And right then, right there, in that single moment, Carmen caught a glimpse of the little boy she’d known once—a boy she had shared a strong bond enough to call him her brother. She clung to that sliver of hope with every jagged piece of her cracked heart.
“Come on.” He beckoned with his head towards the doors, something like the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He held out his arm for her, and Carmen hesitantly hooked her elbow around his, feeling like she was testing uncertain waters with no lifejacket, no guide—nothing. Nothing but the ghost of a childhood her soul still ached for.
Hunter rang the doorbell, and Carmen instinctively tightened her hold on his arm, acknowledging that she was about to step into the lion’s den, but also acknowledging that someone was willing to step into it with her, for her.
“Hunter,” Carmen said quietly while they waited for someone to answer the door. “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut, as if her words pained him too much. “Don’t thank me, Carmen. You of all people don’t get to thank me.”
The large door opened just then, and Carmen offered a warm smile at the same woman who’d opened it for her father, before crossing the threshold and stepping into the house with Hunter.
“I’ve got twelve years of owning up to do,” he told her, his voice holding a certain kind of exhaustion she hadn’t heard before. “So don’t show me gratitude for doing something I should have done in the first place. Which was to have your back, through thick and thin.”
And those seeds of hope embedded in Carmen’s chest began to show signs of growing.
50.
All Those Broken Hearts
When Carmen’s eyes landed on the grand staircase a few feet away from her direct line of sight, she could almost see the ghosts of the four-year-old versions of both her and Hunter.
They were struggling to climb those steps, clinging to the banisters like it was their lifeline then those ghosts turned into their five-year-old selves, and Hunter and Carmen no longer needed to wrap their fingers around the banisters. Then they were six-year-olds, running down the stairs and chasing each other while Sophia West screamed at them to be careful.
“Carmen?” Hunter’s tentative voice pulled Carmen out of the flashback, and the ghosts of their six-year-old bodies vaporised into thin air and the yells of her mother turned distorted, fading into the background.
“Nothing’s changed,” Carmen murmured, feeling a physical pain in the middle of her chest as if someone was squeezing the life out of her beating heart.
“A lot has changed.” There was a sad smile on Hunter’s face.
“Yes,” she said. “But... it also hasn’t. Everything is right where it used to be. The walls are still the same colour and none of the fancy stuff are taken down.”
The Rutherford family home was a mansion with no qualms about its ostentatious appearance and Carmen remembered every single holiday spent within these walls. Her mother, who was born Sophia Rutherford, had always managed to drag both Carmen and her dad here on holidays because it was an unspoken rule that the Rutherfords celebrated together as a family.
Changing one’s surname after marriage didn’t permit her to break this rule, so even after Sophia Rutherford had become Sophia West, the tradition continued.
It had been the least ideal place for a child, what with its fine ornaments and fancy furniture. But Carmen hadn’t been alone then. She had Hunter, and the two of them together had always found a way to survive and make the best of it.
In a way, Carmen supposed they’d been each other’s escape—a form of liberation from their suffocating upbringing and the extravagant lifestyle.
And when Carmen’s mother had passed, she’d broken free of the hold this place had on her. She’d found permanent liberation with her father, a few towns away. But Hunter had remained and Carmen was beginning to realise the shackles they had on him, too.
Carmen wondered then, if perhaps in the eyes of the six-year-old Hunter, it had been her who’d abandoned him.
“Carmen?” Hunter’s voice was calling her again.
She tore her eyes away from the awfully large staircase, suddenly feeling like the world around her had grown infinitely large or was it that she only felt small? That she’d shrunken considerably to a mere speck of dust? Perhaps it was both.
This place and the people that came with it always made her feel small. Unwanted. Unloved.
And she could feel all her confidence leaving her bones through the gaps between her fingers like grains of sand. Gone was the almost eighteen-year-old who’d grown to accept the lack of belongingness. In her place was the little girl who’d spent a good part of her life wondering what she’d done wrong. Carmen didn’t feel so strong anymore, and the panic was beginning to sink in.
“Carmen?” This was the third time he’d called her by name, and it didn’t fail to shock her that Hunter’s tone was actually... patient.
“Sorry.” She cleared her throat.
“We need to head into the living room,” he said, trying to smile but failing, which was okay because Carmen didn’t think she would be able to muster up a smile in return.
“All right.” She nodded, taking in a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. “Yeah, all right.”
“And one more thing.”
Carmen met Hunter’s eyes. “What?”
He seemed to hesitate then sighed heavily. “I’m going to need you to let go of my hand before we enter the room.”
She felt her heart sink right down to the soles of her feet, as if whatever fragile thread was holding it in place was mercilessly severed with a single swift flick of a knife.
Carmen nodded, trying not to show her disappointment.
