Tate and K.C. got into it at lunch again. I could see them eating lunch at the picnic tables outside, and both were talking intensely, Tate looking away, shaking her head, and K.C. looking apologetic.
While I told myself that it would be worth it when it was done, I still felt like shit. K.C. wasn’t telling Tate about using me to get back at her boyfriend. If she did, they probably wouldn’t be fighting. Not that Tate would be okay with it, but she probably wouldn’t be barely eating her lunch and scowling so much.
No, Tate thought K.C. and I were hooking up.
Telling the school she had genital warts or lice had been mean but still funny. Trying to steal her best friend was cruel. It would really hurt her.
Exactly what I wanted, I told myself.
But day after day I caught myself mesmerized by her every move. The methodical way she’d sharpen her precious pencils, the way her hair fell over her shoulder when she’d lean down to grab something from her messenger bag, or watching her body bend as she’d sit down or get up. Every bit of skin, every smile, and every time she licked her lips had a lightning storm shooting downwards from my stomach to my dick, and I almost wished she was back in France.
At least I could hate her and not want to fuck her every second.
Madoc called it hate-fucking. He told me once that he’d never loved anyone, but he’d had sex with someone he really hated once, and it was the best he’d ever had.
Passion, punishment, anger—it sounded like an attractive but dangerous mix.
I let out a breath and straightened my shoulders as I walked into my last class of the day—the class I shared with Tate.
“Leave.”
I heard Tate’s voice as soon as I walked in the door, and I snapped my attention to Nate Dietrich leaning on her desk, crowding her space.
“That’s your last warning,” she continued, looking angry and embarrassed at the same time.
“Jared’s right,” Nate grumbled and stood back upright. “You’re not worth it.”
And I was on his fucking ass. “Sit down, Nate.”
He spun around, eyebrows raised and looking surprised as we stood in between the rows of desks that were quickly filling up with students.
“Hey, man, no offense.” He held up his hands. “If you’re not done with her…”
My arms tensed with the need to haul this guy out of here by his balls.
If I’m not done with her?
And just then, I felt like crawling inside of myself to hide.
My throat tightened.
What the hell?
I wanted her to hurt. I didn’t want her to hurt.
I hated her. I loved her.
I wanted to violate her body in a hundred different ways. I wanted to keep her safe.
There was no limit to how fucking confused I was right now, but one thing was for certain.
She wasn’t trash.
Over the years, she’d endured a lot of harassment because of me. People are easily manipulated. They want to be accepted, and gossip is taken as gospel. Tell people that someone has their clit pierced or that they eat dogs, and you just have to sit back and watch the school flood with talk.
However, by junior and senior year, my childish rumors were about as effective as a broken condom. I’d wanted to keep guys away from Tate, but that wasn’t working so much anymore. They saw she was beautiful, and now, after the locker room incident, they saw her as a slut, too.
And for the first time, I wasn’t getting any peace from tormenting this girl. I just wanted to wrap her up in my arms and see her smile.
My eyes narrowed, and I wished for a perfect world where I could toss darts at this guy’s dick. “Don’t talk to her again,” I commanded. “Go.” And I jerked my chin off to a corner he should go fucking hide in.
Was I better than him?
No. But I’d deal with that shit later.
Tate let out an aggravated sigh as Nate walked off, and I turned my eyes on her in time to see her lips tighten. I saw the scowl, knew it was meant for me, but didn’t even have a chance to figure out why when she spoke up.
“Don’t do me any favors,” she sneered. “You’re a miserable piece of shit, Jared. But then, I guess I’d be miserable, too, if my parents hated me. Your dad left you, and your mom avoids you. But who can blame them, right?”
I stopped breathing, and the room shrunk in on me.
What the fuck did she just say?
I stared at her, feeling torn apart and dead, knowing that it was completely un-Tate to say something like that but knowing she spoke the truth.
I didn’t forget to breathe. I just didn’t want to anymore.
It felt like every eye in the room was on me and people were whispering behind their hands, laughing at me. I was exposed, and everyone knew my shit.
But when I glanced around, I realized no one was even paying us any attention.
My eyes sharpened on her, and I remembered exactly why I hated her.
She was packaged up to look like a good girl, but make no mistake—there was a bitch in there.
“Okay, class,” Mrs. Penley called out, walking through the door.
I said nothing and continued to my seat.
“Please take out your compasses and lookup your East. When I say ‘go’, please take your materials and sit next to that person for today’s discussion. Feel free to move desks side by side or face to face. Go.”
I sat there, and Ivy Donner was on me before I even had a chance to pull out my compass.
But I barely heard her chatter.
Tate was joining Ben Jamison, and they were moving their desks face to face.
Strange thing was, I felt nothing looking at her. Like I was numb. The need I felt two minutes ago to hold her and tell her I was sorry was completely gone now.
And what’s more? I didn’t even feel angry, either.
Tate was lost to me. I didn’t care.
I was shit. I didn’t care about that, either.
She looked at me every once in a while. I didn’t want her. I didn’t hate her.
I. Just. Didn’t. Care.