HATE CRUSH, page 17
“What do you think made him so bitter?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She leads me into the cafeteria, where we proceed to get a snack and sit down at a quiet table. “What came up in your Google searches?”
“Nothing too much.” I shrug. “Just his biography. Things about soccer, Harvard, his family’s company. Run of the mill stuff.”
“Hmm…” She takes a dainty bite of her cookie and sets it back on the napkin in front of her. “It’s weird that he doesn’t play soccer anymore. There has to be a reason for it, especially if he was supposed to be drafted into the Major Leagues.”
“True.” I dunk my potato chip into a cup of ice cream, and Sybil cringes at the concoction in front of me.
“I don’t know how you can eat that.”
“I don’t know either.” I laugh. “But it sounded good.”
“So this is what you plan to do all winter break?” She stares at me incredulously. “Sit around eating crap like this when you could be picking up hot snowboarders in Aspen with me?”
“I need to figure out my plan for next semester,” I tell her, which is only partly true. While I haven’t stopped thinking about Sebastian’s words and trying to figure out what I really want to do with my life, I also don’t want to impose on Sybil’s family. She swears it wouldn’t be awkward with her dad even though he worked with mine and has been affected by the scandal, but the last thing I want is her family spending another dime on me. I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of the shadow my father cast over our family when he stole that money, and it’s important to me that nobody thinks I’m mooching off them too.
“I already told you what your plan should be.” Sybil wipes off her hands and shrugs. “You love taking photos, and you are so good at it. Why not follow your dream?”
“Because it isn’t realistic,” I answer bitterly. Or at least, that’s what my father always told me.
“How is it not realistic?” She presses. “You can find plenty of jobs as a photographer. Especially with your talent. It might mean accepting a different vision for yourself than the one your family mapped out, but do you really need all the trappings of a fancy life?”
“No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
I never wanted any of those things. That was just my mother’s plan, and I let her talk me into it. But Sybil is right. How much money do I really need to be happy? And just because photography is a risky career, it doesn’t mean I’m any less successful than the next person.
“Well, if you’re so hell-bent on staying behind this winter break, then chew on that while you’re taking photos,” she suggests. “Look into schools and give it some thought.”
“I will,” I assure her.
“And please reconsider coming to spend Christmas with me,” she says. “I can’t stand thinking of you here all alone.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lie.
WITH ONLY A FEW faculty members left behind, an eerie quiet has settled over the campus. Surprisingly, I’m not the only student still here. There are some other stragglers who are either hard-core into their schoolwork, or their families are overseas and the students can’t be bothered to make such a long trip back home. Either way, I use the opportunity to do as Sybil suggested.
When I’m not taking photos, I’m making lists and researching schools and internships. On a whim, I even apply for a couple next semester that might work with my current schedule. And for the first time in a long time, the future looks a lot brighter.
There’s still a crushing weight on my chest whenever I think of Sebastian, and I don’t think that’s going to go away. But at least now I have something else to look forward to. Something I can be proud of.
Still, as the holidays get closer, the isolation threatens to swallow me whole. I wonder what my father is doing. Is he on a beach somewhere enjoying a beer, and does he even think of me at all? To my relief, my mother has honored my request to leave me alone, at least for the interim. If she’s celebrating Christmas with Luis, I’m glad I’m not there to witness it. In fact, I’m glad I’m not with either of my parents.
Christmas with my family was never really Christmas at all. Mom would be drunk, trying to impress whoever showed up, and Dad would be counting down the minutes on his watch until he could escape. This year, I have a choice how I want to spend the holiday, and nobody can tell me otherwise. I don’t have to put on a show or wear a fake smile. I don’t have to pretend to be anything. If I want, I can just sit right here in my pajamas and eat cookies all night long. Which, if I’m being honest, that’s probably what I’ll end up doing. In any case, I still have a few days to figure it out.
As I lay in bed tonight, I count my blessings instead of my fears. And when the door creaks open, I’m only a little surprised to see Sebastian standing there. Somehow, I sensed he would come to me like this. Looking weathered and worn, exhausted and defeated, he shuts the door behind him and meets my gaze.
“Stella.” He breathes my name like it’s the answer to all his troubles, and the frosty wall I’ve built up over the past three weeks is already starting to thaw. How does he do that? How can one man have such a hold over me?
“What are you doing here?” I ask wearily.
“What do you think?” He comes to sit on the bed beside me, and it isn’t fair. Just his presence makes me feel better. His scent comforts me in a way nothing else can, and I hate that he is my ultimate weakness.
He feathers his fingers over my jaw and looks down at me. “Do you need me to say it? Do you need me to tell you that you’ve gotten under my skin? Because I should think that would be obvious by now.”
“It’s not so obvious to me,” I murmur.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“For now. But for how long? I could freeze to death waiting for your warmth.”
“I won’t let you,” he says, and for a second, I believe him. “I’m ready to crash and burn, Stella. Just don’t give up on me.”
His words, spoken so softly, hit me like bullets. And the worst part is that I still want him. My God, I still want him.
“What made you like this?” My voice cracks. “What made you so bitter? So cruel?”
His fingers fall away from my face, and I almost regret the words, but I need to know. I can’t keep doing this with him. Hot, cold, hot, cold. Either he gives me all of himself or leaves with nothing.
“It’s complicated,” he answers.
“More complicated than this?” I challenge. “Go ahead. Mindfuck me.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, his lips tilt up at the corners, and for a second, I could almost swear he’s proud of me.
“I was raised in an emotionally harsh environment.” He sighs. “My father was practically militant in his expectations, and anything outside of those was not acceptable. He was domineering and obstinate and unyielding in his demands.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” I say lightly.
Sebastian shrugs, and his self-contempt is evident in that moment. “I suppose I developed some of those same traits over time. I had no desire to be like him, but time and circumstances made me cruel.”
“Cruelty is just pain’s gatekeeper.” My fingers reach out for his, and for once, he accepts without protest. “Tell me what happened.”
“Believe it or not, this isn’t what I had planned for my life.”
“That isn’t hard to believe.” I smile. “No offense, but you’re like the worst teacher ever, considering you hate almost everyone.”
He smirks, and it lightens the mood between us, at least for a moment.
“So what did you want to do?” I question. “Play soccer?”
He turns away, his spine rigid, but despite his obvious discomfort, he answers me anyway. “Yes. I wanted to play soccer, but I had a career-ending injury before I ever really got the chance. My knee was shattered in a mugging outside of a bar, and after that night, everything just… went away.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I had no idea.”
“So now you know the gist of it.” He studies our intertwined fingers. “I’m a fucking asshole, Stella. I’m not going to lie. I’m a miserable bastard, and I don’t deserve you. But I want you, and I haven’t wanted anything in a very long time.”
The rawness of his confession is difficult to ignore. I wanted Sebastian to open up to me, and he has. I wanted him to admit his feelings for me, and this is the closest he’s ever come. As much as I’d like to pretend I have a choice, there isn’t one. My heart rules when it comes to him, and right now, I’m as good as his.
“I don’t even know why I like you,” I tell him. “I knew you were poison the first time I saw you, but I wanted to drink you anyway.”
He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. After everything, I know with unwavering certainty that Sebastian’s kisses are worth dying for. His lips are warm and sweet and addictive. And what starts as soft and quiet soon becomes a thief in the night. A soul-shattering cataclysm that leaves us tearing at each other’s clothes, desperate to obliterate every obstacle between us.
Five minutes later, Sebastian Carter is naked in my room. Fucking me in my bed. Breathing into my neck, he’s inhaling me like I’m his favorite drug.
“Take me to paradise, Stella.”
I curl my fingers into his back and wrap my legs around him, and we take each other to paradise, coming violently at nearly the same time. And again, he finishes inside me, raw. Something else that neither of us has bothered to address. This risky little game we are playing is intoxicating, but soon, it could become a harsh reality.
Sebastian kisses me, and I kiss him back, and then he drags me against his body like he’ll never let me go. I want to believe him. God, do I ever want to believe him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SEBASTIAN
STELLA BOLTS UPRIGHT and glances around the room in a panic, but the moment her eyes find mine, the tension in her body bleeds away. I feel it too, in the beating pulse of my throat. This quixotic connection between us. How can something so simple affect me so profoundly? I’m suffocating when I’m not near her, and now I know she feels it too. It’s a fucking nightmare.
Nobody has ever managed to punch a gaping hole in my chest the way she can with a single glance. Not any of my short-term flings or even my long-term girlfriend, Megan. Stella unravels me. She makes me forget who I’m supposed to be and reminds me of the man I could have been. In short, she terrifies me. If life has taught me anything, it’s that the things we want can only be ours for a little while.
Stella expects me to leave like everyone else in her life, and it would be the smart and sane thing to do. But I’ve never been smart or sane when it comes to her.
“Come away with me,” I murmur.
She scrubs the sleep from her eyes as if she wants to be sure this isn’t a dream. “What do you mean?”
“It’s almost Christmas. We can spend the rest of the holiday at my cottage in Nantucket.”
“You have a cottage in Nantucket?”
I nod, leaving out the part that I also have a Georgian estate on Connecticut’s Gold Coast and millions of dollars in my bank account. Divulging those facts to Stella seems arrogant, considering she has nothing. But right now, if she’d let me, I’d sign everything over to her if I knew it would make her happy.
“When would we leave?” she asks.
“Today. Right now. After you get ready.”
I don’t want to waste any time. I’ve already wasted too much, and at least in Nantucket, we won’t have to sneak around. I can fuck her and taste her and feed my obsession for her as much as I want, for as long as I want.
Stella seems to consider it for a minute, and I hate that she’s even thinking about it. Rightfully so, I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned me down. It’s what I deserve.
Instead, she crawls out of bed and stares at the mess that is her closet. “What should I bring?”
“Bring whatever’s easiest to take off you.”
STELLA FALLS asleep in the passenger seat on the drive up to Hyannis and remains that way for much of the ferry ride to Nantucket. Briefly, I wonder if she’s coming down with something, but I chalk it up to her being exhausted from the night before. When the car comes to a stop in front of the cottage, she perks right up.
“This is your place?” She studies the quaint white structure with a mixture of curiosity and nerves.
“This is it.” I grab our bags from the back seat, and she follows me to the door. Admittedly, I’m a little nervous too. I want her to like it here, and I don’t want to delve too deep into the motivation for that desire.
Despite her family’s obsession with money and material things, Stella doesn’t seem like she’s been plagued with the same sickness. In any case, this cottage might be small and unassuming, but the real estate is prime, being only steps from the beach, and it costs more than most average homes.
“Wow.” Her eyes sweep over the space as I open the door and let her inside. She surveys the open living area with floor-to-ceiling windows and makes herself at home, examining my furnishings and touching a few knickknacks as if to leave her mark.
“Do you spend a lot of time here?” She parks herself in front of the window, studying the waves in the ocean.
“Every summer.” I set down our bags and start my preparations for a fire while she reapplies her lipstick.
Now that I have her here, I’m not exactly sure what to do with her. Stella and I are good at sex. We are good at fighting. But we aren’t so good at everyday conversation. Probably because I’ve never given her the opportunity, but there’s a first time for everything.
She sits down on the sofa, looking a little unsure of herself as I light the fire. Once I have it going, I join her there, and she laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“We’ve never just hung out like this,” she remarks. “We’ve had a lot of sex. We’ve even slept together. But we haven’t ever just… talked.”
“So, talk.” I remove the tube of lipstick from her fingers and flip the cap off, examining the shade of red I’ve come to know well.
She studies me with a curious expression. “What do you want me to talk about?”
“Whatever you want.”
The room falls silent while she considers it, and then she leans back into the sofa, curling her feet up beneath her. I know we’re supposed to be talking, but I can’t stop myself from reaching out to trace my finger along the lines of her fishnet tights. Stella shivers and then scoots a little closer, and the next thing I know, she’s tucked securely against my body with my arm wrapped around her. Cuddling, I think normal people like to call it.
I need a distraction from the war inside my head, so I use the lipstick to draw inside the blank squares of her tights. Stella smirks as I add more letters, completing the game of tic tac toe on her skin.
“I changed my mind about Cornell,” she volunteers.
Tension blooms in my chest, but I adopt a neutral tone as I push for her to explain. “You did?”
“Yes.” She looks up at me. “You were right. I don’t know what I was doing with that stupid plan my mom came up with. I didn’t want any of it.”
And just like that, I’ve finally accomplished the thing I set out to. Out of all my projects, Stella has been the only one I could ever say was a success. She opened her eyes, and now she’s ready to walk her own path. It’s what I’ve been working toward for the entirety of my career at Loyola. I kept telling myself that once I reached this goal, I would be satisfied. As if I would magically feel better about Katie’s death and she would be proud of me. But when I look at Stella and remember the hell I’ve put her through, I know I’m dead wrong about that. Katie would be disgusted by the person I’ve become.
“So that’s it?” My voice is too rough for my own liking. “You aren’t going to Cornell. What will you do then?”
And do those plans include me? That’s the question I can’t bring myself to ask. I told Stella she doesn’t love me, and deep down, a part of me still wishes she didn’t. I’m the worst possible thing for her. In the end, it’s inevitable that I will fail her, just as I failed Katie.
“I know it might sound crazy,” she answers, oblivious to the current war raging on in my mind. “But I think I want to do photography.”
“It’s not crazy if that’s what you want.”
She looks at me as if she doesn’t quite believe me. As if it can’t be that easy, and why should it? I’ve given her a hard time about everything else.
“You really think so?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think so. You love photography. I think it’s the appropriate choice to pursue.”
“But what if it’s a mistake?” She frowns. “What if years from now, I’m broke and miserable, wishing I had gone to Cornell?”
“Nothing in life is certain,” I tell her. “Except that we all have limited time. You should make the most of it while you’re here. You only get one chance, Stella. Don’t make decisions based on fear. Go after what you want and don’t look back.”
“That’s the most passionate speech I’ve ever heard you give.” Her lips tilt up into a beautiful smile. “And a little hypocritical, I might add.”
I knew that was coming, and I don’t deny it.
“What would make you happy?” She turns the question around on me.
For once, I don’t know how to answer to that. Any real chance at happiness died the day Katie did too. After that, I didn’t feel like I deserved to be alive, let alone happy. And for the past five years, I’ve done a damn good job reminding myself of that. But as I consider Stella’s question, I know what would make me happy, and it’s so simple it’s terrifying. My second chance is sitting right in front of me.
“Remind me again why we aren’t having sex right now,” I say.
“Wet paint.” Stella points to her lips with a mischievous smile. “Do you want to be the kind of man who ruins my lipstick?”
I drag her into my lap and force her to arch back as I bite at her throat. “If I’m not, then I’m not doing my job properly.”
