The Hunted [s.u]

ii. LUNAR

     The darkness is where I thrive. I become one with the shadows, and merge myself with the stars. The night was my ally in my hunts, but when it came to sleep, the night was my enemy. It'd unravel thoughts like string, pulling the rope through my head and making me relive every lone memory that I wish to forget.

      With a gasp of fresh air, I rise from my bed with a cold sweat slithering down my face. My nightmares vaporize as my eyes flutter open, a reminder that it was just a dream. Deep inside, I know it's not just a dream. Levi is gone. My parents are gone. I grimace and glance at the alarm clock on the side table, grateful that it's only four-thirty.

     My eyes flicker to the window, darkness greeting me with a friendly wave. Knowing that I can't go back to sleep, I quietly shuffle through my bag and pull out a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt. The fabric tickles my slick skin as I slide the articles of clothing onto my body. After I've changed, I make my way over to the door, hoping that the night will remind me that I'm still in control. Ivy snores peacefully in the other bed and I have to evoke that she won't be gone when I get back.

     The frigid night air greets my skin with a roaring wave that splashes every crevice on my body. A breath slips out of my mouth as I savor the cold and make my way into the parking lot. My car's headlights gleams in the dark like stars as I walk past it to another side of the motel where I remember a gym being.

     Exercise wasn't something I had put much thought into when I was a teenager. I thought that as long as I ate healthy and walked every day or two that I would be completely fit. Well, that wasn't the case. As soon as I knew that I was going to hunt, I realized I needed to get in shape. Going on runs, hitting the gym, lifting weight. All of it accumulated in various spots on my body. Years of training had made my muscles into mountains that sculpted my skin.

     The gym slides out of the shadows as I round the corner of the motel. My sneakers scuff the cement as I pull open the door, the twenty four hour sign flickering to my right. The putrid smell of dilapidated equipment and ancient sweat fumes assault my nose as I step past another person walking on the treadmill. His eyes connect with my own, and I watch him as he rapidly turns away, avoiding my cold stare.

     A gust of wind curls down the curves of my crooked spine as I cross the gym floor to a punching bag concealed in the corner. My hands shake in undetermined excitement as I approach the punching bag, grinding my teeth into dust. The mahogany leather shines in the dimmed gym light, and I can see the stitching falling apart on the sides.

     Clenching my fists until my knuckles turn the color of snow, I stare at the punching bag until it morphs into the man I killed earlier that day. His phosphorescent golden eyes and extended canines giving me the rage I need. Punch. Knuckles collides with leather as the bag makes a satisfying noise. I can feel the skin begin to peel on my unprotected hands, but I disregard the throbbing sensation and look at the mass of leather.