Hate Me Like You Do, page 7
My throat tightens with outrage.
If he only knew how truly innocent I am. I calm the rising anger within me and stand up on my tiptoes to get so close to his ear that my breath makes the tight muscles in his shoulders flex. “You better let me go before I give you a disease that shrinks your dick even more than it already is. Tiny dick disease. That's a disease you can’t get rid of.”
He drops my hand, horror and anger confusing the low pull of his brow. I don’t give him time to give me any looks of revulsion before I’m already disappearing among the crowd.
Asshole.
Cheers erupt from the kitchen and I follow the noise. It’s more crowded in here. The island at the center of the room is set up for beer pong. Puddles of amber liquid trail all over the pretty countertop and drips steadily over the edge onto the floor. First, my eyes take notice of the swirling tattooed letters touching the sharp jawline of the unreadable expression on my roommate's perfect face.
Knox.
Isn’t that all we are right now? Roommates.
Next I see the leggy blonde wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. Kylie paws all over him. Her hands roaming over his chest and running through his thick hair. On occasion, her long fingers pass underneath his shirt teasingly, reminding me of how good his hard, warm stomach feels against my skin.
I swallow that thought down.
Knox’s attention finds me among everyone else and his gaze cuts into me while he lets her touch him the way my roaming fingers always did at night.
Except hers are steady where mine always shook.
With both hands, he trails his slow roaming touch along her slim torso and settles against Kylie’s waist, giving her that scrap of attention she craves from him, his eyes never leaving mine.
It doesn’t take Kylie long to notice he isn’t actually paying attention to the show she’s trying to put on for him. She follows his hooded gaze. She turns, her long curls flinging over her shoulder with momentum as she follows his line of sight until she's looking directly at me.
It’s like looking into the privileged pale eyes of someone who’s always gotten what they wanted. But insecurity is a funny, funny thing.
Imagine being threatened by someone who has nothing when you have absolutely everything.
She leans into his hard chest, whispering into his ear. It's something he clearly doesn’t find amusing as he rolls his eyes, dropping her hands and walking toward me.
Tingles of anticipation, fear, and excitement all mix together thickly in my stomach.
His big palm lifts and he skims his calloused fingers along my neck before tipping my chin up high to meet his gaze, bringing my mouth so close to his I can almost taste the bourbon on his tongue.
“You have a good day at school, Violet?” he asks in the most rasping, thick tone.
A drunken tone.
A sexy tone that screams danger. I shouldn’t lean into him. I shouldn’t bask in the beautiful way my name sounded against those full lips.
I should run.
And yet, I nod to him like a good–stupid, stupid little girl.
His thumb brushes along my lower lip as his tongue slides out to wet his mouth in the slowest way that makes my knees weak.
I am such an idiot.
But all I want his him. I want him, and I want them, and I want us to be the way we were before.
He tilts his head slightly and his nose skims along the length of my neck in a taunting feeling that strums to life all through my chest before settling so low that my thighs shift together. Warmth sears across my skin as his mouth presses the slowest kiss just beneath my ear and I sigh against the feel of it, my hands coming up to clutch his shirt with both fists.
But then he pulls away, just a fraction of an inch, just enough for me to feel the tingle of his breath along my ear when he speaks in that low, rumbling tone. “Good, because next week will only be worse.”
Dread drops into my stomach and his long fingers slide from my throat, down my chest and along my ribs before he strides into the depths of the crowd.
And leaves me in a mess of my own disgusting lust and fear.
My breath is still trembling when I look up.
And meet Kylie’s glaring gaze.
She’s pissed.
Under her scrutiny I feel awkward and out of place no matter how much I refuse to show it. It’s a feeling I’m no stranger to but nothing I enjoy. So I decide to leave her be, don’t poke the bear.
Or the bitch.
My mother’s parties were always crowded like this. One of her favorite hide and seek opportunities for me. For the longest time I fit so perfectly well in our kitchen cabinets. Then as I grew older I sought out hiding spots her drunk or high guests couldn’t find me in.
I pass the students I know but don't really know, going mostly unnoticed. Everyone is so busy entertaining their own selfish desires it’s getting easier to be a ghost around them.
Instinctually, I look over my shoulder. Kylie is pushing through the mass of people, a deadly glare focused intently on me.
Oh my god. She’s like a chronic disease, this chick just won't go away.
My plan is to hide and hopefully no one will be doing any seeking. The first thought I have is to go to the parts of the house that are under construction.
Considering that’s the majority of the house, it should be easy.
Kylie is one step behind me. She's whispering things I can't even hear just to crawl into my head with those scratching insults I can feel breathing from her red lips. As much as I don’t want to listen, I can’t help myself. It’s like every word she is saying is a roar over the music. A violent hurricane of insults assaulting me.
Even as the party goers begin to lessen as we go deeper into the home, she doesn’t stop. I curl my fists at my side, taking faster, larger steps to get away. I’m all but running to hide now, my heart pounding irrationality.
“You’re nothing to him.”
I keep walking.
She keeps pushing.
“Those boys will use you then toss you to the curb like the piece of trash you are.”
And pushing.
“Quit acting like you’re hard to get when you’re actually hard for someone to even want.”
And pushing.
“How are my sloppy seconds? You aren’t even pretty enough to be this stupid.”
It's endless taunting. We’re far enough away the music is mostly bass and no one is likely to look for anyone here.
She never stops.
In the dark foyer, clear plastic hangs from the ceiling in large sheets dividing up projects and hanging over items that need to be protected. At the end of the hall I turn to face her. Even as my bare feet slide in the drywall dust that coats the flooring, my mouth parting to scream all the things I wanted to from the moment we met.
I want to yell.
But I can’t. Not when Kylie grabs me by my shoulders and shoves me with all her strength into an open closet door. Brooms, mops, and other cleaning supplies clatter around me as my back smacks hard into the wall. A handle slaps across my mouth, pouring a metallic taste over my tongue.
The door closes into darkness. In the silence, I hear something slide against the frame. A single sliver of light cuts into the blackness from the bottom of the door.
“Enjoy the party,” Kylie sneers loudly before the sound of her steps fade.
And then she’s gone.
I try to move in the dark but I can’t make anything out. Smooth wall skims my fingertips. Feeling for the knob, I get a hold of it. It turns with ease but when I push, it doesn't move an inch.
My breath catches.
Long broom handles and other materials that I’m not quite sure what they are, are jostling around me. Unidentifiable items crunch under my feet. It’s so cramped inside here that everything is touching me, bouncing off of me, rubbing up against me. It’s an attack of sensations.
It's too much.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my breathing becomes panting. The dark room feels like it’s spinning around me and closing in all at the same time.
I’m there again.
I'm there in that shower room again.
Everything in the closet becomes a messy touch of a stranger’s rough hands.
I can't– I can't breathe.
There's no air in here.
I’m shrieking before I even realize the noise has left my trembling body.
My limbs flail around me, only bouncing the items off the wall back at me again when I do. With as much strength as I can summon I kick at the door.
Please. Please get me out of here.
I can’t do the darkness. I can’t do small spaces. That irrational fear never fades. It only grows. I used to be so sure that I would outgrow the nightmare, but somehow it only gets worse the older I get.
One dark night or one terrible moment will take me back. I’m in that shower room thrashing with all my might. I can still feel the rub of the hairy arm against my back, then all down my body. The fabric shredding and pulling away from my skin as I surged away.
My voice breaks, then strains. All of my weight carries me in one violent moment.
Then the door gives way beneath my shoulder. It sends me sprawling on the dusty floor. I catch myself with my face, instantly tasting more blood. I lie there for a second. Each gasp for air is a fragile thing that if I try to consciously slow only turns into uncontrollable sobs and wheezing.
So instead, I don’t move. Even as blood pools from my lip. The heavy thump of the bass eventually becomes a distant noise that’s faster than my breathing.
My heartbeat calms.
I’m okay. Everything’s okay.
I take my time standing. Dust and debris cling to my clothes, my skin. With reluctance I raise my shaking hand and touch my lip. Pain has me wincing and sends me into action.
Clean up the mess, Violet. This is probably your fault, Violet. You get what you deserve, Violet.
It’s my mother’s words that haunt me. They’re the angry ranting of a woman who never found fault in her own wrong doings.
There's a small half bathroom just outside the busy kitchen and I stumble right to it before anyone can see me. I close myself in there with a slow shutter of a breath.
I will not cry over Kylie. I will not cry over the mean things that insecure people do to me. I am stronger than this.
My sight in the mirror is a sad reflection. My hair is a frizzy, blonde mess from tossing around in the closet. I’m covered with sheetrock dust and my face is red with blood. I keep my expression serious as I talk to myself.
You’re stronger than this.
You’re fine.
Life has been worse. Much worse.
I nod once then I dab away the blood on my split lip. The dust easily wipes away leaving my clean skin behind red and blotchy. The split lip stings under the light pressure of my fingers. I ignore the pain and comb through my long hair.
It’s like it never happened. No one has to know that it did.
I'm fine.
Swallowing the last tiny remainder of my pride, I exit the bathroom and turn the corner.
Only to run face first into the reason I was even wandering around this terrible party.
Landon sways lightly as we collide, his warm body pressing me against the wall almost instinctively. “Dee?” Big hands settle on my hips as he holds me in place with every part of him including his broad chest and narrow hips.
He smells worse than he looks and he looks absolutely terrible. Though I’m probably not one to talk at the moment since I just ate floorboard like a dad eats hot dogs on the Fourth of July.
He’s not as good at partying as his friends.
He’s the good one of the three.
Or at least, he was.
“Hey," he whispers and that clipped word lingers between the small amount of space that separates my body from his. It feels empty and I don't know why I feel the need to explain even more to him. I've always talked to him. Always.
Until now.
"I’m just going to see if my room is free yet.” I want to step past him but his wide frame seems to fill every space around me.
The dim lighting only highlights the conflicted look of his dark eyes beneath his shining frames. Some remnants of sadness flash across his handsome face. The urge to reach up and cup his cheek runs through me.
And suddenly I feel bad for my tormentor. I want to ask him if he is okay.
No. I refuse.
That's completely ridiculous.
“What do you want? Thinking about writing me some more love notes in my textbook?”
“I– I’m...” For a single second I think he’ll apologize, his body heating mine, his eyes reflecting that heat so much it sinks right into me. “What happened to your lip?”
His thumb grazes over the stinging split, the ache causing me to twist away from his gentle touch.
“I tripped. It’s nothing.” This one small wound is nothing in comparison to the lifetime of insults I endured before this new more modern hell became my life.
Landon scrunches his eyebrows together before an alcohol scented wave fans across my cheeks. “I think Knox is right. You should leave, Dee.”
So they have talked about it, about sending me away. Where do they want me to go? Where do they think I could go?
“I wish I could.” My voice catches on the last word. “Now let me go.”
Landon leans down, his cheek brushing mine. “I hate this,” he whispers on a slow breath that tingles across my skin.
I hate myself for the response my body gives to his touch. A shiver runs down my spine as he speaks with his lips lingering along my jawline.
“Imagine how I feel," I say as emotionlessly as possible. Because fuck, I hate all these emotions clouding my mind. I’m not going to show him how he messes with me. He plays with me, taunting me, hurting me. Then he stands up for me, he caresses me.
There is so much good in Landon Scott. He’s smart. Kind. So, so gentle. It’s too bad he’s also filled with so much vile corruption, and evil. If he isn’t careful he might start losing that angel that sits on his shoulder. Then what will he be? Some muted version of Knox? A weird knock-off version of a bad boy.
“I’m finally allowed to touch you but only to hurt you. How fucked up is that?”
What does that even mean? Do they have a pact to piss me off or something?
Because they’re succeeding.
With flying fucking colors.
He lifts his head, meeting my eyes, trying to find some sort of answer or reassurance there. He won’t find what he is looking for.
An annoyed huff of breath has both of us looking up. Kylie has angry spoiled, rich girl written all over her face as she takes it in that I’m no longer imprisoned in the closet.
Tragic.
“It’s a little early in the year to be seeing the nurse for a venereal disease on Monday, Landon. At least save it for spring break,” she sneers.
Landon shoves himself off the wall and nods at Kylie as if she's right. He walks away, those sad eyes still pinned to me as he goes.
I want to chase after him. To scream, to throw fists, to tell them all to go to hell.
Not yet, I tell myself.
I vow to give them all a taste of their own medicine one day.
It’s just not today.
Eight
Dee
The horror of Mournmount Academy greets me again on this cloudy Monday morning. The last bit of my walk here is mostly me getting rained on and the sun playing peek-a-boo from behind the clouds. Students are hurrying in to keep their perfectly placed hair from getting wet.
I kick my probably designer shoes into the first puddle I find, sending a wave of murky water splattering against the pavement. I contemplate jumping into it with both feet and just completely wrecking my whole outfit to spite the Academy. Somehow I refrain.
By sheer will alone, I keep myself from rolling in the puddle and making cakes out of the mud within them. I watch the puddle as if it might jump at me and drag me in.
I smirk when I make it safely to the other side without a drop of mud on my skirt. Today is going to be a good day. Probably the best day I’ve ever had even though I’m surrounded by hell itself.
Our attitude defines our lives. And I’m going to start with the best attitude I have.
It’ll be a perfect day. If I have to fucking force it.
Because today is my eighteenth birthday. Today is my day. Fuck everyone else.
Each step is a perky happy stride up the smooth concrete steps of the school. Inside the students are, as they always will be, suffocating pods of whispers. They’re with the same people, gossiping about the same things. Likely me.
My chin tips higher at the same time as my shoulders straighten, shoving that waning positivity right back in place.
Across from my lockers, the three who make it all the worse; Knox, Landon, and Reed, whisper together. They don’t notice me approach and I don’t make my presence known.
How the three of them are even functioning after this weekend is beyond me. The entire morning after the party was a chorus, harmonies and all, of men vomiting their ugly guts up.
I loved every moment of it. Not the puking part, because that’s just gross, but the part where they had to deal with misery caused by their own terrible decisions. Sucks to suck.
Not the twisted revenge I had really imagined but I guess it’ll do.
For now.
Today I’m not going to let them get me down. I’m not going to care about whatever it is that they have up their sleeves, because it’s going to be a good day.
It is.
I think.
Kylie walks up to her locker clicking away on her phone. I can’t help but wonder if she is messaging Knox for some stupid reason even though he’s clearly standing less than five feet away.
Instead of acknowledging her or listening to her sneer some stupid uncreative comment, I lean into my open locker.
