Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

“I didn’t know I was going to get back with Brie. It just happened.” He tops it off with a shrug.

“And you couldn’t tell me that yourself?” I want to sound angry, but my pain melts through every word. “I had to find out on Instagram?”

“I did tell you, kind of. If you want to get technical about it, I wrote you. Left you another confession in the book. I was hoping you’d take the hint.” He cringes. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

He won’t even spare me a look as he talks, drilling his focus into everything in the room but me.

“Gee, forgive me for expecting a text.”

Xav sighs, driving a hand through his wet hair. “Look, it was fun, but I warned you I lost interest after sex. You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t see this coming.”

Flashes of his confession way back then pop into my brain. He’s right. He did tell me from the start.

“And what you said…” I croak. “About loving me? It was all bullshit? You didn’t mean it?”

That’s Xavier’s cue to finish me off.

“I did until I pulled out.”

There’s a hemorrhage where my heart used to be now.

And I can’t stop the bleeding.

I slap him for the third time in a matter of weeks. Difference is, this slap emanates from a place of hate. Xavier seems unfazed, his eyes still set on something in the distance.

“Go to hell,” I hiss before booking it to the door.

Once upon a time, I had a dream the boy with the pretty blue eyes chose the nerd over the cheerleader…

Then I woke up.

* * *

I’m on my knees in aisle six less than thirty minutes later.

I drove straight to the library after Xavier mentioned his confession. Had to feed Dia some excuse about having forgotten something at work and left her waiting in the car. Thank God I can sneak into the library whenever I want. There’s no way I could’ve survived waiting until tomorrow.

On edge, I yank the poetry book off the shelf and flip through the pages until I find it.

The confession.

Strangely, the sticky note isn’t what catches my eye.

It’s the name of the poem above it.

I had no time to hate.

I analyzed this very poem in my paper for Ms. Callahan’s class. The whole poem basically revolves around how “hating” is a royal waste of time. Emily Dickinson, the author, inspires the reader to live a life full of love because said life is too short. There’s a cruel irony to Xavier leaving his confession on this specific page.

Why?

Because it says the opposite.

Aveena

A week has gone by since Xavier carved my heart out of my chest, tossed it in the wringer, and smeared it all over the sidewalk. I’ve spent the last seven days thinking it would all blow over. That kids at school would eventually grow bored of the Zac and Love drama.

I was wrong.