I Need You To Hate Me, page 15
“You should really consider talking to him again if it makes you feel like this. Perhaps he’s not ready for you. You can’t wait for him and sacrifice your own happiness,” I say.
“Yeah, Evans. Calla is right. I’m over seeing you down because of him,” Theo chimes in and throws his arm over Josh’s shoulder. Josh shrugs it off, uncomfortable that both my and Theo’s attention is on him.
I glance at the clock on the wall above the counter. “Sorry guys, I have to get back to work.”
I make my way to the counter for the final hour of my shift, continuing to think of Josh’s situation. Would I be able to be with someone who acts a particular way with me behind closed doors and completely different in front of everyone else?
The answer is a definite no, but then again, it’s not that simple. From what I can gather, Josh has always been accepted in his family, in his friendship circle for who he is—this resulted in him embracing it and being confident within himself. Many others aren’t as lucky as Josh.
I finish my last order and wipe the bench down. I turn to find Ace standing in front of me, his side against the counter. Five days it’s been since I last saw him. No calls, no texts—nothing. It’s not a surprise, maybe only another disappointment. Although I had a premonition it would eventually go back to this, I didn’t think it would be so soon and out of nowhere. I could’ve asked Zach or Liv where Ace was, but I didn’t. If he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me.
“Calla,” he says as a way of greeting me.
I don’t want to have this feeling that encompasses me every time we see each other. A weakness that floods through my veins every time I hear his voice. It’s strange and unsettling that I have this reaction about a guy who came into my life so recently.
“You’re back,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
“That’s not the reaction I was hoping for.” His mouth spreads into a guileless, boyish grin as he continues to perforate me with his conspicuous stare.
“So is your arrogance,” I point out, not falling for his charms.
“What fun would it be without it?” he says, keeping the same expression.
Ace does an excellent job at masking his genuine feelings. He’d rather make a joke than admit something is bothering him. For him to let me in as much as he already has must be a big deal to him. But it’s the same for me. I’ve never spoken to anyone about my past—about my mother, about my feelings. Not as much as I have communicated to Ace in the last month.
“How long till you disappear this time?” I ask, my voice coming out icier than I intended it to. I can’t lie and say it doesn’t bother me—it does. We’ve come this far, and I wish he’d open up to me.
“Well, I have training soon,” he says, but he knows that’s not what I mean. “You can come, but I can’t guarantee it will be any fun.”
“I’ll come.”
He raises an eyebrow, surprised. “You want to come?”
“If that’s okay? I’m finishing up here in a few minutes.”
Ace’s training is at the same club as his fights. The building that is usually filled with a crowd is empty on a weeknight. Ace leads me through to the back with my hand in his. The bright lights are on, illuminating the paint-peeled walls and the floors that have been scrubbed clean—the smell of bleach fills my nostrils. My eyes dart to the fighting ring as we move past it; blood still stains the floor where many have fallen after defeat.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped to stare at it until Ace gently tugs on my hand, leading me through a door. The lights in this room are dimmer and have a red luminosity to them. In front of me is a fighting ring, similar to the main one, but this one is cleaner, with no traces of blood. To the side are a boxing bag and other gym equipment such as weights, machines, and stretching mats.
“I told you this isn’t going to be very fun,” Ace says as he lets go of my hand.
I take a seat at the chair by the wall. “Let me be the judge of that.”
Ace pulls his shirt off and turns a playlist on, which starts blasting through the speakers in the room’s four corners. He picks up a skipping rope and warms up. My eyes widen at how fast his feet move on the rope, and my mouth gapes open. Ace forms a crooked grin as he picks up the speed. Sweat beads on his forehead and chest, glistening vividly under the light.
After he’s warmed up, he takes out the boxing gloves from his bag and saunters over, handing them to me. “You do need to work on your technique.”
I scrunch my eyebrows. “I’m not going to hit you.” Is he insane?
“Aren’t you mad at me?” he asks. Yes, I’m mad at him for disappearing again, but this isn’t necessary. There are other ways to sort our issues out—by talking, perhaps?
“I’m not going to hit you, Ace,” I state.
“Afraid that you’ll hurt yourself more than you’ll hurt me again?” He grins, bouncing on the bottoms of his feet around me.
I narrow my eyes. Why is he doing this? I snatch the gloves from him and slide them onto my hands. They are too big for me, and I clench my fists, getting accustomed to the fit. I stand, and Ace’s grin widens to show most of his top teeth.
“You know there are other ways to sort out our issues,” I say once we’re in the ring. Ace isn’t wearing any protective gear; that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s crazy or underestimates my capabilities. I don’t blame him, considering the last time I punched him.
“But this has proven to be our personal favorite,” he says with a glimmer in his eyes. “Come on, I can take a hit. You should know that,” he encourages me, motioning for me to land a punch on him.
Oh, so cocky. I allow myself to swing for him, but he steps to the right, dodging my hit. I narrow my eyes and try again—and again, he manages to duck out of the way. I clench my teeth together, getting discouraged with this ordeal. Ace tilts his head to the side in an awfully smug way. I take the opportunity, punching him in the arm, not using full force.
He grins. “Good.”
We continue this for what seems like an hour but is probably minutes. I’m out of breath and panting. The whole time, Ace is making me work for it. He bounces on the pads of his feet, forcing me to chase him around the ring. I land three punches on him, but I think it’s because he lets me.
I eye him and go for the fourth, but Ace corners me between the ropes and wraps one hand around my waist, bringing me closer to him. The sweat of his body clings to my shirt. I’m meant to think this gross and disgusting; however, I find myself not caring, even finding it a little appealing.
“And you said this was going to be boring?” I’m out of breath, but Ace doesn’t seem the slightest bit winded. His stamina must be tremendous.
“Nothing can be boring with you,” Ace says. He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. They’re tender and inviting, making me delirious, especially after the exercise. He pulls away too soon, grinning at me.
I hand Ace the gloves, and he walks over to the punching bag, beginning his proper training routine. I stand to the side, watching him land punches with incredible force, one after another. His biceps become more prominent under the pump.
“About the incident the other day…” I begin, not knowing whether this is the right time to bring it up—not knowing whether there’ll ever be a suitable time.
Ace glances at me without losing his momentum, this time no smirk, no invitation. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I was expecting that, but I’m not going to give up that easily.
“Maybe you need to…It’s not something that you can just ignore,” I say, keeping my eyes on him.
“I’m dealing with it,” he almost growls, punching the boxing bag repeatedly, harder this time—using all his power. The sound of his gloves connecting with the bag echoes off the walls even though the music is still playing in the background. The bag is held to the ceiling by rusted chains, and I eye them deviously.
“That…did not look like you were dealing with it. How often do you have these episodes?” I press further. His jaw tightens at my question, and he focuses on his technique—a way to avoid looking at me, to avoid this conversation.
“Not often,” he says, but the way he turns his head farther away from me and his voice becomes edgier is proof that he’s untruthful.
“I see the lies right through you, Ace.”
“You. See. Nothing.” With every word he seethes, he hits the boxing bag harder and harder. I didn’t know it was possible to have this amount of strength. On his last word, he powers through with a colossal amount of might. The chains that hold the bag give in, and everything comes crashing to the floor in front of Ace.
“I’m trying to help you. I want to help you!” I say, louder, wishing he’ll understand—that’s all I want to do.
He turns to glare at me. Conflagration dances in his eyes, and he shakes his head as though he’s trying to eradicate my words. “I don’t need your help or your compassion. I don’t need that look that screams pity. I don’t need you to come into my life and try to fix everything that’s wrong with me,” he snaps.
I take a step towards him, letting him know that he doesn’t scare me. He can snap at me all he likes, but it doesn’t change what happened the other day. “Then what do you need?”
Ace looks straight into my eyes. “I don’t need anything from you.” His words make me recoil, like a slap in the face. I know this is him shutting me out, and that’s what hurts the most.
“Fine.” I cross my arms in defense.
“Fine,” he growls.
On the drive back, it’s silent except for the roar of the engine. I try to avoid touching Ace in any way that I can—clinging to the sides of the motorcycle instead of him. It’s colder today and reminds me that winter is closing in.
I get where Ace is coming from. I get it more than anyone else—but I can’t do nothing about it and overlook the problem. I can’t tread on eggshells around him, hoping what I decide to bring up won’t make him launch me away at any given moment.
There’s a certain amount of tiredness that equates to insanity. I’m about to reach that frontier. Later tonight, I may have to take the sleeping pills that I’ve barely touched since my therapist prescribed them. Otherwise, I’ll turn into a walking zombie.
I make my way down the stairs, hoping that Ace is still in his room so I can make a swift escape to class without running into him. I pause on the central stair, checking for any movement. His door is shut, and I breath out a sigh of relief. I have no desire to talk to him after the events that occurred yesterday.
My eyes widen as I open the front door. I’m face-to-face with Nate’s hand, which was raised to knock. “Hey! Um…” His eyes widen, and he begins rambling. “I just thought we could walk to campus together…and uhh…I got you coffee.” He hands me the takeaway cup and flicks the small golden curl that obscured his vision towards the back.
I bring the cup to my nose and inhale; the smell of coffee hits me, and I’m on cloud nine. I enjoy smelling coffee more than drinking it.
“Caramel latte on almond,” Nate says boastfully, and I’m surprised he even remembers my coffee order after the cherry incident.
“Thank you. I needed this.” I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand.
“Are you still not sleeping?” He looks straight at the undereye bags that I tried to cover with a ridiculous amount of concealer, but clearly, it did little to help.
“Is it that noticeable?”
“No, no, you look beautiful,” he says, and I take a sip of my coffee, unsure of how to respond to the unwanted compliment. I’d rather he tell me I look bad and make a joke out of it instead of lying.
We have only spoken briefly since he drove me to see my dad in the hospital. I figured it was because of Ace, but it seems like Nate is over it now, as he’s grinning from ear to ear. What has got him in such a chirpy mood this morning?
I’m about to step out onto the porch, but the dark, angry clouds form in the distance, a promise of a storm later. I appreciate storms. Something about them is soothing, especially when you’re in the comfort of your own home, relishing the appreciation of nature’s power and how destructive it can be.
“Hold on, I think I might get a jacket.” I turn around but stop in my tracks when Ace’s door opens. The early morning sun hits his body in all the right places, accentuating his already tanned and toned figure. He runs a hand through his damp hair as he steps out of his room and lifts his gaze to meet mine.
I hold my breath. My heart accelerates and…nope—not today. “Actually, don’t worry, let’s go.” I turn back to Nate, bumping into him.
“Huh? What about your jacket?” he asks, not noticing Ace and blocking the doorway.
“Don’t need it; let’s go. Now.” I push him towards the porch with one hand while holding my coffee with the other. I slam the door behind us, but not before I notice the way Ace’s eyes dart from me to Nate and then back to me. His expression shifts rapidly to envy. The green-eyed monster.
Nate escorts me to my class and tells me about some camping trip that supposedly the whole university is going on for Halloween. He’s exaggerating—I doubt the whole university is going, but I tell him I’ll think about it.
We pause outside my lecture class. “You know I’m always here for you, whatever you need,” Nate says, his eyes tight and full of concern.
“Yeah, of cour—”
“Move.”
I don’t even have to turn my head to know who that voice belongs to. I’d recognize it anywhere. “Dude, I’m not even in the way,” Nate argues.
Nate is right, we’re not in the way, but I stand further to the side, pulling Nate with me. I don’t have the energy to deal with Ace today.
“What’s his problem?” Nate asks when Ace walks into the room with looks that could kill.
I shrug and tell Nate I have to go. He takes me off guard by wrapping his hands around my waist and pulling me into a hug. I return it, patting him on the shoulder after a few seconds, so he receives the message to let go.
Theo isn’t in class today, so I don’t have to sit anywhere near Ace. I choose the farthest spot away from him, at the back. But as I thought, it’s no use, because Ace makes his way next to me.
“Calla.” He sits down, facing me. I ignore him and keep my eyes on the professor, but I can’t seem to concentrate on anything he’s saying.
Ace pokes my arm lightly with the tip of his pen and trails it along my skin, leaving goosebumps as if he’d touched me himself. I snatch the pen with my other hand and place it too forcefully on his desk.
“For fuck’s sake, Calla!”
“What, Ace?” I hiss, still not meeting his gaze.
“What was that?” he asks.
“What?”
“You and Nate? Don’t you think he’s a little too comfortable with you?”
I scowl at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking, but his jaw tenses in annoyance. “You are such a hypocrite!” I scoff. I can’t believe that out of all the things he could say, he decides to bring up how comfortable I looked with Nate.
The professor’s head snaps to us. “Mr. Blackwell and Miss Maven, I see you two have a lot to say. How about you share some things that you learned about each other while interrupting my class?”
I shoot Ace an annoyed look. “Well, my partner is an arrogant asshole with an ego bigger than his head, but I already knew that from the start,” I mutter under my breath, loud enough for some students to hear but not the professor.
“Sorry, could you speak up, Miss Maven?”
Ace raises an eyebrow and smirks in a challenging manner. If it were any other day, I would have apologized to the professor and put my head down, but I’m already irritated, and Ace is not making this easy.
I smile at him sweetly before clearing my throat. “Ace has multiple personalities, and I still don’t know if it’s an actual issue or only him being a conceited hypocrite.”
I look over to him, and he’s grinning, so I take it as my cue to continue. “He almost always contradicts himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that it’s on purpose. And I still haven’t discovered any of the secrets that he is adamant about keeping because he thinks he needs to suffer for his past.”
Ace’s grin is wiped off his face, and now he’s gripping his pen so hard it’s threatening to snap. I catch my breath before continuing, “Ace doesn’t let people in, and the only time he is himself is when he’s telling you how bad of a person he is, and when you finally think you’re making some progress, he puts on a more prominent shield.”
“But don’t we all put on a front?” Ace asks me.
“To some degree, yes, but—”
“And wouldn’t you say that you’re not all that you make yourself out to be?” he interrupts.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Well, look at you. You’re trying so hard to blame yourself for something that wasn’t even your fault, and in the process of doing that, you’ve changed who you really are.”
Ace has no idea what he’s talking about, and I can’t believe we’re having this conversation in front of the whole class. “You don’t even know who I am.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “I know that you’re not the person that you make everyone believe you are. You’re not ignorant, antisocial, or even shy for that matter, and you always have something to say. But no one here, in their right mind, would have guessed that you were the cheer captain in high school and also the…hmm…what do they call them? The Queen Bee?”
My eyes widen, not because it’s not the truth, but because I don’t remember telling Ace any of this. “In fact, now, you’d rather keep your mouth shut and have people assume things about you than have them know the truth and feel sorry for you.”
There’s silence, and everyone is looking at us, whispering with their peers. I want the ground to swallow me. I’m grateful when the professor finally speaks, shaking his head. “Don’t interrupt my class again, Miss Maven and Mr. Blackwell.”
I sink lower in my seat and wait until everyone returns to taking notes. “How did you know all that about me? I never told you.”
