She was thinner than I was used to seeing her, with thinning patches in her black hair, but I remember feeling anxious when I saw her reflection in the computer monitor. She might have been sick, but she still hated my guts.
She raised her arm and I whirled around, my arms already up in front of my face. But she wasn’t trying to hit me. She was clutching a hot pink T-shirt. As she shook it out, I noticed spots of bleach.
“Did…you do this?” Her voice was reedy, weaker than it used to be, but still, I knew to keep my answer short and to the point.
“No.”
She held the shirt out, her manicured hand shaking slightly. “You’re a liar.”
“No I’m not.” Her eyes were bugging out, the way they sometimes did before she hit me. My heart was racing, and I remember the way I fumbled for what to do next; the way I tried to curb my fear. “You should go back upstairs,” I told her flatly.
No emotion. Sometimes if I kept my voice very neutral, she would leave me alone.
Faster than I thought possible, she wrapped her frigid hand around my wrist and dug her brittle nails into my skin. I remember looking into her dull, brown eyes. Her mouth—her trembling lips—were pulled into a sneer. She sank her nails in deep enough that I could feel the skin break and she hissed, “You’re a…selfish little bastard.”
She slapped me then—and it wasn’t even hard. I remember feeling glad it didn’t echo like it sometimes did.
I remember I looked into her face again, and I noticed for the first time how thin she really was. How different she looked since being diagnosed three months ago and starting chemo. How skeletal. How frail.
Maybe that’s why I did it. Because for the first time ever, I felt like I was strong enough to take her on.
Maybe it’s because she cupped my cheek then, just after she’d hit me.
I’ve had years to think about it, and I’ll never know for sure.
All I know is that I hit her. Hard.
I knew as soon as I punched her that I’d made a horrible mistake. I even tried to grab her, but her knees just crumpled. She hit the floor, and blood was everywhere in a heartbeat. I tried to find the source, but it was coming from her nose, her mouth, even her ears.
I still can’t get away from all that blood. I wake up covered in it. It’s there when I have a good hand. When someone orders their steak rare. When I’m tagging cattle here at the ranch.
Rita is always bleeding out in front of me.
Right now, I want the blood. I punch the bag again.
“Hunter...”
Shit. I whirl around, panting. I had almost forgotten she was here. She reaches for me, but I step away, holding my bleeding hands near my sides. “Libby—go away.”
“I can’t.” She sounds like she’s crying. When I blink the sweat out of my eyes, I find that hers are wet. Without thinking, I pull her into my arms, pressing my lips against her hair as I speak quietly near her ear. “Do you see why you need to leave now? I’m a fucking mess.”
“I know you are.” Her voice is raspy as she wraps her arm around my waist. “That’s why I can’t leave.” I inhale vanilla and cinnamon, allow my eyes to close. “Hunter…I know what happened with Sarabelle.”
I freeze. “What are you talking about?”
Her eyes are huge when I pull back to see her face, but she doesn’t back away. “I wasn’t being nosy, but I heard it at the ranch. You slept with Sarabelle, and then she disappeared. And now...they found her. That’s why you were upset last night, wasn’t it?”
I rub my hair, noting the stinging of my knuckles. “You don’t need to worry about this shit.”
“Did you hurt her?”
“What?” I can feel the blood rush out of my head, the way it used to when I heard Rita coming down the stairs. “Fucking hell, you really think that I would hurt a woman?”
“Did you?”
“Jesus—no. I would never hurt her.” My throat goes tight. I look away, and Libby takes a small step closer.
“The police think you did it?”
“She had one of my cufflinks in her hand when they found her.”
She looks into my eyes, and I see only sadness. “Oh, Hunter. How did you get into this?”
“I don’t know. And I wouldn’t tell you even if I did. You’ve got no business anywhere near this.”
“I already am. I’m a Junior Ranger Prostitute now, and more importantly I care about you. And I’m sorry this happened, but…” She pauses, obviously working herself up to something. I definitely don’t expect her to say, “I didn’t mean too, but I overheard some of your conversation with your dad.”