I Need You To Hate Me, page 16
“I didn’t, but it’s not hard to guess. Nate wouldn’t have even looked at you twice if you weren’t all those things. All he cares about is his image.”
“You may think you somehow figured me out, but you don’t know anything about Nate,” I say, not even comprehending why I’m defending him. Everything Ace has said is the truth, but I don’t want to acknowledge it, neither to myself nor to him.
Ace shrugs and doesn’t say anything for the next twenty minutes. I can’t stop replaying what he said. I’m not trying to blame myself for anything, because everything is my fault.
“I’m sorry,” Ace finally says, his voice on the edge of a whisper. “For last night.” I ignore him. Now is not the time to talk about this.
“Calla,” he says, and I roll my eyes. I pick up my stuff and walk out of the lecture room without saying anything. I mouth a quick “sorry” to the professor, who is frowning at me on my way out.
A pounding builds in my head; I can’t deal with this today. I massage my temple, trying to relieve the throbbing. Footsteps are behind me, and I know that it’s him—I hasten my pace.
“Calla! Wait.”
I proceed walking, needing to get away from him, requiring fresh air and a clear head. I open the door leading outside, and it’s raining. Of course it is. I’m stubborn, so the option to turn around and face Ace is not an option at all.
I place one foot in front of the other until the coldness of the raindrops run down my heated body. The calm that I usually feel when it rains is masked by my sudden urge to cry, and I blame all these emotions on my period, which came a few days ago.
Ace grabs my hand, twirling me around to face him. When I’m in front of him, he pulls us both to the side, under the cover of a building to shield us from the rain.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that last night. I’m—I’m just not used to talking about that with anyone,” he explains.
“Maybe you should go see someone…I’m worried about you, and since that’s not the first time…” My voice trails off. “How often has this happened?”
“I’m not going to see someone, Calla,” he says, keeping his voice composed but not giving me an answer to the other question.
“Why? You’re harming yourself, Ace.”
“I told you. I’m dealing with it,” he says. His cold eyes pierce into mine, and I recognize this is hard for him—to talk about something he wants to keep buried within himself. It’s unhealthy.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I persist.
“Just trust me.”
I shake my head, unable to let this go. How do his friends continue to let him suffer without seeking help? I don’t understand, but then I’m reminded that it’s Ace. He won’t let anyone help him, and he’ll pull away as soon as they start.
“Please, Calla,” he says, taking my hand in his. His touch immediately clouds my mind.
I sigh. I don’t know what to do when placed in this situation. I could persevere, but then it would result in Ace distancing himself from me. “Promise to tell me if you have an episode again.”
Ace hesitates.
“Promise me,” I demand.
He releases a deep breath, understanding that I’m not going to give up until he does. “Yes, I promise.”
16
Unveiling Secrets
MY EYES SHOOT open, and there’s wetness on my cheeks. I wipe them with the back of my hand. Just another nightmare—if only that nightmare wasn’t so close to reality.
In the shower, the scalding water runs down my skin. I’m hoping to burn away every negative memory in my mind. I wish it worked that way, but it doesn’t. I still remember everything, right down to the very last breath.
The mirror is foggy with condensation, and I wipe it with the end of my towel, quickly glancing over my appearance. My hair is darker now that it’s wet, and my eyes have more green in them—like my mom’s. My face is flushed red from the heat of the shower.
Wrapping my body in the bath towel, I walk to my room. Running my hand through my wet hair, I open my bedroom door with the other.
I don’t know if I’m clumsy or if it’s something to do with the way Ace is sitting on my bed—unexpectedly and too handsome to even be real—that makes my feet slip on the hardwood floors.
Grabbing the door for support, I attempt to steady myself, but it slides out from my reach. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the fall, but it doesn’t come. Instead, a pair of sturdy arms are around me. “Falling for me already?”
I open my eyes, unable to stop staring at him—or speak, for that matter. The smell of his body wash and minty toothpaste fills my lungs. I’m intoxicated, and my head spins in agreement. “How long have you been waiting to use that line?” I ask.
He grins at me. “Since I missed my chance on the stairs.”
I roll my eyes. “What are you doing in my room?” I place my hands on his bare chest for support.
He looks down at my hands and smiles. “We have plans.” He assesses my expression to see if I’ve forgotten.
I didn’t. The opposite, actually: I’ve been looking forward to it all week—hoping that Ace didn’t change his mind. I was beginning to wonder if he’d disappear this weekend like he always does, and I’m glad he didn’t. I’m desperate to know more about him. I’m fascinated by every detail that he reveals.
“I know.” I smile. “Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?”
He considers it for a moment. “No, you’ll see.”
I notice something in the way he says it, like he’s nervous, but I quickly discard the idea. Ace, nervous? Not a chance.
We take my car, but Ace insists on driving. I don’t mind. I’m too lost in my thoughts to acknowledge the silence between us, but it’s not awkward. Not with Ace. His presence speaks to me more than words ever could. Our silence together feels more familiar than my own, even though I’ve spent a whole lifetime with mine.
Ace, too, is deep in thought. Occasionally, he runs his hand through his hair, which the wind ruffles anyway. His elbow is hanging out the window, and his hand clutches the steering wheel. Is he having second thoughts about this, about letting me in? I hope not.
Twenty minutes into the drive, he fumbles with the stereo and eventually turns it on. The first thing that blasts out of the speakers is Hannah Montana, and I almost die from embarrassment. The last time I drove my car was when I came back from Dad’s house, and I needed something catchy to keep me alert for the two-hour drive.
I immediately turn down the volume and change it to the CD Ace gave me. The song “Do I Wanna Know?” comes on. Ace turns to grin at me and sings along with the lyrics. He rests his hand on my thigh like it’s a casual gesture. But there’s nothing casual about it, especially not with the words coming out of his mouth.
The lyrics are incredibly fitting to our situation. It’s just a song; control yourself. But I can’t. How long will it last? The feeling that erupts through me every time he touches me.
Ace rubs my thigh. I place my hand on his, hovering over the cuts that have almost healed from the mirror incident. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
I don’t know where the confidence comes from, but I move his hand up a little. I swear the song is making me high, or is it solely Ace?
He exhales deeply, but he keeps his eyes on the road. I don’t push it any further. Instead, I take my hand off his. He travels it farther up my thigh. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I don’t. What I want is for him to stop the car, but I don’t voice my ideas, and his hand travels up my skirt. You’d think someone who’s been in a car crash would be against doing something like this: dangerous, reckless, and absolutely inappropriate. But Ace makes me disregard everything. It’s just him and me.
He rubs me through my panties, the friction causing a need in me. But he pulls away too soon. “Touch yourself.”
My head snaps to his. “Excuse me?”
He takes my hand and places it where his was. “Show me how you touch yourself, Calla.”
No way. I’m about to tell him no. For starters, I wouldn’t touch myself in a moving car in pure daylight. This is insane. Ace turns his head towards me for a second, and his mouth turns up at the corners in a beguiling smile.
“For me,” he says, his voice low and rich. That look he gives me and the two words that emanate from his mouth are all it takes for me to give in.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, tilting my head against the seat. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve gotten myself off, yes, but no one has ever watched me. This feels dirty and inappropriate. But it makes me even more turned on when I can feel his eyes on me.
Ace holds my hand while I touch myself with the other. “Does that feel good?”
I manage to nod.
If, a few months ago, someone had told me I’d be doing exactly this, I would have articulated they were insane. But now, everything has changed drastically.
Ace came into my life like a thunderstorm—all at once and without much warning. He has this unexpected energy about him, it engrosses and alleviates me. But there’s a more profound feeling that lingers around us, something of attachment and affinity, like we’ve already crossed paths in another life. Perhaps I’m merely idealizing.
While I continue to touch myself, quickening the pace, I imagine it being Ace. It doesn’t take long for me to dig my nails into his hand.
“Look at me when you come.” He squeezes my hand, and I obey.
“Oh my god. Ace.” I moan his name when my climax hits me, and his eyes flicker between me and the road.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel while he watches me fall apart next to him—fall apart because of him. When my breathing returns to normal, I have time to reflect on what just happened. What is he doing to me?
Within ten minutes, Ace parks in the driveway of a small, pale blue house, and my breathing becomes uneasy. I rub my palms on my skirt, ridding the sweat that builds. It didn’t cross my mind that the someone he wants me to meet may be his parents. He wouldn’t do that to me without warning, would he?
We get out of the car, and Ace takes my hand in his—his thumb rubbing the back of mine soothingly. I have no idea what to expect. I look down at myself, criticizing my outfit choice.
“Relax, love. You look beautiful,” he says. We walk up the steps of the porch, and my mind is going crazy with anticipation.
The door swings open, and a small girl, around five, jumps on Ace. He catches her in mid-air, pulling her up to his chest. She looks exactly like him; her dark hair bounces on her shoulders in waves, and her eyes are the same as Ace’s—like the sea on a stormy day. She’s magnificent.
“Acy!” she squeals, wrapping her small arms around his neck and giggling.
“Hey!”
The small girl glimpses at me from Ace’s arms and tilts her head to the side as if examining me. She gives me a short, unsure wave, and I smile at her. Her eyes sparkle in the glistening sun, and tiny, faint freckles that become more noticeable under the golden rays cover her nose.
“Hi…” I say, and Ace turns to me with a wholehearted smile. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches the interaction between this little girl and me. “What’s your name?” I ask her.
She looks up at Ace. “Who’s she?”
Ace laughs, a sound that I’ve adored from day one. “This is Calla,” he says to her. They have an undeniable connection; I assume it’s his little sister. There’s no way she could be his daughter—the age difference doesn’t add up.
“Calla,” she repeats after him and looks at me. “My name is Ariella, but my friends call me Ellie,” she says. It’s easy to understand where Ace disappears every weekend; she’s adorable.
“That’s a pretty name,” I say, and she nods, looking up at Ace. “What can I call you?” I ask.
She thinks about this for a moment, looking at me with her almond-shaped eyes as if she can see right through my soul. “We can be friends.”
I notice the way Ace’s lips form a smirk, and his eyes flicker to mine. Friends. Is that what Ace and I still are?
An older woman in her sixties appears in the doorway. “Ace,” she greets him. Her expression is gentle, and she smiles, allowing her wrinkles to become more prominent.
“Evelyn, this is Calla…a friend of mine,” he says to the woman, and her smile grows wider on her thin, frail lips.
“I see. It’s nice to finally meet you, Calla.” Her voice is filled with sincerity. Finally? Does that mean Ace talked about me previously, or is she simply saying this to be polite? I don’t want to overthink it.
“Likewise.” I’m not sure what else to say. Ace hasn’t told me anything about his family, but he brought me to meet them. I’m a little bit out of place.
“I’ll come back around four, dear?” Her eyes turn to Ace.
“Yes, I’ll have to be at work at six,” he says, placing Ellie down. She comes to my side.
Work? Does he mean he has a fight?
Evelyn nods. “I took out ingredients on the kitchen counter for cookies. Ellie and I were going to make some, but she wanted to wait for you.”
“Cookies! We’re making cookies!” Ellie says, looking up at me.
“I love cookies,” I say, and she beams with excitement.
Ellie tugs on my arm and leads me inside while Ace and Evelyn finish up on the porch. “Acy likes you.”
“Oh?”
“He only brings girls he likes here,” she says nonchalantly, bobbing her head from side to side while skipping to the kitchen.
I love her already.
“Hmm, really?” I ask with my eyebrows raised. Does he now…
“Yeah, like Livvy! I love Livvy. She does my makeup and makes me look pretty,” Ellie says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The inside of the house is much bigger than I expected. It’s an open plan; the kitchen and living room are connected, and the large windows make the place brighter. There are a few pictures on the walls, and I stop to take a look.
There’s one with Ellie on Ace’s shoulders. It seems like it was taken not too long ago on the front porch. However, another photo catches my attention, and my eyes scan it. Ellie is holding a massive, purple helium balloon that’s the shape of the number five. Ace is holding Ellie, and there’s a woman to the right of Ace. She looks like she’s in her mid-thirties with the same features: dark hair and vivid green-blue eyes. It must be their mom, and I wonder where she is.
“That’s my mom,” Ace says, startling me. I didn’t realize he is paying attention to me.
“Will I meet her today?”
“No, she’s working. She works most weekends,” he tells me, and I nod. I’m starting to understand the situation.
“What does she do?” I ask.
“She’s a nurse.”
“And Evelyn?” I prompt. I hope he doesn’t think I’m asking too many questions or overstepping any boundaries. He’s been a closed book since I met him, and it’s refreshing to see a different side to him.
“Evelyn lives next door. She’s like family,” he explains.
Ellie climbs onto the barstool behind the kitchen counter and examines the plastic cookie cutters. “I want to make the bunnies,” she says, and Ace heads towards her.
I wash my hands in the kitchen sink and mix the ingredients for the cookie batter with Ellie’s help. She’s very clever for a five-year-old and knows the exact method. Ace isn’t any help; I don’t think he even knows how to make cookies. He’s watching Ellie and me, occasionally placing his floury handprint on the sleeve of my shirt.
“Do you have a fight today?” I whisper while Ellie is busy mixing the frosting—stealing a few licks from the spoon now and then. Ace’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything, so I assume he does.
“Can I come?” I place the dirty dishes inside the dishwasher.
“No.”
“Why not?” I turn, facing him.
“It’s not safe, Calla.”
I roll my eyes. “It was fine last time.”
“There are going to be more people this time,” he says.
“Is everyone else going?” I ask. He doesn’t answer me, placing the cookie tray into the heated oven. “You don’t want me to come?”
“I don’t want to be distracted. You distract me.” Ace corners me between his body and the counter. My eyes glance at Ellie, but she’s not paying any attention to us.
“Please?” I run my hand down his chest. “It was hot watching you last time,” I whisper so only he can hear and slightly graze my bottom lip with my teeth.
His eyes narrow. “Fuck, Calla. Why do you have to do that?” he asks, frustrated, taking my hand away from him and turning away abruptly.
Someone’s in a mood. I smile to myself. “Does that mean I can come?”
“No.”
I drop it for now, but he’s an idiot if he thinks I’m not coming.
“Acy is taking me to Bella’s birthday in a week. I have to make her a card,” Ellie says when we finish cleaning up.
“We can watch The Lion King while you do that,” Ace suggests, heading towards the living room.
“Nooo, we watch that every time,” Ellie argues, grabbing an arts-and-crafts box from the cabinet.
“But it’s the best movie,” he tries to convince her.
“No,” Ellie says, and I notice the resemblance in the bossiness trait. “Calla can choose.” I laugh, and Ace pouts at Ellie, but she’s not having any of it. She takes the TV remote off him and hands it to me.
Ace lies on the couch, and I sit next to him. Ellie positions herself on her beanbag beside us, focusing on her card. She glues glitter and feathers on the front. Ace wraps his arm around me, resting it on my leg, and I run my fingers over the dark ink that covers his skin.
“Do these mean anything?” I trace the outline of a small clock with no arrows.
“Some do. Some I got as a way to distract myself.” He doesn’t elaborate. For the rest of the time, we watch the movie—with Ellie asking what colors she should use for her card.
