Night Of The Hunter

Enter The Arena

I closed my eyes at the touch of his hand, savoring the warmth radiating from his fingertips as they gently traced the curve of my cheek. His touch was feather-light, sending chills down my spine and making my breath catch softly. Opening my eyes slowly, I met his intense emerald-green gaze, vibrant yet filled with an aching tenderness that quickly vanished, replaced by a deep, somber seriousness that tightened my chest.

"I miss you."

My body jolted awake as I sucked in a sharp breath. I bolted upright on the couch, disoriented, facing the television I'd forgotten to turn off, the early morning sun illuminating my living room. My heart hammered in my chest as I brushed the tangled hair from my face. His face still lingered in my mind—those piercing emerald-green eyes haunting me. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. He showed up in my dreams almost nightly now, a constant reminder of my failure.

I couldn't save him.

No matter how much I tried to move on, his memory clawed at my heart, slowly killing me from the inside. I glanced at the clock—9:42 am. Shaking off the lingering ache, I stretched to clear my head, forcing the vivid dream to the back of my mind and got ready for the day.

After a quick shower and changing into fresh clothes, I checked the fridge again, instantly reminded of my desperate food situation. I scowled at the leftover nachos and beer before slamming the fridge shut. Checking the time, I realized my sister would already be at work, but there was a slim chance my brother was still home.

Bryan lived in the next neighborhood over, a place decidedly rougher than my own. His street boasted graffiti-covered walls, rundown buildings, and that unmistakable aura of lingering danger, with a biker bar conveniently placed at the corner. Despite its questionable charm, gentrification was bound to hit soon enough.

Lifting his gate, I climbed the stairs, knocked twice, and then tested the knob—locked this time. I waited impatiently until Bryan's heavy footsteps approached, the curtain shifting slightly before the door finally opened.

"What are you doing up this early?" he greeted groggily, yawning widely. Shirtless and in grey sweatpants, his muscled torso was on full display to the entire street.

"I'm hungry and have no food," I declared bluntly, shoving past him and into the house.

"And you think I do?" he replied sarcastically, shutting the door behind us.

Ignoring his question, I tossed my leather jacket on the stair railing, noticing the fresh bruise coloring his left eye. "You've gotta have more than nachos and beer," I called back as I headed to the kitchen.

"I do, but I'm not cooking," he grumbled, trailing after me.

"I'll handle it," I replied, grabbing eggs and milk from his fridge.

He eyed me skeptically. "Last time you almost torched my kitchen."

I rolled my eyes dramatically, kicking the fridge closed. "You're exaggerating. It was a tiny grease fire."

"Tiny?" he scoffed.

"Maybe clean your pans once in a while, slob," I shot back, enjoying his irritated expression as he flipped me off and sat at the counter.

"Make bacon too."

"Maybe if you stopped fighting and kept your ass out of trouble, I'd consider it," I retorted, whisking the eggs aggressively. "Who gave you the shiner this time?"

"Don't worry about it," Bryan muttered dismissively.

I turned to glare at him, unimpressed. "Try again."