I See Black

I stare at him for a second, then at Saturn, torn between the two who to approach first.

After some seconds, I push through the crowd to the girl in a satin dress who has her butt crashing against her lover’s crotch with a glass of drink in hand.

“Saturn, my phone, I need it now,” I demand, my voice raised over the music.

Saturn lazily rises to her full height and turns to me with a nonchalant expression. Her tousled hair falls over her face, and her breath reeks of alcohol when she slurs, “Yourrr what?”

“My damn phone!” I repeat. But I don’t think the girl’s listening.

She shouts back, “Don’t know! You should find it in one of these hearths.” The fucking hearths? There’s about eleven of them and she expects me to start digging around each one for what, ashes?

“Gods, no, Saturn!” I sigh. How did my phone end up there in the first place? Ask me again why the girl disgusts me.

And the best she can do is burp. “Oops, sorry,” she says with a sheepish smile, starting a drunken giggle.

I should biff her on those perfect teeth of hers, shouldn’t I? But maybe the cheap phone isn’t worth my punishment after that. I only use it for Hunter’s sake anyway, and his social media handle has become a cell in my brain.

Ignoring the intoxicated girl, I push myself toward the drink counter, locking gaze on Hunter’s back and counting my strides to him.

I’m gonna keep my eyes on the guy. Why? —because men are prone to run away. Forgive my reeking insensitivity; that is the truth. The motherfucker has been avoiding me all this while, so not again.

If he tries to dash or escape the situation with a bloody death glare, I’d take a bold move and pull him right onto me. Kiss the hell out of his damn lips and leave him hanging, wanting, growing a proper Vlad—whatever you call it.

He’s gonna find me then. If not for anything, because his dick’s no longer listening to him. It’d be a boss of its own and calling for me. And I’ll hesitate a little to that call before... oh well.

Heidi, you silly geese—

I stumble back with a wince when I collide on something solid. 

There’s no pain but I’m rubbing my forehead, looking up to find the two hefty men clothed in all-black attires blocking my path. Their countenance is forbidding, much like Dad Griffin’s, although they’re Hunter’s bodyguards.

I glance past them to find the latter still at the counter, so close yet far to reach. 

He’s slipping from my fingers again and I can do nothing. Nothing. I haven’t fought a girl, so why try with two giants? I’ll just find a better way to talk with Hunter. Or not talk with him at all even though curiosity gnaws at me.

I hate being kept in the dark. And the more Hunter avoids me, the more I want to understand why, even as he isn’t allowing me to do so.

I turn to leave before the two men grab each of my arms. Their strong hands wrap completely around my arm, tight and painful.

“Fucking let me go!” I scream as I struggle to no avail until I end up outside the mansion, thrown into the damn snow.

I watch the men retreat into the hall before I catch Dad Griffin standing at the entrance, his scowl a gelid token of the cruelty I’ve been dealt.

The man definitely did this. I thought he kept a long sword between us, but maybe he pulled it just long enough to reach me whenever he wanted. 

“I hope you shit your pants,” I mutter while gritting my teeth, my hands digging into the snow and forming tight fists that shape snowballs as I see Dad Griffin disappear into the hall. 

I remain crouched on all fours between two parked cars, disregarding the creeping frost that would soon bite at my hands and knees. 

Guests and guards loiter about. Thankfully, the paparazzi have been forced to leave, which is quite relieving. It’d be terrible to have this moment trend online. 

When I feel hands brush my shoulders, I’m thinking it’s any of Morton’s friends who sat with him against a light pole by the road. So, my instinct kicks in. 

I spring to my feet and hurl the snowballs at the intruder who fluidly dodges them while raising his hands in surrender. I abruptly stop. That’s nothing close to Morton’s friends; the latter isn’t that fancy to keep people like this around for long. 

Yet, my stance is defensive, ready to strike again. 

I notice how the intruder looks nearly as tall as Hunter. And his black chin-length hair would have covered his face if a red headband wasn’t holding it to the sides. 

His tight skin seems to glow, and his facial muscles are defined. Yet, the precise scar slicing vertically across his right eye is what gives him an aura of fatal allure.

“I don’t like being touched without permission,” I hiss.

The man smirks nevertheless—ballsy for someone who nearly had snowflakes in his damn eyes. 

“I’m Zavere. I do not hurt ladies,” he says, his voice like a bassoon melody. I bet I could listen to him talk for days without getting bored. Morton should definitely take notes (if he knows what a pen looks like).

“Who the hell are you?” I demand while still wary. 

The man slowly bends down to pick up a jacket. It seems to have fallen into the snow when I threw the snowballs at him. 

“Someone who’s going to keep you warm,” he replies before holding it to me. However, I slap his hand away, sending the jacket right back into the snow.

“Bugger off.” 

“Okay.” He casually turns to leave. He’s not persistent—check. “I guess you’re not so eager to talk to Hunter, then,” he says over his shoulder as he picks up his shit. But then pauses and, turning back to me, mumbles, “I know you two are in a relationship.” He’s persistent, alright—uncheck. “Why, you think I cannot get close to him?” 

I’m looking at him so he must have noticed my mask of indifference even though his words have already piqued my interest. 

It only reminds me now how much I don’t know Hunter—his line of friends, his dressing style, and if he’s more of a natural man or a makeup lover; we’ve never really found the purpose to discuss these.

This man here could be his friend or not, but it isn’t hard to notice how similar they are physically. 

Their one difference is the aura, which contradicts each other, as an ultra-white rose against a Vanta-black dress. Mr. Zavere strangely seems like the white despite his looks strongly disagrees.

He can do as he pleases. I won’t ask him for a favor, yet I want him to do me one. So, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt—indirectly force him to a challenge. 

With that, my lips curl down as I sway my head to the sides in a way of a shrug.

“Watch me.” He takes the challenge and is starting toward the hall before...

“I’ll take the coat,” I say beneath my breath, regretting saying that and praying he doesn’t hear. But he does. 

He stops, turns, and walks to me; all very slowly, with that smug expression plastered on his face. “Good choice,” He utters while trying to drape the jacket over my shoulders before I snatch it. 

“I can do it myself, thank you.”

Zavere scrutinizes my face. He won’t stop staring with that wolfish grin, looking down at me because of his height. Now it makes me feel like a tiny artifact. And that is very much annoying. 

“You know, you should try to relax a bit. It’s exhausting with all that tension,” he says.

“Well, save your advice for the one who caused it in the first place,” I retort while eyeing him. “Now, off you go. Shoo!” As I wave my hand dismissively, Zavere huffs before disappearing into the hall. 

I watch through the glass windows as he weaves through the crowd to where Hunter’s sitting. Then he pats the man’s shoulder. 

Hunter responds by crossing his arm to Zavere’s back and stroking his waist in a friendly manner. 

I catch the smile across his face as he clinks glasses with Zavere before the latter leans in to whisper something in his ear. And I don’t have the chance to ponder the nature of their relationship before I hear someone sniffing behind me. 

“Hm... smells good,” Saturn’s voice drifts in with a slur, now I wish the music were louder. “How do you keep grabbing good-looking guys for yourself?” she dares to ask. “That’s greedy.”

“Maybe because I don’t have a toxic, stinking trait?” I reply without looking back. “Try washing off some attitude, it helps.” If only she takes other’s advice.

“You’re one… to speak?” Saturn seems to stumble forward and I catch her before she can fall. The girl gives off a sheepish grin, insobriety dancing in her eyes. “You were literally stinking aaallll the… way from where I stood before you had this jacket.” She finds her balance and jabs a lazy finger into my shoulder with each of her next words. “I love my attitude just the way it is. Thank you.” When she makes to leave, she stops and sluggishly turns back. “By the way, why are you out here?”

“Was kicked out by your kind,” I snap as I look away from her to see Hunter sitting alone again. Zavere has vanished from sight.

“Good. I was beginning to wonder when they’d finally do that. Have a nice time here with your non-stinking, non-toxic trait.” The girl stumbles towards the road. “Morton, with me!” she yells.

“Can you not see that I’m with friends, Saturn?” Morton’s voice booms back from the roadside.

“Well, ditch ‘em. I need you inside to hold my arm.”

Morton’s friends split their sides laughing.

“Fuck off! Find your boy toy, dude. Hey, you too.” I know the last call is for me, and I flip Morton off. “If you do that again, bitch, I might just have you buried in the snow!” he bellows, but I’m already walking away.

Zavere hasn’t seemed to be much help. So, I cook up another plan—a rather punishable one. 

One of Hunter’s female guards is leaning against the wall and smoking. I’m going to lure her to a secluded spot, knock her out, and steal her uniform. 

The plan isn’t foolproof, but I have to try. It makes me regret not taking my combat training seriously over the past six years. I put out a shitty behavior back then. If only I knew I wouldn’t have a golden spoon in my mouth forever.

Zipping up my jacket, I search for a piece of rock and tuck it underneath, leaving my hands with it. “Hey,” I call as I approach the guard, who looks at me without a reply. I add as I stand beside the woman, “The Whites prepared a treat for all the guards behind the building. I was asked to bring you.” 

The lie is sloppy, I know—judging from how the lady eyes me skeptically with her gaze sweeping from my head to my feet. 

She puffs out smoke and glances around to find the other guards in their stations then returns a questioning stare to me.

I wave dismissively. “Oh, it’s done in batches. All the guards can’t leave their posts at once.” Hopefully, this is convincing—or so I think. 

The guard nods reluctantly and crushes her cigarette into the snow, pushing herself off the wall and gesturing for me to lead the way. 

“After you,” she mutters.

I take her around the back of the house, where the snow-covered fields give way to frosty woods. Snow crunches under our feet, leaving a trail of blackened footprints in our wake. 

Dad Griffin gave strict orders to light this part of the valley, especially for Hunter’s birthday, yet the once lush woods barely caught the light, which is what I’m looking forward to. 

But the guard suddenly halts and looks back at the long trail we left after a few minutes of walking,

“Are you leading me to the mountains, girl?” she asks harshly. 

I stop and turn to face her. The woods are just ahead. And I need to get her inside them. Yet, watching the woman’s paranoid expression, I see the next few minutes flash before me—minutes that only luck can change. 

Maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. This isn’t even the best choice I could have made.

Whereas I stand about a hundred and sixty centimeters tall (I think I measured as much last time I checked), this woman towers over six feet (I don’t know how this height thingy works, but Hunter says he’s 6 '4 so he could serve as my meter). Plus, she’s well-trained. You get the gist?

I zip my head in all directions before stealing to the woman’s side. “I was asked to get you around here,” I mumble, sliding the rock from under my clothes. She’s looking ahead of her, absorbed in keeping a stoic expression.

If she’d paid more attention to what’s around her, she’d see that I’m not only standing beside her but also about swinging a rock at the back of her head.

And as I make the hit, I sigh, “This is what I do for love.”

Poor guard crumples to the ground before a smirk plays on my lips—I’m not evil, please; it’s just the satisfaction of things going my way for a damn second.

“That was easy,” I mutter while watching the woman’s unconscious form. 

I can’t figure out how the rest of my plan will go. All I know is that I was supposed to wear the guard’s uniform. But can I do that in such open vastness around me? 

After ensuring no one’s watching, I grab the guard by the forearms and drag her toward a large boulder. Grunting and breathless, I move her across the snow and prop her heavy body against the stone, holding her in place. 

As I reach for the fasteners on her bulletproof vest, I feel strong hands suddenly grip my nape and my wrists, causing my eyes to widen in shock; petrified when I realize the guard has regained consciousness—or didn’t lose it in the first place.

I’m trying to free my hands, but the woman’s own that holds my two wrists together is too powerful. And now our faces are just in front of each other, and I can see a side of her lips tilting up (not to show amusement), her eyes grasping heat, too much of it. It seemed cold before but now I feel like it could spew lava any moment from now.

“Guards’ treats, huh?” she sneers. And it hits me! This woman’s not letting me go free; not when she totally has me on her web.

Words form in my mouth. “Oh, fuc―” Then a force presses on my nape, followed by my ears ringing, throbbing pain spreading from my forehead to my temples. I see black.