Chapter 7: Gwen - Hunter or Hunted

After Simone dropped me off, I greeted Honey and gave her a scoop of dog food. The little crunches of her teeth through the kibble usually made me smile. Today, all I could manage was a deep breath.

Head pounding, I grabbed a joint from the drawer beside the couch. Usually, I smoked on the porch steps. Today, I worried I would pass out as soon as I sat down. A few puffs in, stiff shoulders a bit softer, heart rate slower, I stood in front of the kitchen sink.

Mouth dry, I flicked on the faucet and filled a cup to its brim. Downing it took seconds. Stomach full and bloated, but mouth still dry, I filled a second one. It only took a sip or two.

Still listening to Honey crunch her kibble on the floor, darkness clouded the edges of my vision, throbbing with every slow beat of my heart. My Jell-O limbs prepared to give way. I grasped the kitchen sink for stability. Out the window, pink and orange streaked across the blue sky. One of the prettiest sunsets I’d seen in a while. I wished I could appreciate it.

Ring ring ring!

I slid the phone from my pocket. Sebastian’s face lit up the screen.

His smile in that picture always made my heart flutter. Through his beard, his lips stretched across his cheeks and scrunched up the corners of his eyes. I could hardly make out their color. Smiles that big out of him were rare. I was lucky to have caught it on camera. He said he hated that picture, but it was my favorite.

We’d hiked through the snow with Honey, then got dinner, and it was so simple, so perfect, and I remembered thinking, I could do this every day for the rest of my life.

How could we go back to the way things had been after the last twenty-four hours?

I didn’t know. But I wanted to.

I swiped the green bar. “Hey.”

“Hey.” It came out slow, almost like a sigh. As though he had been holding his breath, anticipating my voicemail. “I’m sorry. I know you said you didn’t want to talk to me, and I don’t blame you, but you ran out so quick, and you didn’t tell me what was going on with Simone, so I was just worried something happened, or⁠—”

“It’s okay. Everything with Simone, I mean.” Clearing my throat, I flicked out the light above the kitchen sink. Joint perched between my lips, I unzipped my jacket and headed for the hanger by the door. “Angela showed, but just to mess with her head. Rhiannon isn’t concerned about it, so I’m trying not to be.”

“Oh.” That should’ve softened his voice, but it still sounded distant. Strained. “Good. Not good that she’s taunting Simone, but good that Rhiannon’s not concerned.”

“Yeah, I knew what you meant.” Phone sandwiched between my ear and shoulder, I shook off my hoodie and hung it on the hook. Hand finally free, I held the joint between my pointer and middle finger. “Doesn’t sound like you got much sleep though.”

“I had a patient call me right after you left. It was—” He paused. “It doesn’t matter. I just, I, um… Have you gotten any sleep yet?”

“I’m gonna try to lay down here in a minute.” I clicked on the speaker and took the few steps from the living room into my bedroom. Laying the phone on the dresser and the barely burning joint in the glass candy dish beside it, I said, “Struggling to keep my eyes open at this point.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Silence set in. He didn’t give me much to respond to. I didn’t have much to say. But I didn’t want to hang up yet. We’d already left each other on not-great terms. A quick phone call wasn’t going to fix that. Maybe it would help me fall asleep though.

So I sat in silence with him as I rummaged through my drawers for a clean pajama set.

“Lizzie begged me to let her stay at Aubrey’s tonight,” he finally said. “I was staying up so that I could go grab her, but now I don’t have to, so I laid down, and everything just started playing on a loop in my head, and… I just, I know you’re mad. And I get it. I would be too. But Lizzie’s still out, and I can’t sleep, and I was just really hoping we could talk.”

I wasn’t mad. Not at him. Not really.

At least, not for the reasons he thought.

His points about Evan were valid. Before I killed a man, I needed to be certain of what he’d done. That he deserved it. And if Sebastian didn’t want to get involved in another murder, how could I hold that against him?

What he said about Delilah though, his implication that our friendship didn’t matter, that I didn’t have the right to feel the way that I did, didn’t boil my blood. It ached deep in the center of my chest.

Saying we hadn’t known one another for very long was an indisputable fact. But Delilah hadn’t lived for very long. I wasn’t only mourning the time that we had together, but the time that we wouldn’t.

“I’m exhausted, Sebastian.” Holding the dresser for stability, I tugged off my sweats and stepped into the fleece pajamas. “You are too. I don’t think we should get into this right now.”

Another long stretch of silence. I was already sitting on the edge of my bed, buttoning my top, by the time he continued.

“That’s probably the responsible choice, yeah,” he muttered. “I just… Rhiannon says it’s okay to go to bed angry. Something about how it gives you more time to process everything. But I-I try, and I just can’t. I can’t fall asleep knowing I hurt you. And I—There’s a lot more that I need to say. A lot more that I should’ve listened to instead of said. I messed up today, Gwen, and I’m sorry. And you don’t have to say it’s okay, because it’s not okay. I should’ve thought before I spoke. I could say it was because I hadn’t slept, or because I was overwhelmed, and that would be true. But it doesn’t erase how it made you feel, and—I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I just…”

Heart fluttering, those butterflies danced around my tummy again.

Before, when I was with my ex-husband, that spiel would’ve resolved everything. I would’ve told him it was okay. He would’ve come over. Lying in bed together, he would’ve wrapped his arms around me, and we would’ve shut our eyes.

With that all off his chest, he would’ve fallen right to sleep.

I would’ve stared at the wall with tears in my eyes, and the resentment would fester. A week later, or a month later, when he said something completely unrelated that pissed me off, I would conjure up the ache I had in my chest now, snap at him, and everything would spiral.

I didn’t want to get to that point with Sebastian. I wanted to move past this, but I wanted him to understand it all first. And I was too tired to say it how I needed to.

“I don’t like going to bed angry either,” I said, almost a whisper. “I just think that we should have this conversation when we’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

“Yeah. We should,” he muttered. “I, um, I guess I’m just kind of catastrophizing? Rationally, I completely agree with you, but I guess I’m just—” He choked on whatever was going to come out next. Composure regained, voice still soft, he said, “I don’t want to lose you, Gwen.”

Those butterflies danced around a warm fireplace now. One that I yearned to bundle beside and melt into. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

His breath of relief muffled the speaker. “Would it be okay if we made a plan then? Like, set a time and place to talk over everything?”

I lifted my feet onto the bed and slid them beneath the blankets. “Rhiannon’s hosting a vigil for Delilah tomorrow. I don’t know what time it’s going to go on ‘til, so I’m not sure that’d be the best time. But you and Lizzie were planning on coming to the ranch for Christmas dinner, right? Maybe we could meet here beforehand? Talk before we eat?”

“Sure, that sounds good,” he said. “I heard about the vigil. Lizzie wants to go. She and Delilah were friends. She asked me to come too. I have to pick her up anyway. But I can show up at the tail end if that’d make you more comfortable?”

I wouldn’t tell him not to come. Last night, he was who I would’ve wanted beside me. “No, that’s okay. Come. Lizzie will need you. I just don’t think tomorrow’s a good time for us to talk about everything. Tension’ll still be high.”

“Right. Sure,” he agreed. “I do want to be there for Lizzie. But I’d like to be there for you too, Gwen.”

Pinching my eyes shut, I searched for the words. My instinct was a smartass rebuttal, because he’d had that opportunity and practically spit in my face, but that wouldn’t benefit either of us. He’d already said he was sorry. I didn’t need to kick him again.

I settled for, “I’ll see you there.”

“See you then,” he said. “I love you.”

Throat tight, I said, “I love you too,” and clicked the red button.

Then fell into an instant sleep.

* * *

I stood in my kitchen.

Another version of me sat on my couch. So did Delilah.

I couldn’t make out what we were saying. Just the dull hum of words, muffled by the simmering cocoa on the stove. Delilah kept wiping her cheeks. I kept frowning between words.

But I remembered this day.

Delilah hadn’t been here long. I told her if she followed the trail from the apartments through the woods, it would come out at my cabin. She showed with an inch of snow on her puffer coat. A black ring still encased her eye.

She apologized for showing without calling first, and I told her not to worry about it. I invited her in and offered her some cocoa. While I mixed it on the stove, she told me she was pregnant, and she was going to lose the baby.

We talked about the pain of that loss. The pain Evan put her through. As well as her rage.

How badly she wanted to tell him what she was going through, just because she wanted him to hurt as badly as she did. Everything else he had done to her wouldn’t matter, but that did. Losing his child would matter to him. Knowing her body had rejected his offspring would hurt him.

Chest so tight I could hardly pull in a breath, I tried to remember everything we’d said in that conversation. It had lasted so long, I only remembered the gist.

Until the muffle cleared, and I heard myself say, “Women fit into boxes. Victim or villain. Dainty flower or violent storm. You don’t want to be a little flower, Delilah. All it takes is one harsh storm to break the flower’s neck. You had to be the storm, because you wouldn’t have survived if you stayed the dainty little flower.”

Bile burned up my esophagus. My head pounded, casting a shadow over my line of sight. It strobed around the edges. The image before me throbbed in and out.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” I whispered. “I told you to be the storm. I’m the reason you went back. You wanted revenge, you wanted him to hurt, and you went back because I gave you the confidence to.”

Delilah turned to face me.

Her milky skin took on a ghastly shade of blue. A red circle formed in the center of her forehead. Blood trickled past her eyebrow, all the way down her cheek. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“I should’ve just moved on. I should’ve picked up the pieces, put myself back together, and forgotten any of it ever happened.”

Lips quivering, trying with all my might not to stare at the bullet hole in her forehead, a lump solidified in the back of my throat. “That’s just it. How are we supposed to pick up the pieces when we’re still bleeding?”

“At least the pain’s stopped now. I don’t think the rest matters anymore.” She wiped at the blood, smearing it across her cheek. “It’s not your fault, Gwen.”

Eyes burning, chest aching, I shook my head. “Why didn’t you tell me? If you were going to meet with him, you should’ve told me. I would’ve come. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”

“Because I wanted to handle it.” Across from Delilah on the sofa, that other version of myself vanished, like a hologram whose projector light had gone out.

Delilah rose. Blood oozed from that hole in her forehead like a water fountain with low pressure, a gradual gush every heartbeat or two.

“I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to feel what I have for so long.” Closer now, close enough to touch me, she reached out. Her hands fell to my shoulders, one sliding up to cup my cheek. “I wanted revenge.”

“I would’ve gone with you.” My hand trembled as I reached up to hold her face. Using my thumb, I wiped some blood away. But more trickled down, straight past her eyebrow into her pretty blue eye. “I wouldn’t have let him do this to you. I would have killed him myself. All you had to do was ask, Delilah. I would’ve been there for you. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”

Teary-eyed, blinking at the blood that tainted the whites, a sad smile touched the edges of her lips. “You were right, Gwen. We would’ve been the best of friends. We just didn’t have enough time.”

I heaved in a gasp to keep from sobbing. “We were the best of friends. Just not for long enough.”

“We should’ve had enough time to raise our daughters together,” she whispered. “You’ll have to do that without me one day.”

The gasp didn’t help. An aching sob broke through my lips. “I don’t want to. I want you back. I want this to be real, and everything else to be the dream.”

“Me too.” She wiped my tear away, then closed her arms around my back. “I wish I would’ve come to you. Maybe we’d be burying his body right now.”

Another weep trembled my limbs. I held her tighter, closer, but it felt empty. Useless. Holding a memory, a ghost. “You should’ve. You should’ve come to me.”

She squeezed me tighter, so tight I could barely breathe. The blood from the wound in her forehead flooded over me. The damp, sticky heat washed over my entire body. When she tugged back, just enough so we could look at one another, the red painted us both.

All I could make out clearly were her blue eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t,” she said.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” I whispered through shaking lips. “But you’re going to get your revenge. He’s gonna pay for this.”

* * *

I retched in a breath.

My eyes flung open.

The ceiling stared back at me. Honey panted at my side, back legs shaking. Bluish moonlight trickled past the sunflower curtains. It wasn’t blood that covered my body, but sweat. Beneath my arms, behind my head, under my legs, even my back clung to the damp sheets.

It was a dream. I knew it was a dream. Even as I lived it, I knew it wasn’t real.

Nightmares and I went way back. Ever since I left Troy, they’d plagued almost every restful sleep. Until I killed David. Then they stopped. For a while, it seemed.

Every other time, they revolved around Troy. Whether attacking me, or arguing with me, or stalking me.

Until tonight.

Pawing the sweat from my face, I blew out a slow, shaking breath. Apparently realizing I was awake, Honey came closer, shaking.

God only knew what I did while I dreamed. Maybe I screamed? Maybe I cried? I must’ve done something, because Honey’s back legs trembled.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered.

She climbed closer to my face and licked my cheeks. Not a lick or two, but a dozen. I supposed she liked the salty taste. It drizzled into my lips as well, popping on my tongue. Unlike Honey, I wasn’t a fan.

“It’s okay,” I said, stroking my fingers through her fur. Her loose fuzz clung to the sweat, but I kept petting her. “Mommy’s okay. It was just a bad dream.”

But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t just a bad dream. It was a bad reality, a bad world. One I was tired of living in. One I wanted to burn to the ground.

With it, though, would burn the very ones I wished to protect. Other Delilahs. Other Honeys.

That’s why I had to do it. That’s why I had to kill Evan.

But for now, I needed to sleep.

I grabbed the vape from my bedside table. A joint got a large dose of THC to my brain in heartbeats. The cart was a slower drag and a less pronounced smell.

But four hits in, and my eyes were still wide open. When I tried to shut them, the bluish moonlight still trickled in, and sleep wouldn’t come.

Finally, I flipped over my phone and checked the time. 4 A.M.

I’d gone to sleep sometime around 7. That put me around nine full hours. No way would my body let me fall back to sleep. Even if it would, I wasn’t sure I wanted it. Why? So I could wake up again in an hour, after another nightmare? A worse one, maybe?

By 4:30, knowing I wouldn’t fall back to sleep, not wanting to either, I sat up. I’d given up social media when I moved here. Never opened a new account on anything with my new name. Of all the times I had missed the infinite scroll, this ranked highest. I would kill to fall into the endless abyss of silly cat video followed by silly dog video followed by random recipe I would save but never try.

The vigil wasn’t until noon. I had nearly eight hours to kill. And nothing to do.

As I stood, the memory flickered in my mind. When I walked into the kitchen, and I stood in the same spot from the dream, I was back there all over again. Holding Delilah while she held me, blood dampening every inch of my skin, crying in one another’s arms.

What I wouldn’t do to go back to that day. When we were just two girls, sitting on the couch, talking about our pain-filled pasts, but dreaming of the future. Imagining the good life with the good men and the good kids. Promising to make her the delicious, spiked hot cocoa when she was old enough to legally consume it.

She would never be old enough to legally consume it.

Throat so tight I could hardly pull in a breath, the tears burned my eyes and beaded over. I stared at that spot on the sofa where she had sat, and my stomach rolled and rumbled. Just looking at it was a punch through the chest. Because she would never sit there again.

She would never get to try the hot cocoa. Not really. But I could bring it to the vigil. I could pour her out a cup.

So that’s what I did. I mixed the cream and cocoa and sugar on the stove, then scaled to a larger pot. I added in the whiskey and a bit more sugar to balance it out. A pinch of salt, a few stirs later, and my kitchen smelled like a chocolate shop. Yellow and pink lit up the sky out the window.

But the clock said 6:08, so I had six more hours to go.

That was enough time to make a cake. Maybe not the type of occasion one makes a cake for, but I had nothing else to do, and I couldn’t sit with my thoughts much longer, so I mixed up my gooey chocolate cake recipe. Then I grabbed the marshmallow fluff from the cabinet and mixed it into a vat of Swiss meringue buttercream while the cakes baked. I added a touch of whiskey. Not enough to get anyone drunk, but enough to balance the cake with the hot chocolate still warm on the stove.

She’d eaten my chocolate cake once. That one had a peanut butter filling. Delilah had said it would’ve been so good without the peanut butter and with sprinkles on the outside.

So I looked in the cabinet, but only a spoonful of sprinkles remained at the bottom of the jar.

That was okay. The cakes were still baking. I had time.

I took some of the icing and piped it into little strands on a sheet of parchment. I popped it in the fridge, prepared to cut it into little dots.

But as I waited for the sprinkles to set, and the cakes to bake, and the sun to rise, and the time to pass, that bottle of whiskey beside the hot cocoa stared at me.

It wasn’t like I attended a vigil for a friend every day. Wasn’t this the perfect opportunity for a drink before breakfast?

I poured one and shot it down my throat. The hot burn in my belly was warmer than those butterflies who’d danced around the fireplace inside it last night. It softened the edges of my vision in heartbeats. My stiff shoulders loosened the slightest bit.

But then Delilah’s face with a bullet through her forehead flickered through my mind.

The bottle still stared at me, and I stared back.

Why stop at one?