I Need You To Hate Me, page 14
Tears slide down my face. Noticing my mood shift, Ace wrenches away.
“Calla, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Fuck…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.” He drops his hands to his sides and takes a step back. The blaze flickers out.
I meet his eyes. The way he looks at me makes my head dizzy. “Ace, I want to. I really really want to.”
His eyebrows furrow together. He brings his hand up to my cheek and brushes the tears away. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
I shake my head, not knowing how to begin to explain it. “Being with you is so intense. I can’t control my emotions.”
“I know the feeling,” he says. I take his hand, and pull him closer.
Ace looks at me with hesitation.
“Please don’t stop,” I say. I bring his lips back onto mine. He kisses me delicately this time, savoring every moment and gently biting my lip. He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
Ace inhales deeply, and I can feel him against me. I trail soft kisses down his jaw with both of my hands around his neck. He positions me on my bed, and I take my shirt off, revealing the red set that got us here in the first place. His eyes peruse me, and his sharp jaw tenses. I’m entirely naked underneath his gaze.
He’s already seen you naked.
Unconsciously, I place my hand over my chest to cover myself.
“No,” Ace says and takes my hands, placing them on either side of me. He leans down and brushes his lips against my throat and then down my chest.
Every kiss is faint, gentle. My heartbeat turns erratic for his touch, and he knows it. He traces the material of my bra with his index finger, and I shudder.
Ace continues to kiss down my body, leaving me panting.
“Is this okay?” He tugs on my underwear with his fingers and looks up to meet my eyes. I nod, biting my lip. He lowers his mouth, taking them off with his teeth, and a husky sound escapes his throat.
He kisses me down there, and I gasp at the tingling sensation building in my core. I tug on his hair, bringing him back up to my face. He takes his shirt off before I have the chance to direct him.
I adore feeling his warm skin against mine, and I’m fond of kissing him. I love kissing Ace.
I straddle him with his fingers between my legs. Ace’s lips never depart mine, but he still succeeds to murmur against them. “Calla, you’re incredible.”
Moving my hips back and forth on his hand, I set my own speed. His lips curve into a smile while he watches me with longing, and his fingers toy with my nipple—driving all my sensations wild. His tongue fills my mouth, and I’m lost in his presence.
Never have I done something like this. It’s almost as though I’m a different person when I’m with Ace—more confident within myself. He soothes my soul and brings me back to life.
I’ve never felt more in control with anyone, including myself.
Ace’s erection digs into my leg, and a deep groan from the back of his throat collides with my moans.
“I love this,” he says against my neck, and that’s all it takes for me to dig my nails into his shoulder and tilt my head back.
“Ace.” I moan his name, and he lowers his mouth to my jaw, my neck, my chest while I experience pure exhilaration racing through my body. My head collapses against his shoulder, and I pant, catching my breath.
“That was…”
“Nice?” I ask.
He laughs. His hot breath hits the crook of my neck below my ear. “No—enticing. You’re fucking enticing, Calla.” He places a soft kiss on my shoulder.
Both of my hands go to the waistband of his jeans, but he catches my fingers. “Not tonight, not like this.” And I know what he means. Not when my dad is in hospital. Not when I revealed more to him than I’ve told anyone in the last two years. He kisses my mouth, disrupting me from my thoughts.
We talk for what seems like hours, and he plays with my hair. I almost fall asleep on his chest, but I continue forcing my eyes open. I’m unable to let this raw moment come to an end. I stifle my yawns.
“Ace?” I say when we fall into our secure silence.
“Hmm?”
“Why did you hate me when we first met?” The question has been on my mind for weeks.
He stiffens and doesn’t answer for a few minutes. “It’s the other way around.”
“I didn’t hate you. I don’t hate you,” I say, confused by his response.
“I need you to.” Ace’s fingers trace my bare back.
“Why?” I ask, but I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I fall into the darkness, and I don’t have a single dream.
I wake up with the sun piercing through my curtains. A recollection from last night floods my memory, but Ace is gone. I check my phone, and there’s a text from him from five in the morning.
Sorry, I had to go. I’ll call you.
I don’t know what to say or what to feel. Getting dressed, I make a cup of coffee, and rush out the door to pick my dad up from the hospital. The only thing on my mind is Ace and how he made me feel last night, like no one else previously had. Everything with him is considerably intimate and genuine.
For the next couple of days, I spend time with my dad. The doctor informs us it’s unlikely for another heart attack to happen. My dad takes care of himself, he’s in perfect health.
“Thank you for coming, Cals, but you can see for yourself, I’m fine.” My dad places a kiss on my forehead on his first day back at work.
I haven’t called Ace or texted him—he said he’d call me. I’m hesitant to take matters into my own hands, and seem like a needy girlfriend, because I’m neither of those things. Every night that I lie in my bed, the memories of what happened a few days ago play on repeat. An addiction that I never knew existed.
By Friday, Ace still hasn’t called. Today is the day I’m driving back to the university. There’s no point in staying. All I did was sit at home while my dad went to work. He seems fine, but it’s still difficult to leave him. I pack my bags and, for merit, throw my mom’s journals in too.
The drive back to the house goes quickly, maybe because I’m anxious to see Ace. We haven’t spoken in days. Has he changed his mind about whatever this is? I wouldn’t be surprised if he has.
My tires crunch on the gravel as I park my car in front of the house. Liv and Zach aren’t here, but Ace’s motorcycle is near the front. Taking a deep breath, I cut the engine and climb out of the car. I stick my key inside the front door lock and twist the handle. When the door opens, the disturbing noise from Ace’s bedroom makes my stomach drop.
I let my duffel bag fall on the ground and rush to his room. Twisting the doorknob, I sigh in relief to find it unlocked. I sure as hell didn’t want to attempt to kick down a door. Is that even possible? They make it seem so easy in movies.
Everything in his room is a disaster. His books are scattered on the ground, his desk chair broken into pieces. It seems like a wild animal has stampeded through his room. But Ace isn’t here.
I follow the sound of glass shattering into the bathroom, twisting the handle and holding my breath. Not knowing what to expect, my hands shake.
My eyes widen, and my lips part when the door swings open. The scene unravels right before me.
There’s so much blood, but that’s not what scares me. Ace is repeatedly punching the broken bathroom mirror. His knuckles are bleeding to the point where I don’t think he can feel it anymore. There’s no emotion in his eyes, solely complete nothingness. I assume he’s having one of the episodes that he told me about, but I also remember Liv assuring me at the party he doesn’t have them often anymore.
Walking towards him, I place my hand on his arm. “Ace.” It’s like he doesn’t even hear me at all. He retracts his fist again and again, and it collides with the already-shattered glass.
Blood is smeared on the glass shards, and it’s dripping down his knuckles. “Ace, stop, please!” I yell, but nothing. Tears build in my eyes. I’m helpless—and under pressure, I don’t know what to do. It’s grueling to watch him hurt himself without even realizing it. My whole body shakes.
I do the only thing I can think of. I push Ace a little, so I can get between him and the mirror. I shut my eyes and wait. What am I waiting for? He won’t hurt me. He only wants to hurt himself.
I slowly open my eyes, and his are glaring into me. Instead of blankness, there’s anger in them, and I’m relieved there’s at least some sort of emotion in the pure darkness of his gray eyes.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” he growls. His jaw clenches.
“You’re bleeding.” My voice is barely audible. I gently touch his hand.
He recoils. “Calla, I could have fucking hurt you, and you’re worried about a scratch?”
It’s not a scratch. Ace’s knuckles are entirely busted on one hand, and I don’t care if he can’t feel it—he’s making a mess on the bathroom floor. Liv isn’t going to be too happy about the chaos he made.
“You probably need stitches,” I say.
“Stop! Stop caring about me. I’m a fucking monster!” He slams his knuckles one more time into the glass next to me. He wants me to be scared of him. He wants me to abandon him, to leave him standing there with the consequences of his mistakes. I don’t. I don’t even flinch.
I bring both of my hands up and place them on either side of his face, compelling him to meet my gaze. His beautiful eyes are his prominent feature, and I love the way they engage with mine. No one has ever looked at me the way Ace does, and it’s tantalizing, to say the least. All I want is to understand what’s running through his head.
He instantly calms down, his expression softens, and the connection between us—it’s almost electrifying. “Not all monsters are bad, Ace.”
He didn’t expect me to say that. He takes a deep breath and leans down, placing his forehead against mine. And with every second that passes, his breathing returns to normal.
“What the fuck are you doing to me?” he mutters. Wrapping his hands around me, he brings me closer. My cheek is against his chest, and his heartbeat is amazingly slow for someone who just beat up a mirror.
I run my hands up his back, and his muscles contract at my touch. I don’t know how long we stand like that, but eventually, I take his hand and run it under cold water, washing all the blood off.
“Ace, you should get stitch–”
“No,” he interrupts.
I sigh and lead him back to the room where more chaos lies. “Sit, I’ll go get the first aid kit.”
“No,” he says, gripping my hand tighter.
“Ace, don’t move,” I warn him, pushing him gently onto the bed.
“Or what?” He raises an eyebrow, testing me. His lips turn up at the sides. It’s barely a smile, but it makes me unsteady. I’m glad he can still find a way to joke after what happened.
I place my hands on his knees and lean over him. He lifts his head up to meet my gaze. “You don’t want to know,” I whisper. Turning around, I walk to the kitchen to get the first aid kit.
When I get back, Ace is precisely where I left him. I stand in front of him and place the box on the bed, opening it. I examine the back of his hand, and when I’m satisfied that there’s no glass stuck in the cuts, I clean it with alcohol wipes. He watches me the whole time. I’m surprised the shards aren’t as deep as I thought, except for one. He really should get stitches, though.
“Against all odds,” I say while cleaning Ace’s wounds. I can feel his gaze on me. “The first three words from my mom’s journal,” I explain. I read one each day, not allowing myself to read any further.
“Against all odds,” he murmurs, and half a smile graces his mouth.
When I finish bandaging him, he reaches out and takes my arm, pulling me towards him. He buries his head into my chest, and I barely hear the “thank you” that follows.
Running my hands through his hair, I twist a small curl around my finger—it’s soft. Ace lifts me up onto him, and I place my legs on either side of his body. This position feels so familiar. Connected is the word I have been using, but it’s so much more than that.
“Ace, have you talked to anyone about…this?” I ask, concerned, looking at his bandaged hand.
“No.”
“Are you goin—”
“No.”
I sigh. I can’t force him to do anything. I’m scared that the more I persist, the further he’ll push me away. I’d do the same if it came down to it.
“Ace…” I begin again. I run my fingers over his cheek and down his jawline to get his attention.
“Calla, no,” he tells me. Finality and sharpness are present in his voice.
He doesn’t want to talk about it, and I want to wait until he’s ready, but I’m worried about him. My eyes drift up to his, and his lips catch mine in a soft kiss. He places his hand on the back of my neck, his thumb running over my throat. I close my eyes and get lost in the existence of him.
After a minute, he pulls away and murmurs against my lips, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”
“You should be,” I tell him, and he smiles, placing a kiss on the corner of my mouth.
Ace is the biggest paradox I’ve ever known. He hates himself for something he did, but he’s also in love with himself to the point of outright narcissism. He’s an arrogant asshole one second but then sweet and alluring the next. He confuses me in every way possible, but I can see myself, maybe, possibly, and rapidly falling in love with him despite all odds.
“Are you free next Saturday?” He runs his left hand up my shirt. I shudder in response. “There’s someone I would like you to meet.”
15
The Storm
PEOPLE COME, PEOPLE go, and that’s just a way of life. They almost always leave something behind, either a treasured lesson or a particular memory that will cross your mind when you think of them.
I haven’t seen Ace since the day he shattered the mirror all over the bathroom floor. That was on Friday. I promised myself that I’d bring it up the next day; I couldn’t let this go. Ace wants to hurt himself. He’s convinced that he deserves it, and it’s breaking me apart. After I cleaned his hand that night, we fell asleep.
Sleep. Such a simple thing, really—you close your eyes, and you disappear into your most vulnerable state. Some people have dreams, others have nightmares, but the best kind of sleep is filled with nothingness. Sleep is also something that I haven’t been getting these last few days. My usual few hours a night have turned into two hours, if I’m fortunate. It’s, for the most part, my fault. I force myself to stay up until I’m confident that my mind is so exhausted that it can’t deliberate any ways to torment me. Sometimes, it still succeeds in finding a way.
My nightmares are always based around the same thing: the car accident. And even in my nightmares, I still can’t save her. I can’t do anything to change the sequence of events—all I can do is watch them unfold in front of me. One hour, that’s how long it took for the rescue team to get me out of the car. One hour may not seem like a long time, but when you’re crushed in a vehicle and counting the seconds, it feels like days.
For one hour, I had to sit and watch my mother deteriorate into a vegetative state. She wasn’t responding, but her heart was still beating. They declared her brain dead at the hospital. A few days later, my dad was forced to make the horrible decision to take her off life support. Do I wish it was me instead of her?
Every damn day.
“You can’t change the past.” Brody’s voice startles me. I’m too consumed in my own ominous thoughts while I cut the strawberries. Brody’s bloodshot blue eyes scan the café as if adjusting to the light. Did he just wake up? Is there even a bed behind the narrow green door? Perhaps it’s a typical office, but the chances are slim considering Brody’s character.
“Pardon?” I ask, because this must be a coincidence. He certainly can’t know what I was thinking about.
“It’s a waste of time and energy to analyze the past. To try put pieces back together, to justify what could have happened, when in reality, there’s nothing you can do to turn back the clock,” he says. My mouth gapes open. I can’t speak—I’m lost for words. He can’t read minds, I remind myself. It’s impossible, right?!
“Living in the past only fucks up the present,” he adds, running a hand through his unkempt hair, and I swallow hard.
“Have you been reading your horoscope again?” Mia asks him and shakes her head as if this is normal—but I guess it’s normal for him. Brody shrugs casually, as if that didn’t happen, and asks Mia if they need anything from the grocery store.
On my fifteen-minute break, I slouch in a booth across from Theo and Josh, replaying Brody’s words. My fingers play with the plastic straw on the table. Theo and Josh are whispering to each other and keep glancing behind them.
“What?” I ask, following their gazes. Behind Josh is a guy that I recognize from some of my classes. His arm is draped over a petite girl with pigtails, and she’s leaning into him.
“Nothing,” Josh mutters under his breath and stares down at the table. His lips form a line, and he rubs his forehead. I’ve never seen Josh like this before—almost despaired.
“Josh has a secret boyfriend that’s currently getting too cozy with a girl,” Theo explains, nodding behind him and shoving a chip into his mouth—this results in Josh elbowing him in the ribs.
Josh glares at Theo. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’ve just been seeing each other when no one else is around. He hasn’t…come out yet.”
“So…secret boyfriend,” Theo says mindlessly. Josh must have kicked Theo under the table—Theo’s head snaps up to Josh, and he coughs. “What’s your problem? I almost choked on my food.”
“Does this happen often?” I ask Josh, tilting my head towards the guy. Josh fiddles with his drink, considering his answer.
He looks at me and shrugs. “A few months now.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“He keeps saying he needs time. He’s worried what people will think, what his family will think…” Josh says.
