A big big thank you to all those who reviewed, followed and favourited: Yung Warrior, fallingstar22, annyRhale and Lady Katherina.

Thanks to ems32 for the very useful analysis that she gave me.

Let me know how you feel about this installment because, honestly, there is nothing better than having people tell you how your work is being received.

Um… it's Hunter, this time around. I thought Tori would have been too predictable and monotonous. She will be up next, though.

That's about it, for now. Onto Chapter Four.

Hunter

There's an art to life's distractions,
To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through,
Some like to imagine,
The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do.

Would things be easier if there was a right way?
Honey, there is no right way.

And so I fall in love just a little, oh a little bit every day with someone new.

- Someone New,

Hozier.

The shadows leap in the waning light of the moon that is showering itself onto the floor of the room, casting a dark look all around. The night is quiet, almost balefully so, but for the distant roaring of the waves.

As the night dies, as the sun promises to come out, to break through the darkness, I feel the tension seeping in once again, the walls closing in, caging me.

Trapped.

The effects of staying up the whole night, the effects of alcohol, the unfamiliar feel of the couch, all coalesces and finally starts taking its toll on me.

Last night starts taking its toll on me.

The thought of her hands on me, carefully treading their way, her lips on the side of my neck, somehow delicate and urgent, all at the same time, comes rushing back.

It had finally happened: the crossing of that ever-evading metaphorical line between us.

And, I had screwed it up.

Typical.

The only hope that I was desperately clinging onto was that she would forget all about last night in the morning.

I had hoped that I too would have been drunk enough to forget all about it but then again, hope does not like me very much.

Who knew.

I cannot fully comprehend last night. One moment, we were talking and then she said that she had no direction in her personal life and I knew, just knew, that it was about us: her and me. And then, I felt the overwhelming need to run away because I could not bear to think of us in any other capacity but this where I would have to commit myself to her, where I would have to be accountable to her, where I would have to give a little more.

After that, before I knew it, she was kissing me; something immensely enticing about that sensation. I almost gave in, I almost took the next step, almost but not quite.

Looking into her eyes, seeing the hope burning so brightly in them, I couldn't carry on.

Because she wanted something that I would never be able to give to her, something that I would never allow myself to give to her. Because she wanted a piece of me - a complete, full piece of me – that I could never ever give to her. Because at this point, I could not be responsible for anyone else other than me.

I had walked away, not wanting to hurt her, pulled away from her but terrible drunken her had to collapse right there, right at that moment -

Blasted moment.

- and I had to half carry her home. She had not uttered another word after the fiasco.

Bless alcohol.

But as morning neared, I felt the tension building within me once again, the anticipation of how the morning would play out, of how she would react to it, growing.

Somehow, although I found myself hesitant to become something more to her, there was still another part of me that did not want to lose her, that was scared to lose her; a part of me that needed her.

I feel my eyes closing, tiredness finally getting the better of me, forcing me into a deep slumber and as I doze off, there is one thought that scathes me, that drives me to loathe myself, the thought that after all she has done for me, I still won't allow her to be anything more to me.

I am woken up by the faint sound of cutlery, the tingling noise coming from the kitchen setting my head into a series of painful throbs.

Welcome hangover.

The couch feels uncomfortable, the emptiness beside me too gaping.

My head continues to throb, clearly showing no signs of improvement. I remove the blanket off me and gingerly sit up straight, my limbs protesting to the movement.

It is after a good few minutes that my alcohol-clogged groggy brain cells realize that I had not gone off to sleep with the blanket wrapping me.

Damn Tori.

I remember thinking and over-thinking everything last night before finally giving in to the warm embrace of sleep.

I mentally prepare what to say to Tori, to explain my absence in the bed, beside her. I debate on telling her the truth, but eventually decide against it.

The truth does not appeal to me; it never has.

I make my way into the kitchen, head spinning, a nauseous feeling worming onto me. Her back is turned to me and I see her stiffening at the sound of my footsteps.

Fuck.

I prepare myself for the confrontation, steeling my nerves, rehearsing lies in my head.

"The couch?" she says drily as she turns to face me.

It is with an inexplicable sinking feeling that I realize she has forgotten about last night.

"I was tired. I dozed off there," I reply, voice perfectly calm, eyes not blinking, nothing that will give me away.

I can see her eyes changing colour, her lips being drawn into a tight line, her iron glare weighing me down heavily and I know that she has caught onto something.

But I do not flinch.

"I hate it when you lie," she hisses, her eyes narrowing on me.

This time, my gaze falters, my insides roll into a tight knot, my throat constricting, my voice comes out weak; defeated.

"Not now, Tori."

She continues to scrutinize me, her steely glare giving way to a look of faint realization and horror.

Her hands go up to cover her mouth, her eyes widening slightly.

"Something happened, didn't it?" she gasps.

I do not know how to reply, if to reply at all.

I curse myself for being so transparent that she could see through me, that she could piece together these abstract bits to create the complete picture.

Her voice rings in my ears once again, "Hunter, I need to know."

I cannot form words any longer, everything in my head jumbled up, refusing to make sense.

"Did we…" she lets her voice trail.

I think of all the things that I can say, all the things that I can do, to throw her off, so that she never comes to know the truth but all I do is nod my head and whisper, "We made out."

The words wound me yet again.

I cannot read her expression as she continues to stare at me, disbelief apparent on her face, denial and refusal apparent on her face.

"Hunter," she says, taking a step back. "We were drunk. I am sorry. I didn't- Oh God! That is why you were on the couch?"

I have to nod.

"I… we… what are we even going to do about this?" she rants. "I don't even fucking remember anything! It was a stupid idea: going out."

"It was my idea, had to be stupid," I mutter.

She stares at me helplessly and after a long time of silence, of awkward moments of us not knowing what to say, she says, "Will this change everything? Because I don't want things to change."

I feel the walls closing in again, the pressure of having to deal with this, too much for me. I feel like running away, like last night, like always.

"Say something, Hunter," she almost begs, her voice shaking now.

"Tor," I manage to say. "You want more and you deserve more. And I can't give you what you want. Maybe this is a mistake, it's probably all wrong. Maybe we-"

"Hunter," she cuts me off. "Don't. Don't say it's wrong. I know what you want: you want space and I am fine with it. I am fine with this. I don't want more."

"Tori…"

"No, dammit, listen to me," she says, her voice suddenly stronger. "You don't have to give more."

And with that, she closes her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek and somehow that tear, her tear, saps out all the energy and life out of me and I am left with nothing but a void within me, eating me away from within, gnawing away at me, reducing me to absolute nothingness; emptiness.

The woods seem empty today: something missing in them. When I streak through them and the birds stop chirping, I find myself thinking about her: the way she tilted her head when she chided me for streaking through the woods, the twinkle in her eyes, the slight curve in which her lips were drawn.

And then, like a fearful forceful ground shattering quake, I am reminded of her in the morning: the dryness, detachedness with which she had initially treated me, then the emotion in her, the apparent feeling of hurt, heart rippling pain.

Worst of all, she had not said a word after that, she had completely avoided me, ignored my presence and I had slunk away from her house, feeling guilty for something incomprehensible.

The clearing is incongruously empty: her absence stabbing daggers into me, the pain too stark, too powerful, demanding to be felt.

Walking through the grounds of the Academy, every damn thing leave in their wake a reminder of her.

The morning drags on mechanically: classes to teach, scripts to be corrected, the Annual Exam to be dealt with. I stay away from the woods when it is time for the Water Ninjas to train, I stay away from the common room for teachers, I avoid taking the path that takes a turn across her office.

I know that I am running away, refusing to face problems that I have created, that I am being a coward.

But I do not care.

At this point, all I care about is staying away from her, strengthening my defenses until they are sturdy enough not to be breached, perfecting the mask that will give nothing away and steeling myself to be able to withstand the onslaught of emotions that I will eventually be subjected to when I finally meet her.

It is at four in the afternoon when I have an epiphany.

The raw need, hunger, to go to the track and ride overwhelms me. I have never felt this strong an urgency to do something ever in my life.

Except that day.

Rushing to Cam's room to inform him that I am leaving early, I almost run into her.

She does not see me through the thick crowd of people but I do. There is an almost imperceptible dark circle under her eyes.

From the alcohol, I tell myself, the thought comforting me, the idea that it is not me comforting me.

I turn around quickly, taking the longer circuitous way to Cam's room.

The Samurai scrutinizes me, passing snide comments here and there, before finally letting me leave; escape.

I put on my riding gear with a familiar feel of ease and comfort; I feel at home. The track is empty but for a few riders.

For the next hour or so, I have my frustration and anger aimed at a point, every lap freeing me of some of the burden. All of it does not go away but for now, this is enough: this momentary respite from the complications is enough.

I bring my bike to a stop having completed yet another lap. Removing my helmet, I am made aware of a pair of eyes fixed on me. Before I can take a good look at the person, she springs upon me, wrapping her hands around me, engulfing me into a tight hug.

"Screw you, Bradley," she whispers. "Where the hell have you been?"

I am forced to laugh at Tally's idiosyncratic exuberance.

"I was around," I say, extricating myself from her grasp. "Didn't race often, though."

"You have no idea," she says. "I tried talking to Kelly, coercing her to give me your number but she told me it was against some policy."

"Darned policy," she rolls her eyes.

"I am so glad we ran into each other," she continues. "I missed you."

"I did, too," I smile at her and for once, I know that I am not lying.

Talia Jones - Tally - was one of the regulars from the track: one of the very few girls who rode. She stood out in every aspect: there was something overtly contagious about her, something addictive about her. She was one of the very first friends I had made in Blue Bay Harbour. It had started off as a one night stand but had somehow culminated into a closely knit friendship.

"Where were you, though?" she asks.

"I was here," I tell her with a sigh. "I got a job, got busy, didn't get much time to race."

"Whoa whoa whoa!" she puts her hand on my chest. "You got a job? Who the hell gave you a job?"

I roll my eyes at her.

"Very amusing, Jones."

"I know you find me amusing, Bradley," she smirks. "But which nitwit gave you a job?"

"I work at a school," I say, telling my usual lie.

"What?" she shrieks dramatically. "You work with kids? Oh crap! Do I have to prep the world for a depression disorder in kids?"

"That's harsh."

"You know I don't mince my words, Bradley," she says, a teasing grin on her face. "So, what do you teach the kids? Dark magic?"

"Martial Arts."

"I was hoping you'd teach them dark magic."

"You are impossible."

"Been told worse," she says in a singsong voice.

"Do you want to grab a drink and catch up?"

I hesitate for a second.

But the hesitation seeps away very soon as I realize that no matter what happens, with Talia Jones, I do not have to worry about attachment and commitment.

For the second time in a row, I am at the beach, stoned, with a girl who is drunker than I am.

She leans onto me as we plop down on the sand.

"Okay, so, let me get this straight," she says. "You just stopped riding for more than a year? Are you Hunter Bradley?"

"I had to stop: there were commitments."

"Like what? Like the school you won't tell me about? What's with you, Bradley? Are you doing drugs?"

"No, Tally, no," I sigh. "My life is too complicated right now."

"Ah. I love complicated. Tell me about it."

"I can't, Tally. Not now."

She groans.

"So what can you explain, huh? I told you everything about me and you are still being so secretive."

"I really can't tell you anything about my job."

She huffs.

"Fine. Then, who are you sleeping with?"

I glare at her.

"What?" she groans. "That's the most important part of your life."

"Not funny," I say drily. "Not even remotely."

"Whatever," she murmurs. "Are you or not sleeping with someone?"

"No," I shrug.

"Oh holy fuck, you are in love!"

And at that, an image of Tori instantaneously pops up in my head.

Shut. It. Out.

"Huh?" I manage to say.

"Oh gee, you are in love."

"How many bottles did you drink?"

"Shut up," she barks. "Who is it?"

"I don't even know what you are talking about."

"Cut the crap, Bradley," she says. "You aren't sleeping with anyone."

"The point being?"

"Dude, I know you, okay? If you are not sleeping with anyone, you are in love."

"That's terribly judgmental. Besides, I do have my occasional one night stands. So stop judging me."

"Dude, who is she?"

"What the fuck, Tally?"

"Aw, come on, Hunter. Your secret is gonna be safe with me. Come on, please."

"There is no one, really."

"Gee, you lie too much. But if you don't wanna talk about it, fine," she huffs.

I do not reply.

"Hey wait!" she says, sitting up straighter. "Are you in love with some underworld druglord's daughter? Or wife?"

With that, she breaks into hysterical laughter.

"If it's that, don't tell me 'cause although I really really hate you, I don't want you to die."

"Aren't you funny?"

"I know I am," she grins at me. "How is your brother?"

"Good."

I instantly cringe at my answer. My answer sounds horribly inert. I would have expected to string together a few more words to describe how my brother was but clearly not. Because, honestly, I did not know how he was. He stopped telling me all that and I stopped asking him.

"I see him a lot on TV," she says, chewing her nails. "What happened to that girl he liked? That surfer chick? I always thought they would end up getting married and having seven kids or something."

I feel my breath choking me, her words a sharp reminder of what I can never be to Tori.

"They broke up," I state matter-of-factly.

"Ah," she sighs. "What was she called, again?"

"Tori."

"Yeah, Tori," she says. "I liked her."

"Yeah," I say, not trusting myself to talk about Tori, not wanting to talk about Tori.

"Was their break-up bad?"

Shit.

Why do we even have to talk about this out of every goddamned subject on earth?

"I don't know, Tally," I say. "Blake never told me much about it."

Which was true because Blake actually had not told me anything about it. Whatever I knew about it was what I had learnt from Tori.

"Oh."

"I think we should call it a night," I say.

"Yeah," she sighs. "Do you have to go to that school of yours tomorrow?"

I nod.

She gets up from the sand, pulling me up with her.

"Don't depress too many kids, okay?"

"I'll keep that for you," I mutter.

"Of course you will," she says. "I need your number, though. And, my battery is dead so scribble it on my hand."

She hands me a pen from somewhere. Where, I don't know; I am too tired to think about that.

My hand shakes as I jot down the number, the alcohol clearly affecting me.

"This is just like the first time we met," she laughs, leaning in slightly, her jet black hair brushing loosely against my face.

I wonder if it is me wondering things or if it really is happening: her laughter ceasing, absolute silence reigning around us, her hands going around my neck, her eyes locking on mine, the distance between us reducing as she closes in on me.

Our foreheads come together, her breathing ragged, her eyes fluttering close.

"Hunter," she whispers, her voice doing strange things to me.

"Yeah?" I breathe out, brushing my lips against hers gently.

"We are drunk," she says.

"I know," I rasp, brushing our lips together again.

This is an outlet that I have found, something to make me forget about Tori. And, even if it is unfair, incorrect, at this point, I hardly care about it. My mind is too clouded to do all that thinking.

I let my hands slip inside her top, caressing her skin.

"Hunter," she whispers. "What about that druglord's daughter? Won't she-"

This time, I cut her off, silencing her with my lips, earning a soft groan from her. Her hands clasp themselves around my hair and when we finally pull back, she whispers, "You know I won't be there in the morning."

Blood.

Blood caked my hands, giving them a dark, deathly look.

My hands trembled refusing to believe what they had done. There was a loud sound as the knife slipped out of my hands and fell onto the floor, staining the white tiles with their ominous red.

The tremble in my hands refused to stop. My breath was ragged, uneven and very soon, tears started rolling down my cheeks, giving way to a violent series of hiccups and as my tears drained out, I felt the resistance from within me being siphoned away to a place that I did not know of, diminishing me into a raw, exposed ball of fragile vulnerability.

I wake up with a start, the dream – nightmare – too animistic for my comfort.

True to her words, Tally cannot be found in my room. The only thing that she has left behind is a note for me telling me not to lose contact with her.

I crumple the note into a ball and throw it into the dustbin.

Getting out of my bed, putting on my clothes, noting where the hands of the clock meet, I leave my house; the dark world, without the sun, welcoming me with a warm embrace.