Everything Ripples

08

Chapter 08
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{music for the chapter:// Flowers In Your Hair by the Lumineers}
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I walk through the hallway, Hunter trailing behind me.

"There's the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and laundry room. Patio is outside," I brief to him, not bothered to go into any detail. He nods, surveying the area.

"Can I see your room?" he asks, his expression cautious. I shrug, and lead him upstairs to my room.

Stepping through, I sit on my bed and watch Hunter as he strolls around the elegant room. His hair keeps getting in his eyes, and the way he brushes it away is so attractive that I can't stop staring. Quickly looking away when he catches me, I scold myself for being so foolish. It's the first time that a guy has been in your room. Don't scare him away just yet.

"Nice room you've got here," he muses, sitting down next to me, his thigh touching mine. I let out a squeak and shuffle away slightly.

"Hey, I won't hurt you, don't worry," Hunter says gently, giving me a small smile.

"I know," I whisper, but keep my distance. He clears his throat and point to where my camera is sitting.

"You do photography?"

"Yeah," I nod.

"Can I see?"

I wave my hand and he takes the camera, turning it on and flicking through the photos. I fumble with my hands; I never show my pictures to anyone. I don't know why I feel so comfortable in his presence. I'm usually anxious and quiet, sometimes a mute. But with him, I don't know. I feel like I can trust him, even though I know nothing about him.

"Snowflake, these are amazing," Hunter gushes, and I shake my head.

"I'm serious, you could make some real money with these. Do you sell them?"

"No."

"You should. I would buy all of them."

I blush. "I don't like people see my pictures. You're the first one to see those, actually," I confess, not meeting Hunter's eyes.

"Oh," is all he says, sitting down next to me.

"Why do you like to take photos?" he asks after a period of silence. I ponder the question before answering.

"They're proof that, even for a split second, everything was perfect."

I look up at Hunter, whose gaze is soft and understanding.

"Tell me about it," he replies softly, and I feel his pain even though I don't understand it.

"Hunter, Sydney, are you up there? Come down for dinner," my mother calls from downstairs, breaking our moment. Hunter clears his throat and stands up, holding out a hand to me.

"M'lady," he says deeply, and I can't help but let out a giggle. Taking his hand, he leads me out the door and downstairs.

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Waving, I shut the front door and sigh deeply. Exhausted from dinner, my eyelids start to droop. The meal was eventful, with the parents talking and Hunter and I doing stupid random challenges. Even though I've only known him for a day, it feels like so much more. I felt like myself again at dinner, someone I had buried deep down.

"You can't be more than friends with him, Sydney," I whisper to myself. After last time, I wouldn't want to lose someone else close to me. Having boundaries would allow me to be myself but keep myself from getting hurt.

"Talking to yourself again, Sydney? I thought we'd fixed that," a deep male voice rumbles, and I jump. My father laughs and moves in closer to me, breathing deeply.

"I don't want you getting close to that boy, understand?" he rasps into my ear.

"Okay," I gulp and try and move away, but he grabs my arm.

"You've become more skittish. What happened to that lovely girl I know? The one who would do anything her Daddy asked her to?"

I struggle away, but he has a strong hold on me. Thrashing about, I crush my wrist between my body and the door, hearing a agonising crunch. I yelp in pain, dropping to the floor and cradling my hand.

"Is everything okay down there?" my grandmother shouts from the top of the stairs. My father covers my mouth with his hand, muffling my scream.

"Fine, Mother. Just talking to Sydney. I'll be up in two seconds," he lies. My grandmother grunts in response, and silently shuffles away.

"Nothing happened," my father hisses at me, releasing me and jogging upstairs. I silently scream, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the pain. But it doesn't fade. It only multiplies, wave after wave.

Trembling, I peer at my wrist, and breathe out a shaky breath. It's not that bad, I reassure myself, slowly standing up. Spots dance in front of me, blurring my vision, and I have to hold onto the wall to steady myself.

Taking small steps, I stumble my way to the laundry room, where my grandmother showed me the first aid kit was. Fumbling around in the dark, I find the cloth bag and set it down on the washing machine. I search through the ointments and bandaids before I find a roll of cloth. Wrapping it tightly around my wrist, it takes all on me not to scream. Tears fall down my face as I finish wrapping and put away the rest.

Protectively holding my hand, I stumble upstairs. I can hear arguing in my parents bedroom, but it doesn't register through my head as I walk to my room. Shoving the door open with my shoulder, I flick on the light and kick the door closed.

The bedroom is illuminated in yellow light, and on my bed I see my camera sitting. I gently place it on the desk and change into my pyjamas, navigating around my wrist. My hand gets lodged in my sleeve at one point, sending arrows of pain up my arm. Cursing, I take two painkillers, hoping that the whole thing is just a bruise and will be fine in the morning.

I turn off the lights and slid into bed, the moonlight shining down on me. Slowly, I fall into a restless sleep with the moon bathing me in its glow.