouth, only to wince once again. This happened a few irritating times until the cereal was fully soaked enough.

I stare and listen at the TV. Its the news.

'Authorities are actively searching for an inmate who escaped from the county jail late last night.' A reporter is talking about an inmate who escaped jail last night.

I felt the milk spilling from my mouth as my jaw fell on the floor.

My father's mugshot appeared on screen, next to the news reporter.

'William Cross managed to break free from his cell, prompting a large-scale manhunt in the surrounding area. He is described as standing 6 feet 2 inches tall and has black hair. This markes the second escape from the facility in just a few weeks, raising concerns about the security. Residents living near the jail are advised to lock their doors and report-'

Bang.

The news reporter's sentence was cut from a flying knife. I flinched when the knife hit the screen, right in the reporters face.

I hear a man. He's standing at the door as his breathing is loud and fast. He takes a step inside.

I don't look at him as I know who it is. I put the cereal bowl down and start speaking. 'Were you running again?'

The man takes a few steps toward the sofa. 'Of course I was, my dear daughter. Don't want another day in jail, now do we?' My dad spoke. His breathing was still fast and every single breathe was ragged. Each inhale and exhale shower the struggles he had in order to escape

He leaned down and kissed the very top of my head. I felt a slow smile forming on my face. I look up to see my dad and his very familiar look of love in his terrifying eyes.

'I missed you so much, dad.'

'I missed you too, noodle.' Dad sat down next to me. He was sweating over his orange suit that I have seen him wear for the second time this month.

'How was it?' I stare at him in disbelief, hoping he wouldn't give me the answer I was scared of.

Instead of an answer, he threw his head back in laughter. When he finally looks at me again, his hand is on my shoulder holding it tight. 'Ivy. I'm gonna tell you something and you need to promise you will listen.'

'I promise.'

Now, both his hands are on my shoulders as he turned me even more towards him. 'Avoid ending up there. You will regret it. And, of course, we don't want your hair shaved.'

I nodded and smiled. He returned my nod with his and we continued. 'So... Where's your brother Nathan at?' Dad said. He slapped his hands on his knees before standing up again. He didn't go very far, as he turned towards me again waiting for my answer.

'Upstairs probably. Grieving.'

My dad laughed. 'He beat you up pretty good, didn't he?'

Dad's thumb was slowly tracing my busted eyebrow, my body flinching with every touch.

'It's not his fault.' I sigh. 'He was forced. Thats why he's grieving.'

'Don't worry, my dear daughter, I'll get Scar killed as soon as possible. He messed with the wrong children.'

Dad smiled at me like he hadn't just threaten our family friend. A few seconds later, he turned his heel and left the room, leaving me with my cereal.

But now, as I'm running away from the same feds my father did eight years ago, I know what he meant. Jail was a bitch. And I do regret getting caught three days ago. That's why I used his method and escaped.