I Need You To Hate Me, page 4
Ace brings a hand to his nose and wipes the blood from it using the back of the sleeve. A devious smile grows on his face when he examines me.
I do a double-take—is Ace smiling? But maybe smile isn’t the right word to describe it. A soft curve is planted on his full lips, and the shadow of a small dimple marks his cheek. On anyone else, it wouldn’t be classified as a smile, perhaps a scowl at best. However, it’s the first time I’ve seen Ace look less than pissed.
It’s only now, when I come out of shock, that I realize my hand is throbbing. Nate comes towards me. I hold out my other hand to stop him. “You! Don’t you dare touch me,” I seethe.
“Come on, Cals! You can’t blame me for that.” He’s amused with his pathetic, crooked smile that I used to be dumbfounded by.
Ignoring him, I examine my hand. It looks swollen, and I can almost go as far as to say something is broken. I bite the inside of my cheek to get the pain off my hand. The prickle of tears builds in my eyes, but I push them back.
“That looks bad.” Ace looks at my hand.
No shit, Sherlock.
He opens the freezer and rummages behind all the forgotten alcohol bottles that people placed here at the start of the night. He pulls out an ice pack and wraps a tea towel around it before taking a few strides towards me.
“I’m sorry.” He takes my hand in his, slowly placing the tea towel on it. I wince under his touch. It’s warm and sends a strange tingling sensation through me. Taking the tea towel with the ice pack from him using my other hand, I break our contact.
I snicker, looking up at him. “You’re apologizing when I’m the one who punched you?”
He stares at me like he’s looking through my soul; his eyes are as penetrating as the first time I saw them, and I have to drop my gaze to the ground to avoid beguilement.
“I guess I am,” he says, almost to himself.
“Are you feeling okay?” I’m confused by the change in his demeanor. He was nothing but rude and arrogant every other time. Now, I punch him and suddenly he’s…nice? Another side effect of the personality disorder, maybe?
“Did I hit you too hard?”
He laughs, actually laughs. The hearty sound sends goosebumps up my arms, and I’m left completely stunned. I come to the conclusion that I’ve given him a concussion. There’s no other explanation for his behavior.
“You need to get that checked out,” he says. I’m too busy wondering what happened to the Ace, whom I met at the start of the week—does he have a twin? “Let me take you.”
“Hmm?” My eyes shoot up to him.
“Let me take you to the hospital,” he repeats.
“Uh, I don’t think that’s necessary.” I try to flex my fingers to show him that I’m fine, but pain shoots through them.
Ace watches me, tilting his head to the side when I meet his eyes.
“I guess I should, but you don’t have to take me,” I say, even though I won’t be able to get myself to a hospital unless I walk.
“Come on.” He motions me to follow him. I’m still wary about the sudden change in attitude.
I trail behind him, amazed at how people seem to make way—they are either afraid of him or have great respect. I go with the former.
Ace walks towards Zach and Theo. They are standing behind the beer pong table, waiting for their turn. Someone from their team gets the ping-pong ball inside one of the red cups, and they erupt in cheers.
“Where are your keys? I need to borrow your car.” Ace looks at Zach.
Oh, no. I can’t let him drive—I can’t be a passenger in a car at night. It triggers flashbacks of the accident. I rack my brain for an excuse, anything.
Zach pulls the keys from his pocket without hesitation and hands them to Ace. “Is everything okay?” He glances from me to Ace. From my pulsating hand to Ace’s nose, which still has a little blood on it. “You must’ve really pissed her off this time, man.”
“I think she broke her hand. I’m going to take her to a hospital to get it looked at,” Ace replies. Zach raises his eyebrows. “This time, it wasn’t my fault,” Ace adds and puts the keys in his hoodie pocket, along with his hands.
Theo looks cautiously at my hand. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I’m about to decline his offer—I don’t want to ruin his night, and I can tell he’s had a lot to drink, but Ace answers for me. “No.”
Ace reaches the front door and looks back, expecting me to follow him. I walk towards him but then pause, coming to my senses. First of all, I have no reason to trust him to drive me anywhere, and secondly, there’s the issue of me being in the passenger seat at night.
“Why should I trust you? I punched you, and you’re offering to take me to the hospital. How do I know this is not part of your revenge plan?”
Ace shrugs. “You don’t.” He turns and continues walking towards the car.
“Should you be driving? Haven’t you been drinking?” I ask when I catch up to him.
“No. I haven’t been drinking.” Ace’s single stride is twice the length of mine, and I speed-walk to compensate.
“I still don’t think you should be driving. I may have given you a concussion. We both should get checked out,” I say.
He scoffs. “I’ve been hit harder than that.”
I don’t doubt it. With this attitude, I’m sure there have been countless times when someone had the urge to swing him a right hook.
Being in the law upholding profession, my dad insisted that I know how to throw a punch. “For self-defense,” he assured me when I tried to tell him that throwing fists wasn’t something on my to-do-list.
So, one day, we spent hours perfecting my technique in the garage. “Keep your knees bent…Move your hips and torso.” But most importantly, “Keep your thumb outside of your fist.”
He failed to mention that punching someone with a significant amount of force was likely to damage me more than my opponent. This is apparent, at least in my current case. Ace’s face is built from iron. I’m also tipsy, which may be why I decided closing my eyes would be the right decision.
Ace opens the passenger door to Zach’s white Subaru and waits for me to climb in.
“I guess chivalry isn’t dead,” I say, glancing from him to the door. His face doesn’t change. Instead, he walks towards the driver’s side.
“Wait,” I call out. “I’ll drive.” I hold my hand out for the keys.
Ace stares at it like I have grown a third one. “Not a chance.”
“Ace…” I begin, not knowing how to explain my dilemma. “Uh, I—I can’t be a passenger in a car at night.”
It sounds crazy, and I try to avoid situations like this. I expect Ace to laugh or look at me like I’m insane. I brace myself for him to ask questions, and my mind begins to come up with lies.
“Okay, but I can’t let you drive with one hand.” He comes closer. We stand inches away from each other—his hand leans on the car door.
“Where’s your motorcycle?” I ask.
He motions across the street. “But you’re actually crazy if you think I’m letting you anywhere near the handlebars of my bike in your state. With one working hand and drunk,” he emphasizes.
I look up at him—his broody eyes are set on me with curiosity. I’m not drunk, perhaps tipsy, but there’s no point in arguing with him. “You drive,” I state.
“Motorcycles are okay?” He raises his eyebrows in question.
“Anything is okay, just not a car at night,” I specify.
He nods and, again, doesn’t ask why. We set off in the direction of his motorcycle, towards the end of the street.
“I’m sorry again. The punch—it wasn’t meant for you.” Guilt consumes me. Admittedly, I may have fantasized about punching him since the first time I met him, but I never imagined I’d go through with it.
“Nate, wasn’t it?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
“The punch—it was meant for Nate?”
“You know him?” I turn to look at Ace. This is the last thing I imagined happening tonight, having a normal conversation with him.
“No, I overheard you say his name.”
“Oh, right…”
We walk in silence through the street, and the sound of the music fades with each step. My hand throbs, and I hold it up to my chest—I didn’t think my night would result in this situation.
“Since you didn’t even hit the person you intended to, I assume punching is one of your weakest points,” Ace says.
I narrow my eyes. “Since you took it with grace, I assume you’re used to getting hit.”
Ace comes to a halt in front of his motorcycle, which is midnight black and a helmet rests on top of the seat—no wonder he parked so far away.
He smirks, the shadow of his dimple showing under the street lamp. He places the helmet on my head, and the breeze sends the smell of his aftershave towards me. I inhale sharply.
He climbs onto the bike smoothly, and I follow suit, swinging my leg over while hovering my working hand over Ace’s shoulder for support. He watches me with amusement and perhaps a little bit of uncertainty—I can’t tell.
The motorcycle roars to life, and I wrap one of my hands around Ace’s waist for support, feeling nothing but muscle. Instead of the gesture feeling peculiar and uneasy, it’s okay.
Luckily, my hand isn’t too bad—just a hairline fracture on my knuckle. Ace waits for me while the doctor sees me.
“You must’ve hit something hard,” the doctor states. He tapes my hand and tells me it will heal within three weeks but to limit using it.
“Can you take me to the house? I don’t feel like going back to the party,” I ask Ace when we’re walking towards his motorcycle again.
“Sure.”
The only sound is the engine of the motorcycle along the isolated road back to the house. I clutch to Ace with one hand while glancing up to the sky. There’s a narrow opening where the stars glimmer through the tops of the vast, bushy trees. I allow my head to fall back and the cool breeze to sweep against my skin, nipping at my nose.
My hair blows behind me, and I inhale deeply. For once, letting myself accept that maybe this is where I’m destined to be—new town, new friends, a new beginning.
It’s not long until we’re in the driveway and Ace cuts the engine, climbing off. He walks with me inside the empty house and turns the light on, illuminating the space. Is he going back to the party?
I move towards the fridge and grab a bottle of water. I reach up to the cupboard above, where Liv informed me the painkillers are kept. My hand is throbbing, and so is my head from the loud music at the party. My fingers brush the small box, but I can’t quite reach it even when I stand on my tiptoes.
When footsteps move towards me, my body stills. Ace leans over me, his body heat dancing with mine. I suck in a deep breath—citrus with an overdose of oakmoss reveals a rugged trail of mystery and captivation. I don’t dare move.
His fingers brush mine insouciantly, and he pulls down the box for me. I turn to face him, and he hands it to me. I feel the need to thank him for this and for tonight, even though I don’t know why he bothered with me. I’m hoping that at least we’ll be civil from now on.
“Thanks for, uh, taking me to the hospital—even though you shouldn’t have. I mean, I’m the one who punched you.” I press my lips together and look up at Ace.
“Calla.” My name rolls off his tongue, and he takes a step closer to me. My eyes travel to his lips. They tug up at the corners, showing a faint smile. He’s about to say something, but his phone ringing interrupts. Pulling it out of his pocket, he glances at the caller ID. Theo.
He answers, placing the phone to his ear. The silence in the house allows me to make out parts of what Theo is saying. I catch the words Ashworth University, crashing the party, and you need to get here now.
“I’m coming,” Ace says into the phone.
6
Mars and Jupiter
ON SATURDAY, I spend the day catching up on classwork, which consists of assigned textbook readings. For the better half of the afternoon, there’s nothing left to do. I open a blank word document on my laptop and place my fingers on the keyboard in an attempt to commence writing an article. I find myself with an empty mind and nothing itching to get out.
The house is vacant, there are no signs of life. The only sound is the wind humming outside my window, which is slightly ajar, rustling the life out of the elderly trees. After a few moments of staring at the blank screen, waiting for something, any sort of inkling—I snap the laptop shut and groan in frustration. I reach for one of the books that I brought with me, Little Women—it was my mom’s favorite. I open it to the first page.
The next morning brings another shift at the café, and even though I slept less than four hours last night, I’m glad to be occupied with something. The sleep issue is not ideal, but better than having complete insomnia.
The first couple of months after the accident, I struggled to get any sleep—each time I closed my eyes, recollections of the accident scene filled me. I woke up with hot flashes and ear-piercing screaming. My dad forced me to see a therapist on his already-suffering wage.
“Hey!” Mia greets me when I arrive at work. Her beady blue eyes scan my appearance before she places the frozen strawberries in the blender. She adds banana and some cinnamon powder.
“Hey.” I watch her make the order. She pours the smoothie into a glass and slides it over to me, her pink fingernails already scanning the next order.
“Table eight,” she tells me nonchalantly. I’m already on the clock. The thing about Mia is, I don’t know whether she likes me or she’s just acting friendly.
I grab the smoothie and make my way over to the booth. The caramel locks make me stop in my tracks, and I practically turn around. Nate is sitting in booth number eight. I take a measured step back, hoping to make an escape. His head snaps up, leaving me no choice other than to head towards his table.
“I’m sorry about Friday night. I was drunk,” he says when I place the smoothie in front of him. “I was surprised to see you, and, uh…I don’t know why I said what I did,” he rambles, looking up at me apologetically. His familiar eyes sparkle, and I fold my hands against my chest.
“How did you know I would be here?” I didn’t see him come here before, so this clearly isn’t his usual spot to grab some casual lunch by himself.
“I didn’t.” He smiles guiltily and adds, “Nice surprise, isn’t it?”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes and turn on my heel, heading towards the counter.
Nate’s fingers softly wrap around my wrist, and I turn back to look at him. “I miss you,” he says. The words don’t spark anything inside me like I thought they might have. Instead, I’m annoyed that he might be expecting me to say it back.
“Nate, I’m working.” I tug my hand away from him, walking away. He wanted to be single for university—I guess now he regrets the decision. It’s not that I’m petty, but when your ex-boyfriend says he misses you after breaking up with you to be single for university, it makes you feel a certain way—almost gratified.
Mia looks from me to Nate and then back at me again, waiting for an explanation. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“Ex,” I reply.
She arches an eyebrow. “He’s cute.”
I shrug. Is it weird that I don’t care that Mia is attracted to him?
Brody rushes past us. He mutters a phrase underneath his breath about Mars doing something weird with Jupiter, struggling to get his arms through the brown jacket. It’s the first time I see him since the ‘interview’. I watch him quizzically—I’ve never seen someone more fascinating than him. He is one big conundrum.
“He’s obsessed with horoscopes,” Mia says when she sees me watching Brody cross the road through the shades of the cafe window.
I revert my eyes to her, but Mia doesn’t seem to care that I was observing Brody. The last thing I need is for her to think I’m checking her uncle out.
“Horoscopes?” I ask.
“Yeah, anything superstitious, really. He’s into all that stuff,” Mia says in a way that implies she’s not a great believer in whatever Brody is a part of.
“And you’re not?” I ask.
Mia glances at me as if not expecting me to ask her that. “I’m not sure. Before living with Brody, I wasn’t into any of that stuff, but now…I don’t know.”
I read my horoscope sometimes, but I don’t take it seriously. They’re written in a way to fit everyone into their theory. Some important decisions are going to come your way. One person could say a critical decision is what to have for dinner, while another person has to decide whether they should take their mother off life support. Notice the vagueness?
After I finish work, I walk into the house and find board games sprawled across the living room floor. Liv and Zach are huddled together as a team, discussing something about the game. Theo and Josh are bickering—what a surprise. Ace is on his phone. This looks like the usual interaction between them, as I recognize the way their group works.
No one notices I walked inside except for Ace—his head snaps up, and our eyes lock for a moment. The unexpected eye contact sends a shudder up my arms, and he tilts his head to the side as if perceiving the change of atmosphere before dropping his gaze back to his phone.
So, we aren’t talking again? I haven’t seen him since Friday night. Why did I think it would be different after the incident? I mean, I punched him, and he took me to the hospital, we got along—why wouldn’t it be different after that?
“Hey,” Liv says when I go for the stairs after taking a water bottle out of the fridge. “Want to join us?”
“Yeah, you can be on my team. Theo is dragging me down,” Josh jokes, and Theo shoves his shoulder.
“Don’t start. You’re the one who rolled a two!” Theo interjects, and I laugh.
I glance from the group, which is filled with laughter and banter, towards the stairs leading me to my room. I’ve become accustomed to segregation. Perhaps it’s time to break the vicious cycle of estrangement—I take a step towards the group.
Theo scoots over and motions for me to sit next to him. Josh does the same. I roll my eyes at their internal competition and assess the situation at hand. If I sit next to Theo, I’ll have to also sit next to Ace. The last thing I want to do is endure his bizarre mood swings. Choosing Josh, I give Theo an apologetic shrug. He furrows his eyebrows and drops his head to the board game.
