Twice: Part 4

I walked towards the exit of Eton, my head down and I watched my feet tread the wet pavement, I had this sudden insane wish to meet William. Not to go up to him and scream, Oh, my stars! Y-Youre Prince William!!! in a high pitched shriek that would break his eardrums and then I would faint at his feet to drool at his shoes (that was the original plan). Now I wanted to meet him to say What is up with your friend Hunter? Can you explain him to me? And since Hunter and Julia didnt give me an ending, maybe he could. Boys Prince William. He could do anything. I thought...
My thoughts drifted to thoughts of Andrew and Trefor. Why was I thinking about them? I dont know. My brain needed a break from Hunter and William I suppose. Andrew, the smart one. Smart enough to hold up his hand in the middle of that fight and say, Excuse me. But have we forgotten that he- points a finger at William --is Headline Bait? And Trefor; where was he during the fight? And is he shy? I dont know. I get the impression hes shy at meeting new people but when he knows you he can get pretty wild, especially with jokes and stuff. But Im guessing here.
Arent they cute? Sexy? Damn, I wish I had a pic to show you. But hey, they wear the Eton uniform. Nuff said.
Gee, considering that I dont know much about them. I wondered how I could squeeze more of them into the story. To balance out Hunters presence. That is... if I was going to write the story at all. I didnt make any promises. I was under no obligation. Was I? Why did I feel like I was?
And there was something bothering me: If I wrote this story who would I be writing it for?
Hunter obviously.
But specifically who?
Hunter the cute guy: moody, confusing, unpredicatable, knows how to put a girl at ease, knows how to make a girl laugh, teenage typicalle...
Hunter the Etonian: complete with uniform and dont you know? Were spolied rich kids. We always get what we want retort
Hunter, Williams friend: ticket to William... maybe?
Who?
Did it matter to him who I was writing the story for? As long as I wrote it. Know something? It kinda mattered to me. I wanted to write this story for the right reasons. Whatever the right reasons were. Hells, who am I kidding? I didnt even have an ending.
Peter arrived, the sunlight shown through the deconstructing clouds highlighting him. My angel.
He smiled. "H-"
I ran over and hugged him tightly not giving him a chance to finish.
"Whoa," he laughed, in concerned amusement. "You okay?" he stroked my back.
"Don't ask questions. Just HUG!" I ordered. He did. He's wonderful like that.
I hugged him tighter with abandon and freely. Something I would never be able to do with an Etonian. The uniform would make it different. Say Andrew asked me to hug him. Why am I using Andrew as Etonian representative? Well, Hunters too close for comfort. William I will always have to keep at a distance. And Nick and the rest Ive never spoken to. So that leaves Andrew and Tref. Flip a coin. Head; Andrew. Tails; Tref. Its heads. So say Andrew allows me to hug him. (why would he do that?). Most likely Id jump at the chance. But Id hesitate and the hug would be calculated. Not a real hug. I dont know. I just feel thats the way it would turn out.
Peter allowed me to hug him for as long as I wanted.
He laughed nervously. "What happened? You look as if you've met Prince William," he teased.
Nope, just his friends. Same difference. "You have no idea..." I told Peter, getting into the car.
So what happened? Peter asked, getting into the driver's seat.
I buckled up, looked out the window. After a pause I spilled, '"This guy wants me to write a story about him."
"Oh," Peter said. He's never read anything of mine. He knows that my stories exist but he's never even looked at one story. For that I am grateful beyond words. He flashed me a mischievous grin. "Starr, can you write a story about--"
I raised the pen I was holding up like a dagger. Not looking at him I threatened, "Finish that sentence and this gets embedded in your heart!"
"Okay..." Peter said softly. He knows when to back down. He concentrated on driving. After a while he asked, "So, whats this guy like?"
What's Hunter like? Oh, gee... where to begin? "He's like-- He's like you," I paused trying to describe Hunter, except he's an Etonian." They are alike. The first night I was in London Peter kept me up all night with his life story. They both have a great sense of humor. They're both appealing to females. And there are differences. When something pleases Hunter, he laughs. When something delights Peter he smiles. Peter's more big brotherly. Stable. There's something about Hunter which says. "Here now, gone later. Enjoy me while you can."
Silence in the car.
"I like him." I added later.
Peter nodded.
"I hate him," I said afterwards, contradicting my last statement.
Now, I was confusing poor Peter.
I explained simply, "I always like guys I hate," hoping that would bring in some clarification.
"Uh-"
Guess it didn't. I felt a headache coming on. "Don't analyze that!" I told him.
Peter paused. "That story... Do you want to write it?"
Did I want to write it? Why wouldn't I want to write it? Because it's tedious, exhausting work, a road to the insane asylum. That's why! Why would I want to write it? "I want to write it because he wants me to write it." Why do I want what Hunter wants? Oh no! Don't tell me I actually like the guy! Ew!
"Starr-" he said my name concernedly. In his tone were his fears and worries.
"I know you don't want me to get hurt," I said for him what he couldnt say.
"Yeah."
I wont, I assured. "And if I do--I'll bounce back. I promise."
"Anything I can do?"
"You could get me drunk." I mumbled, joking till I found out I meant what I said.
He laughed.
Peter, Im serious. Beginning to really love the idea. Yeah, I'd like to get drunk. For once live the line "forget all about your troubles." I wanted to forget Hunter. What he told me. And everything else that happened afterwards. Maybe the tapes would disappear and all evidence of that day would be gone. And the hangover the next day? It couldn't possibly be any worse than the migraine I was having right then.
"Your mom wouldn't let me," Peter objected, shaking his head.
"Yes, she would, I insisted, giving him puppy dog eyes. She trusts you. Please?"
No.
I sulked in my seat. Gentlemen! England had too many of them...