Chapter 9: Sebastian - Hunter or Hunted

Tear-streaked eyes filled the crowd a moment ago. Now, everyone breathed deep or muffled their cries into tissues or the sleeves of their shirts. Gwen muffled hers into my chest.

We stood in that spot for a while.

No one else stood to give a speech. Not even Simone.

She sat right across from me, just beyond the flames in the center of the circle. Junie sat in her lap, curled against her chest. Her tear-filled eyes stayed fixed on Gwen, but she didn’t move.

Which was fine. I didn’t mind standing in this spot, holding Gwen upright. I was happy to. Honored to.

But Simone and Gwen were always together. Today, they were on opposite sides of the fire.

It had my heart beating a bit faster.

“Gwen?”

The voice came from a woman around my age, nudging her way through the crowd. She stood a head shorter than me, blonde hair swept into a messy bun. Her blue eyes were red and puffy. No amount of sniffling could stop the snot that ran from her nose. At her side, a young girl held the woman’s hand. Couldn’t have been older than three.

Gwen pulled away from me, swaying. I kept my hands on her hips. I wasn’t sure she’d stay standing otherwise.

The sobs had ceased, but every few seconds, Gwen’s shoulders rose with a gasping breath she struggled to pull in. Trying to hold it together, she swatted her tears and managed something that almost looked like a smile for the girl.

They didn’t speak. When the woman opened her arms, Gwen opened hers. I let her go, and they collapsed into each other. The woman was a bit smaller, but she managed to hold Gwen upright. She sobbed first, and Gwen followed.

Damn it, I hated funerals. The worst of them all had been Sarah’s. Alcohol had tainted my breath, I was just as shaky on my feet, and Rhiannon was the only one who held me up.

“She loved you, Eve,” Gwen whispered. “She loved you so much.”

Eve. That was her name.

“She loved you too,” Eve choked out. She stepped back and thumbed Gwen’s tears away. A slow, shaking breath eased from her nostrils. “This is so screwed up.”

Little gasps still shook Gwen’s body every few heartbeats. All she managed was a nod.

“The hot cocoa is really good though.” Eve kept a hand on Gwen's shoulder. “She would’ve loved it.”

Tears refilled the brims of Gwen’s eyes. She tried to smile back, but she couldn’t muster that either.

“It just looked like you could use a hug. Another hug.” Eve gave me an awkward wave. “I’m sure I’ll see you at group later this week, but if you need anything, or if you just want to talk, I’m in A119.”

Another quick nod, because that was all she could get out.

I made a mental note of that, because I doubted Gwen would remember. Good thing she’d only taken a step or two away, because her bottom half swayed again. I grabbed her hand before she could stumble. She caught hold of my bicep.

“How about we go get you something to drink?” I asked, stroking my free hand over her back.

Remaining gasps from her sobs still holding onto her lungs, all she gave me was a quick nod.

* * *

Inside the rec center’s foyer, I ushered Gwen into one of the fold-up aluminum chairs. She hadn’t spoken yet, but her breathing had normalized. A plus, I supposed.

Fold-up tables lined the edges of the room. A cake and a few carafes took up one of them. On the other, finger sandwiches, chicken nuggets, a veggie tray, sliced fruit. Beneath it, a few twelve-packs of soda. Cola, grape, and just what I was looking for. Ginger ale.

I grabbed it out, flicked open the tab, and headed her way.

Eyes closed, Gwen rested her head against the cedar planks behind her, her back slumped in the aluminum seat. She’d never had a tan, but she looked especially bleak today. Aside from her pink nose and the sore skin around her eyes, I’d never seen her so pasty. No green yet, so that was a good sign.

Squatting to her eye level, I rubbed a hand up her arm. Her eyes flung open but relaxed when they met mine.

I held out the soda. “Here.”

She took it but didn’t bring it to her lips. “Did you try my cocoa?”

“Not yet.” I gestured to the ginger ale. “You look kinda dehydrated. Please. Drink that.”

“Only if you try my cocoa.”

Something between a snort and a laugh escaped me. “I will. But⁠—”

“No buts.” She sat forward. The smell of chocolate and whiskey seeped from her pouting lips. “You have to drink my cocoa. Then I’ll drink the ginger ale.”

I laughed this time. Relief loosened my shoulders as I straightened. “Where’s your cocoa?”

Arm limp, almost like a cat pawing at a toy, she pointed at the carafes on the table.

Walking across the room to it, my tight neck softened. I held the Styrofoam cup beneath the spout and flicked the spigot. As it filled, I looked her way. “Happy?”

Despite the swelling around her eyes and lips from all the crying, she smiled and nodded.

She didn’t hate me. After everything yesterday, and the night preceding it, I was almost certain she’d never look at me the same again. I guessed I’d been right, because that look on her face wasn’t the same.

Before, it always seemed like I was looking at her through a pane of glass. Some magical reflection played against it, obscuring whatever she was thinking, whatever she felt.

But now, I saw it all. The softness in her eyes, the pain behind them, and the fury that boiled beneath it all. The pane of glass had shattered.

I squatted before her again. “I’ll drink when you do.”

She lifted the can to her lips, I lifted the cup to mine, and we tilted our heads back in unison. I took a few gulps while she chugged. The thick texture had me humming, and the sweetness sent my head tilting.

As she lowered the can, a burp billowed from her lips. I laughed. She did too, covering her mouth. Didn’t make much of a difference. The smell already hit me.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“Too much.” I set the cup on the carpet next to my feet. “That shit’s dangerous. You don’t even taste the whiskey.”

“That’s the idea.” She brought the ginger ale to her mouth for another sip. As she lowered it, her brows furrowed. “Was Lizzie out there?”

“Yeah. She’s with Aubrey and her mom.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “She saw that? Me, like that.”

Lizzie saw a messy, pain-filled moment of vulnerability. It hadn’t been the perfect picture of Gwen. But it’d been real. Raw and honest. I didn’t hold it against her, and Lizzie wouldn’t either.

“She’s going into high school next year.” Thighs burning from squatting so long, I lowered my knees to the carpet. “She’ll see plenty more drunk people.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the kind of drunk people she should see.” Words slurred, Gwen rubbed her eyes between her thumb and forefinger. “That’s embarrassing. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to see that either.”

I didn’t have to. I wanted to. Not because I got some sadistic joy out of watching Gwen fall apart, but maybe a cathartic relief. She bottled everything, all of the time. I still didn’t understand a lot of what she said. The stats, and the pain, sure, but one day, I hoped she would tell me what she’d meant. Why the hell she thought she deserved to die more than Delilah.

I wanted to know those things for the same reason I was glad to have been the one who caught her. Because I wanted to be the well she could dump into. I wanted her to feel safe enough to share the most vulnerable parts of herself with me.

“I don’t mind.” I thumbed a bead of sweat from her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Spinny.” She blinked hard. “Tired.”

“Can I drive you back up to your cabin?”

Swallowing hard, she nodded. “I might need a little help getting to your truck though.”

“I was counting on it.”

* * *

She didn’t need much help. Holding my hand was enough.

When we made it to her cabin, however, she struggled on the steps. Couldn’t blame the alcohol for that, though. Between the inch of ice and lack of handrail, anyone could’ve slipped. I caught her before she did.

Almost slipped behind her. Thankfully, she didn’t see.

Once she found her key, then struggled to get the lock open, we stepped inside. Honey’s barks echoed from Gwen’s bedroom. She ran out like a bullet to greet us.

Gwen squatted down to pet her. The second her fingers made contact with Honey’s ear, she stumbled. I stretched out to catch her, but her ass already landed on the hardwoods with a thundering thwack. I expected a gasp or a grunt.

Instead, she laughed. Not a giggle, not a snicker, but a deep, all-consuming belly laugh. A mess of red curls obscuring her face, her laugh ended in a snort.

No matter how hard I tried to press my lips together, I couldn’t contain the grin. Not because this was funny. Rationally, I knew how delicate this situation was. How delicate Gwen was.

But… “You’re a snort laugher.”

Laughing harder as Honey climbed into her lap, only one blue eye visible through her mop of curls, she laid her head against the door behind her. “Shut up.”

“Like a little piggy.”

She flipped me the bird, still laughing while Honey licked her all over.

I stretched out a hand. “The couch is probably comfier.”

Paying me no mind, whispering sweet nothings to Honey, she grabbed either side of the puppy’s face and scratched up her fur.

“Or you can stay there,” I said under my breath, kicking off my boots.

The kitchen contradicted the woman on the floor. All those gallons of hot cocoa, not to mention the cake, and not a remnant on the counters or in the sink. No spilled chocolate, not a dusting of flour or sugar. The yellowish Formica sparkled in the afternoon light trickling in through the windows. For the home of such a fluffy dog, you’d expect a few tufts of hair against the hardwoods, at least a lingering scent of wet dog, but the smell of sugar and chocolate filled my nose instead.

Gwen was a stress cleaner. How could I be surprised? For someone so stoic, always so calm, quiet and mindful of everyone around her, of course order brought her comfort.

She still sat on the floor, soaking up all the attention Honey gave her, as I headed for the fridge and shook off my jacket. I draped it over the back of one of the wooden dinette seats. At the fridge, I swung open the freezer door.

Frozen meals took up almost all the space. When I shifted them around, though, a log of ground beef caught my eye. Tucked in the back sat a bag of frozen chicken breast.

“Chicken or tacos?” I asked, glancing at her over my shoulder.

“Huh?”

“To eat.” Holding the freezer door open, I spun to face her. “Do you want chicken or tacos?”

“Neither.” She supported herself on the coffee table as she stood. “I’m not really hungry. But eat whatever you want.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Propping her hands on her hips, she cocked her head to the side. She shrugged.

“So. Chicken or tacos?”

“I don’t care.” She unzipped her hoodie and hung it on a hook by the door. “I’m cool with a Lean Cuisine.”

“Well, I’m not.” Chicken would be less offensive when it came back up, so that was the plan. Inside the cabinet, I found a glass plate. A few chunks of chicken breast in hand, then on the plate, I squinted around. “Where’s your microwave?”

“That cabinet over there by the oven.” As I walked that way and opened it up, she continued. “It’s sweet and everything that you’re offering to cook for me, but I think we’ll still be on weird terms after the chicken.”

That stiffness in my shoulders came back.

Fair. She was right.

I tossed the hunks of meat into the microwave on defrost for a few minutes.

The old chair squealed against the hardwoods. When I turned around, Gwen was sitting in it. She bent over the edge to pet Honey, who lay on the floor beneath her.

I couldn’t call her red hair a mop anymore. She hadn’t done anything to tame it, but the way it fell around her face, all tossed to one side, the way it popped beside her bright blue eyes…

Wild. The only word for it. It matched that look she was giving me.

Focused, unblinking, even in her state. She said she wanted to wait to talk, but that expression said it all.

I don’t hate you, but I don’t like you very much right now.

“What’s the weird part?” I leaned against the counter behind me. “That I killed a guy, that you killed a guy, or that you want to do it again?”

Silence set in. The corners of her eyes twitched. Something curved across her lips, but I couldn’t call it a smile. “None of those.”

Was now the right time for this conversation? Would there ever be?

“Alright.” I gripped the lip of the counter behind me on either side. “Walk me through it then.”

“You acted like I was stupid.”

I frowned. Almost said that wasn’t true. But that was how she perceived it, regardless of how I’d intended it. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“You think killing Evan is.”

My mouth opened, then clapped shut.

Because yes, I did. Premeditating anyone’s murder was a stupid thing to do.

“I think it’s dangerous,” I said.

“Obviously, it’s dangerous.” Honey scampered off and jumped onto the couch. Gwen leaned back in her seat. “That wasn’t the word you used yesterday, though.”

“I have a habit of coming off condescending. Rhiannon has been telling me so my whole life. I’m sorry for that.”

“I can deal with a little condescension,” she said. “Hypocrisy is another story.”

She didn’t understand. Not because she was stupid, or because I thought she was stupid, but because I didn’t know how to explain it.

“I wasn’t trying to be a hypocrite either,” I said. “I don’t have a problem with where you stand on this morally. If I had the power, if I could snap my fingers and make assholes like that disappear, I would.”

“So it’s the logistics you have an issue with?” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Because, like I said, I did it before. If I plan, if I prepare, I can handle the logistics.”

I crossed my arms against my chest. “I never said you couldn’t.”

“You made it sound like I couldn’t. I can, and I did.” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t give me any shit, alright? I know I dumped him into your creek and everything, but even if you hadn’t helped me, even if you hadn’t dragged him out, he could’ve washed miles and miles down the river. Someone would’ve identified him, maybe, eventually—And yeah, I know. I forgot to take out his ID. But that’s what I’m saying. Someone would’ve found him eventually, maybe, and it never would’ve come back to me.”

My snort was louder than hers had been. And of course, the second it came out, I realized how condescending it sounded. But if she wanted to get into it, fine.

“Bullshit. You’re Simone’s best friend. Simone would’ve been the number one suspect, because his mom is currently shouting from the rooftops that she’s the suspect. And someone would’ve gone down for it. Probably you, because even if—and it’s a big if—she was willing to take the fall for what you did, you would’ve stepped up. You wouldn’t have let her go to jail for it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She squinted me over. “‘Even if.’ Are you saying you think Simone would turn me in?”