Me: Obviously. Anyway, there was this photograph of a man and a woman. It wasn’t sexual, or maybe I was too young to understand that. Their bodies were entwined, and most of the photo was rather dark, but there was this line of light slicing diagonally across it. I remember falling in love with that photo. I know that sounds strange, that a six-year-old could fall in love with a photo and understand that it was something special, but I did.
Hunter: It doesn’t surprise me. You were always older than your age.
His words make my stomach flip, make my skin feel tingly and my thoughts spin, though he couldn’t be further from the truth.
Me: I think you’re mistaking me for my brother. He was the responsible one. I’m the one who got drunk at a house party when my parents were gone and puked in my mom’s favorite vase.
An expensive-ass vase at that.
Hunter: Being an old soul and accepting responsibility aren’t the same thing. It’s impossible to know you and not see that you’ve always looked at the world through adult eyes. At least, as long as I’ve known you.
My chest feels inexplicably tight. I’m not sure how to respond, what to even think about it, because deep down, it’s true. I can’t even say if I realized it before Hunter said it, but I’ve never felt right in my own skin, and maybe that’s why.
How is he the one to see it? How is he the only person in my whole fucking life to say those things to me?
I try to play it off like my hands aren’t shaking right now.
Me: No idea what you’re talking about.
Hunter: I don’t think that’s true at all.
Me: I thought I was an asshole.
Hunter: We can all be more than one thing. You excel at both.
An unexpected laugh jumps from my mouth.
Me: Is that a compliment, Hunter King?
It takes me a second to realize how flirty that was. I’ve always been a flirt. It comes naturally to me, but not with him. At least, I shouldn’t be with him. Knowing that doesn’t stop me, though, even if it’s just something else to hate myself for later.
Hunter: Tell me about your first photos.
Evidently, he’s ignoring my flirting, and I’m trying to think of how to respond, when my phone rings. What the fuck? He’s calling me. I sit higher up in bed like that’ll give me any clarity into why in the hell Hunter is calling me.
Don’t answer, don’t answer, and stop doing this.
I answer the call.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hunter
I’m not surewhy I texted Lucas. I’m even less sure why I’m calling him, but I don’t hang up. I just…want someone to talk to, and that person seems to be him.
It’s been so long since I reallytalkedto anyone that I’m not sure I even know how to do it anymore, not about anything real. But then, that night on the roof, Lucas and I did well with ignoring most of the heavy shit, so maybe we can do that tonight too.
“Well, this is unexpected,” he says, voice slightly raspy.
It’s after midnight, something I thought about before I texted but slipped my mind when I called. “Were you asleep?”
“Is sleep-texting a thing?”
I roll my eyes. “I meant before I texted. I’m pretty sure you know that.”
“Me? Never.” I hear the smile in his voice. “And no.”
“You sound tired. I shouldn’t have called. It’s pretty fucking weird that I did, actually.” Jesus. What was I thinking?
