White City Murder Expo

Not long after Hunter was driven away by me, Butcher came back. He hesitated in the hallway when he entered, straightened the carpet silently, and then returned to the room.At dinner in the evening, he also didn't say a word. For a while, his eyes fell on my right hand, and the base of the index finger was still slightly indented by Hunter's sudden mad bite.

I'm a little nervous.In fact, it is not surprising that there are any marks on a person who has been drinking, but I said nothing.Explanation is the opposite of guilty conscience, is there such a saying?

I didn't say anything, and Butcher didn't ask anything.He didn't seem to care anymore, he was exhausted and fell into a state of nothingness.I was the same way when Matilda was gone, because we weren't ready to lose everything and couldn't afford the outcome.

We were both silent until the meal was over, and he was visibly relieved in the air of silence, poor boy.

When Butcher was taking a shower, I went to his room and secretly opened his schoolbag to take a look. It was empty, and he didn't bring back his textbooks and homework.I took out a wad of paper from my side pocket, the content was a math test, only my name was written on it, I didn't do a single question, 0 points.

I put the test paper back in and left his room.Before going to bed at night, Butcher knocked on my door, called, "Daddy," and fell silent again.

I can only look back at him with the same silence.He asked me if all this will pass?I told him yes.I didn't tell him there are things you give your whole life for, and longer, longer.

The next morning, I was awakened by a burst of rain.The crackling raindrops rattled the windows, and the kettle in the kitchen creaked.I got out of bed and saw Butcher frying eggs, gave him a little money to ride to school, and fell back into bed, struggling to sleep thinking: I have to fix this window.

I don't know how long it took, but a knock on the door woke me up again.

I opened the door, and Hunter was standing outside the door leading the dog. He was completely drenched, holding a painting tightly in his arms.

"I didn't have the house keys," he said.

"Go to the locksmith," I said.

The lamb raised its head and barked at me, shook the water from my trouser legs, and sniffed me. Hunter pulled the dog leash awkwardly.I was going to say let him leave the painting and the dog, but his hair was dripping like it was raining like the weather outside.

I don't know why, but standing there wet and saying he's a homeless person makes me feel so pitiful.So I let him in the house.I gave him an old towel, a pair of pants I didn't want.I allow him to sit on the couch.

Hunter wipes the dog with an old towel I gave him.The big dog rested its chin on his knee, and suddenly sneezed. His originally gloomy expression instantly relaxed, he laughed, and patted its head.

Watching this scene, I suddenly felt so lonely, and I couldn't explain why.It's easy to get a dog to keep, but maybe what I want is not a dog but someone who wants to pet me.

I was taken aback by this thought, stood up in a panic, wandered around the kitchen aimlessly, finally took a bottle of wine and two glasses, put the glasses on the coffee table, and poured half a glass each , pushed a cup over to him.

Hunter glanced at me, pursed his lips and smiled, said thank you in a low voice, then raised his head and drank the half glass of wine in one gulp.He may not be very good at drinking, and his face quickly turned from pale to a slight blush.I wanted to laugh at him but couldn't. I always felt that his expression seemed familiar. Considering that I didn't meet him very often, um, anyway, that's not a detail I would like to recall carefully.

I turned my head to look at his painting, the one he held tightly in his arms, leaning against the coffee table now.

The painting is half of the setting sun melting on the sea surface, groups of fish are pecking at the afterglow, the painting paper is wet, and the waves in the painting become real wet and wrinkled waves, and when you reach out and touch it, you will smear the ocean on your fingertips s color.

"What is this painting?" I asked.

"It's money," he said, "it's vanity."

Then he fell back on the back of the sofa, closed his eyes, and muttered, "Give it to you."

"I don't want it," I said.

He suddenly sat up again, opened his eyes, and looked at me fixedly, as if in a daze, and seemed to see something behind me through me.Then he shook his head with a smile, fell back and closed his eyes, breathing evenly.The lamb raised its head and smelled it around, and smelled the sleeping air, so it huddled up and fell asleep on the ground.

The sound of rain outside the window did not stop.

I drank sip by sip and it was so weird watching these two guys I took in.When did I become such a good person?I looked carefully at Hunter, the tall Irish man slumped on my couch, who I could have strangled whenever I wanted.

I noticed that his fingers were very long and his nails were manicured very short.This hand is used for drawing, but besides holding a paintbrush... I picked up his hand and compared it with mine.His hands were bigger and stronger than mine, so I couldn't fight back.Just the thought makes me shudder slightly.

Suddenly, that hand grabbed me instead.I was so startled that I tried to shake it away, but I was jerked away, and I was right in front of Hunter's green eyes.

……

old place

I have a lot of words to scold him, but I feel like I have no position.I never thought that when I was an annoying neighbor, I dared to say anything, but now I am timid.

Finally, I asked him, "Can you fix windows?"

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Hey, I feel that the H part is incompatible with the painting style of other places, but I just like the H where the women are a bit more... like the ancient texts that make blood flow like a river, it often makes me b painful, why does making love end up being a mess? In that way, I can't figure out, is this reasonable.jpg

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Hmm, remember to go to afd to read the full text