Never Been Kissed(103)
“Okay, Matty. Just calm down. Sit there, and don’t move. I’m going to get you some ice, okay? And I’ll give you something for the pain.” The words come out like a trained professional, all the right answers but inside I’m full of fireworks of emotion. Worry, lots and lots of worry that gnaws at my gut like it’s a living thing. Confusion at Hunter’s reaction and why he didn’t take him to the hospital straight away. Hot guilt flooding my cheeks because I didn’t come over sooner. Helplessness when I think of all the coulda-woulda-shouldas that might have happened instead. A pox on the little kid who pushed him and the horse he rode in on. Christ, I don’t mean that, but maybe I do.
I scramble into the kitchen, opening the freezer for ice. Right, I need a cloth. In three steps I’m in Hunter’s bathroom, searching the cupboards for small hand towels or whatever. Snagging my target, I rush back into the kitchen and pour water over it in the sink. Damn, I left the freezer open. Pulling out the ice tray and do the twisting crack-crack thing and pull out four ice cubes.
“Stop what you’re doing. He’s fine,” Hunter says from behind me. I fumble with the ice cubes, trying to find the best angle to put them in the cloth so when I roll it up, the cold will seep through, and not spill them out.
“He’s not fine. He has a fraking concussion. I can’t believe this. Didn’t anybody at the daycare tell you?” I growl, finally rolling up the cloth, and getting ready to move around the counter. A hand around my bicep halts my progress, and I feel like the Roadrunner - legs moving faster than the eyes can see, eating into the ground but not moving anywhere.
“He’s fucking fine, Sera. He just needs to stop crying over every fucking little thing that bothers him.”
My body jerks. “What did you say?” I know what he said, and worst of all, I know Matty heard every single word. “What the hell did you just say?!”
“Stop coddling him! You’re going to make him worse!”
I tear my arm out of his grasp, and turn to give him a death glare. A death glare so great, it would send Dean Winchester into fits of hysteria.
“He has a concussion. Is that clear enough for you? His brain is swollen. We have to take him to the hospital.”
“He’s not your kid!” Hunter yells in my face, eyes blazing with fury.
“I don’t fucking care. You’re not taking care of him, so I WILL! Step aside! God, what is up your ass?”
“My ass? My ass? Are you fucking kidding me? I have this, this fucking kid hanging around me all the time, reminding me of her,” he spits out the last bit like it’s a piece of rancid food. “And you! You’re just making everything worse! I NEVER WANTED HIM IN MY LIFE! I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS SHIT!” Hunter roars, getting his whole body behind it. I wonder if anybody in the adjacent apartments heard him and are now calling nine-one-one.
The cold from the cloth is finally seeping into my hand, and a part of me is proud of myself that I could do that right. The other part is spit-raving angry, and if I had ever been dosed up with gamma rays, I’d fuck Hunter up real bad and Hulk-out right about now.
I pull in a deep breath through my nose, letting it calm me enough to put the fakest of smiles on my face while I position the cloth on Matty’s head where he tells me it hurts most. With instructions to keep it there and sit tight, I crook a finger at Hunter and point him to his bedroom. How could one person be so infuriating?
Fists clenched, I open his bedroom door and pace. When he closes it, I let loose... of everything.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, saying those things in front of Matty? Fucking hell, Hunter, what is wrong with you?” I can’t help myself, I push him. He wasn’t expecting it, so his back goes up against the wall, and his eyes get wide. “That little boy out there, he’s everything I could ever want in a kid. Do you understand? Matty is everything that’s good in the world. Do you know what it means to come home, and he’s happy to see you? I don’t understand how you can take that love for granted. And then! And then you say those horrible, awful things to him. I don’t fucking care if you didn’t want him, if he wasn’t planned. Matty is a gift, you fucking asshole, and if you can’t see that, then you need help. Serious fucking help.”
I’m panting, and I want to punch his face in.
“You know, he told me that you hated him. Hate is a strong word, a word that should only be reserved for people who are truly evil on this planet, and he used it in context with you, his Dad. You know what that says, you asshole? Whatever you’ve been doing for the last four years of his life has meant fuck-all to him. He gives you his love, and yeah, he’s a kid, and I know he can be annoying, and restless or whatever, but that doesn’t give you the right to be a fucking dick back! He’s your son, whether you like it or not! He’s your little boy!”