The Hunter

“Anyway.” Hunter yawned. “I rented the place for the night. The personal chef is already here. We’re having organic, plant-based food, because Luna is vegetarian and Sailor is…like, a chick.”

“Oh!” Luna squeaked in response, high-fiving me. I tried to remain upbeat. Like a chick? Was I not an actual woman now? Besides, this was bullshit, and he knew it. We ate out together all the time, and I was the more adventurous eater. In fact, one time he said I had the metabolism of a quarterback frat boy.

“Leaves, dude?” Knight threw Hunter a look that said he’d lost all respect.

“Fear not.” Hunter raised a warning hand. “In return for our hospitality in the food department—if I can even indeed call vegetables food—we will be watching a marathon of old-school movies, consisting of Fight Club, Top Gun, and Dirty Harry.”

“I’m not sitting through that!” Luna exclaimed, coming down from her initial euphoria.

“Even if it’s on top of me? Bareback?” Knight grinned, hooking his muscular bicep around her neck. Luna swatted his arm and laughed.

We made our way into the theater. An array of dishes—salads, pastas, and casseroles—were waiting outside in the lobby, complete with a makeshift dining area. We ate quickly, then went into the theater. There were two theater staff present. They dimmed the lights, put on the first movie—Dirty Harry—and made themselves scarce. We were seated in the front row of the upper level, in complete darkness, on plush seats. Knight and Hunter crossed their long legs at the ankles on the railings, with Knight putting Luna’s hand over his hard thigh, stroking it lovingly. Hunter and I didn’t touch, even though we sat right next to each other.

I couldn’t concentrate on the first two movies—Dirty Harry and Top Gun. All I could do was mull over how much it bothered me that Hunter hadn’t shown me any special treatment, or any treatment at all, for that matter. How hard was it going to be to face reality when our contract was up?

Over the weeks we’d slept together and listened to Sylvester Lewis’ tapes wrapped around each other with our AirPods, I’d willed myself to imagine Hunter walking away from me, saying goodbye one last time. I did it over and over again. I hoped the pain would subside with time—the more I envisioned it and the more I practiced.

It never did.

By the time Fight Club started, Luna and Knight had given up pretending they were watching the movies. They were fooling around, Luna straddling Knight on his seat. They made noises. Moans and groans and wet kisses. Their teeth collided, fabric shuffled. I couldn’t even decipher whether it was Brad Pitt or Edward Norton on the screen. I glanced at Hunter, who was sandwiched between me on one side, and Knight and Luna on the other. His eyes were dead on the screen as he poured a bag of M&M’s into his bucket of popcorn, skillfully balancing the huge thing on his knee.

I returned my gaze to the movie, my pinky on the armrest between us twitching, touching his briefly.

Touch me, fool.

He pulled away from my touch to scrub his stubbled jaw. The small, unrequited gesture felt like whiplash. My need to break over that one, silly rejection overwhelmed me. I felt like I’d lost him unexpectedly and prematurely, ahead of time.

If only you’d practiced imagining him kicking you out a hundred more times, huh? a sarcastic voice inside me taunted.

“Have you watched Fight Club before?” I cleared my throat.

“Is this a joke? Do birds fly?” He threw a handful of M&M’s and popcorn into his mouth, chewing.

“Depends on the bird. Ostriches don’t.”

He turned to look at me. I could see him in my periphery, frowning, like I belonged in a mental institution.

Kiss me.

Claim me.

Show them I’m more than just the sitter.

Instead of voicing my dark, erotic, pathetic thoughts, I yawned and stood up, stretching.

“Restroom break. Will be back soon.”

“Now? Shit’s just about to go down.” Hunter’s eyes widened.

I chose the longer path, past the empty seats that weren’t occupied by Knight, Luna, and Hunter as an escape route.

“I saw Brad Pitt topless. That was the height of the movie for me. It can only go downhill from here,” I muttered to myself.

I slipped downstairs to the restroom. I didn’t need to pee, but I took the time to freshen up, wash my face, and stare at myself in the mirror. I wore a gray, off-shoulder dress and my checked Vans, paired with a denim jacket. Still comfortable, but not complete dudebro attire. Smoothing my orange hair with my fingers, I left the restroom. The idea of returning upstairs and facing more of Knight and Luna’s love, and Hunter’s aloofness, made me nearly violent. Besides, the place was allegedly haunted. There was so much to see.

I decided to take a stroll along the hallway. It was old and imperial, with dozens of golden lights glittering like diamonds everywhere you looked. Brown marble columns rose from the floor like trees. I stepped into the first floor of the auditorium, under the deck, where Hunter and his friends couldn’t see me. The arched ceiling and detailed decorations did something to my heart I couldn’t explain. It squeezed in pride—pride that I was a part of this city, a small part of this place’s history. I’ve been here, I thought. In a hundred years, or maybe two, when I’m long gone, someone else would see all this.