If You Hate Me

by Helena Hunting

All three heads turn my way. Tristan is in the middle of a sip of orange juice—he drinks an irrational amount of juice. He chokes and coughs into his arm. I hop to the floor, plaster a bright smile on my face, and head for the fridge, passing Tristan. His eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open. It’s comical, really. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he blurts. I look down and run a hand over my bare stomach. “Gym clothes. Because I’m going to the gym. What the fuck are you wearing?” I turn my attention to his teammates. I might also flip my ponytail over my shoulder as I wave. “Hi.”

this had me cackling

For a moment I wish I could erase the ugliness between us. Press reset. Tell her it’s not her fault I’m this way. That her kindness scares the fuck of out me, because I want to keep it for myself. But it’s better this way. If she hates me, it’s just about sex.

“I get it. I get why you said no,” he tells me softly. “I just wanted you next to me. I hated last night. I didn’t want you to have to listen. I won’t be with anyone else while I’m gone. I haven’t and I won’t. I don’t want anyone else. There’s only you, okay? You’re the only one.” His eyes are wild. Haunted almost. He takes my hand and presses it against his cheek. “Just don’t go. Please, Bea? Don’t leave yet. I’m not done with you. I need more of you.”

“I used to hurt you, sometimes on purpose. Maybe I wanted what you had. And now I just want…you.”

You, I want to say. For this not to end. For the things I’m afraid of not to ruin this. To give you the things you want. To make you smile like this every day.