Love Letters

Chapter 8 - My room, sorry, Our room

My eyes bulged out of their sockets and I gripped my pointe shoe harder. Huh. I hadn't even realized that I was still holding it. I glanced from a smirking Hunter to my fierce mother and back again. Then, as if everyone knew I was going to explode, they filed out of the room. That's good. I thought. Now I can explode by myself. I took a deep breath and went to roll up the thread and keep my pointe shoes. I continued to take deep breaths, meditating as the familiar feel of my pointe shoes relaxed me. I imagined that I was performing again, even though I just went on a series of competitions back in Russia.

I had just finished when my daydream was cut short by the velvety voice of Hunter Sanchez; smug as always. "You should be happy, princesa." I blushed at the old nickname. "You and I will be sharing a bed." Suddenly, he was right behind me, whispering into my ear.

"I'm going to my room." I said, hoping to be firm, but grimacing at how weak my voice sounded. "You mean our room." Hunter called after me as I rushed down the hall and into my room.

I shut the door and gazed wistfully around my room. I could never have been bothered to unpack, so my room was basically empty.

My king sized bed was pushed up against the back wall and my desk was at the front wall; it was the only thing that actually had any of my personal belongings on it.

I walked past the mess of boxes on the floor, full of clothes and posters, to my desk and admired it for a second. Half of it was covered in open textbooks and binders, but there was a specific part in the corner designated for my photos. It was the only thing I really unpacked.

There were photos of me in a baby tutu when I was a toddler, to pictures of me and a young Hunter hugging at my 11th birthday.

I was skipping down memory lane when my door slammed open. Shocked, I dropped the picture and it crashed onto the floor.

"No no no no no!" I cried. That was my favourite picture! I fell to my knees and tried to gather as much of the broken glass as I could. Placing the frameless picture on my desk gently, I put the shards in my jersey, using it as a bowl kind of thing, exposing my stomach. At that, I heard a sharp intake of breath and I turned to look at Hunter standing in my doorway. I swear I almost cut myself just by looking at him. He wore sweatpants and had his shirt balled up in his fist. His defined abs and biceps tensed as he clutched his shirt so hard his knuckles turned white. Curious as I was, my eyes went up to his own too see where he was looking. My stomach.

My fingers gripped the shard of glass in my hand a bit too tightly and blood ran down my wrist. "Come on!" I groaned in frustration; the blood dripping onto my new carpet. I threw the glass into the trash can under my desk and cautiously walked over to Hunter who was still staring at my stomach.

Sorry for the series of short chapters, hehe.