Page 7 of Sunrises & Salvation
HUNTER
T he crick in my neck causes my whole body to throb.
I’m in pain, and I have no one to blame except myself.
Or maybe my stupid roommate. He’s horrible.
I hate him. I especially hate him right now as I try to unfold myself off the couch in the lounge on our floor.
The room thankfully has a door with a lock, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone bursting in on me in the middle of the night, but the cheap vinyl couch wasn’t the best option.
I think I would have rather dealt with the confrontation with my roommate.
It’s my room too, and I have as much right to be in there as he does.
I grab my bag off its place on the couch, where I used it as a pillow, and march my way back to my dorm room, faking way more confidence than I feel.
My stomach is in knots, and I can feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back, even with the high-powered AC cooling off the hallways.
He can’t do anything to me; this isn’t high school, where kids get away with bullying. We’re adults now, at least almost adults, so we have a different set of rules. And I refuse to be pushed around by anyone. I’ve spent my life being treated like that.
My key is still on the lanyard that I’ve been keeping tucked into my shirts. I don’t want to be the weird kid who wears a lanyard everywhere, but I refuse to be caught outside of my room without this key.
I approach my door, and the two cutouts of hand-colored goldfish my RA taped to it are smiling condescendingly at me.
All I have to do is open the door. That’s all I have to do. And it’s Saturday, so he’s probably not even here. He mentioned on the first day that he was going to be gone a lot on weekends because of football, so at least I can have that time all to myself.
I press my key into the lock and turn it until I hear the click. I grit my teeth, my heart rate pounding as I push the door open.
There’s no one here. I’ve never been more thankful to be alone.
I throw my bag on my bed, holding my breath until it comes to a stop right at the edge. I expect it to fall off, and wouldn’t that be the cherry on top of it all. The one thing that probably would send me over the edge.
It doesn’t move, and with my heartbeat finally slowed down to a manageable level, I decide to pass the time by checking my orders on my website. There are a few now, business is slowly picking up. I pull out my portable laminator and box of supplies and get to work.
Three hours later, the crick in my neck is gone. Instead, it’s moved to my lower back, and my stomach is growling, too.
I should put a pin in this current project and go for a walk to get some food, but if I don’t finish it now, I’ll forget.
I quickly and efficiently place the last of the dried flowers on the cardstock, making sure not to jostle it too much while I run it through the laminator.
My hand-me-down mini-Cricut already has the design preloaded, so as soon as this bookmark makes it through the laminator, it’ll be ready for the decal to go on top.
When that’s done, I decide to call it a day.
Checking my phone, I discover the battery is dead.
Crap, I guess I should have checked it before I got immersed in my project.
If my mom called, she’s probably worried sick.
Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her to drive the three hours here just to check on me.
I’ll just leave it plugged in to get a little juice in it while I take a quick shower, taking advantage of the lack of people in the dorms today. It seems like everyone has cleared out, everyone except me.
The melancholy settles over me like a thick fog. I’m a loner, but not by choice. I love being around people, I love friendship and physical connection. All the things everyone gives freely, just not to me.
I should be used to it by now, but no matter how many times it happens, it still hurts. Before, I would curl in on myself. Lock my door and sob into fictional books for an escape, dreaming of action, adventure, and love. The experiences I want to have.
And I will have them, come hell or high water. I'm going to make college my bitch.
Now showered and dressed, I enter back into my dorm room to find it mercifully empty.
My phone is charged enough, and I check my notifications. Not seeing anything new from my parents, I pocket it and double-check that the door is shut behind me.
Campus is bustling outside, with students enjoying the warm weather by lying on blankets in the grass or tying their hammocks up in between the trees. I have to dodge people on the sidewalks, but that’s fine. I have one place in mind, the place that I found that night after move-in day.
A short walk through the center of campus, to the right at the pedestrian light, and three blocks down.
The sun is beating down on me, and a bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck, cooling off my overheated skin.
Blue cottony clouds hang heavy overhead, not stifling the sun but promising rain in a few days’ time.
The hustle of the crowds around me makes me feel like an outsider, and I hunch down on myself to be smaller.
When I finally get to the rundown café, the door is shut.
With graffiti spray-painted on the side in an array of colors and the lack of signage, a normal person might think it’s closed.
I’m not normal, though, because when I accidentally stumbled across it looking for the campus bookstore, I realized that no matter how weird people might think I am, being weird pays off.
The first time I stumbled upon it, I wasn’t sure what to think.
It was extremely secretive, only a vague riddle on the door and an arrow for the drop box.
But when I put the clues together about the riddle and dropped it in the box, I waited, instead of walking away like I probably should have—my curiosity getting the better of me.
I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I wasn’t sure if the riddle would open the door or if it was some top-secret riddle-making company that wanted to test people’s knowledge.
The riddle on the front door is different than it was last time I was here. I need to ask her how often they change it, because I might end up coming here every day just to test my brain power.
The more you take, the more you leave behind.
I grab a slip of the notebook paper, and quickly write my answer on it, sliding it into the drop box. I can hear the quiet ding when it passes by the bell.
Shifting my stance, I glance around me to see if anyone else is as interested in this restaurant as I am.
The door opens wide, and Angie is standing there with her graying hair pulled tight in a braid and a bright smile on her face.
“Hunter! Back again so soon?” She steps to the side, letting me in, and securely locks the door behind us.
The café is silent, except for the rhythmic clack of metal against metal as the cook in the back practices his egg tricks. He waves at me through the open partition.
“Come, come, darling.” Angie shows me to a booth, grabbing two glasses and a pitcher of water on the way, then sitting down across from me while I get situated, like we’ve known each other for years instead of a week.
“How was your first week of class?” she asks, filling the cup almost to the brim before handing it to me.
“It was okay,” I offer, taking a small sip. She blows out a raspberry, waving her hand.
“I know that’s a lie, the first week is always the worst. Did you make any friends? Like all of your teachers?” No and no, but I can’t tell her that. I’m working on being happy, being sunshine personified, so I can make it through.
“Yeah, I did make a few friends. They’re older.
” My mind automatically flits to Zoey and her messages asking me to hang out.
Each one has been answered with a cop-out excuse.
Because every time I think about agreeing, I remember how Brittany acted when Zoey asked, and I’m not desperate enough to force myself into their fold.
No matter how badly I wanted to say yes.
Then, the two girls morph into a guy with dark hair. Blue eyes lined with dark eyelashes and a straight nose that leads to a perfectly pouty mouth, two full lips that haunt my dreams.
He’s straight, I convince myself, and I can’t ignore the impatience from our first encounter, or the way he blew me off the second time. I thought he would be a little more welcoming to the freshman, but that’s wishful thinking on my part.
“Good, good. Bring them with you next time. But they have to figure out the riddle themselves. We want to keep this place set apart from the other places around here. Only smart people.” I laugh, feeling joyous.
Knowing that even when it feels like my life is going downhill, I can still rely on this practical stranger to be nice to me.
The bell dings and Angie stares at me wide-eyed. She places her finger in front of her mouth in a shhh signal. Even Patrick, in the back, stops working on his fancy tricks.
Angie reaches into the box and pulls out the small piece of paper. She looks at me and nods her head. She’s about to let someone in, I’m assuming. But I don’t know why she would feel the need to let me know, I’m not the owner, so it’s not like she needs my approval.
She unlocks the door and stands off to the side to let the other person in. I’m not sure about the etiquette of being the only patron in a restaurant, so I wait until they look my way.
My hand raises in a wave, and the moment blue eyes catch mine, I have to force my face not to drop.
The one person that I should not be thinking about just walked in the door, and with how Angie’s fawning over him now, I feel like an intruder.