Dare You to Hate Me
“Let me have t
his, Chaos. For old time’s sake.” My voice is hard, bordering on desperate, as I deliver the statement.
For once, she doesn’t fight me.
Chapter Twelve
Ivy
I’m walking into one of the bathrooms in Myers Hall after another crushing exam grade and stop in front of the water-stained mirror. My reflection is haggard, the makeup contoured on my face doing little to hide the exhaustion lingering even though I’ve been sleeping better than I have in a long time next to Aiden.
The body heat wrapped around me at night does little to chase away the things that resurface when my conscious is at its weakest though. I always get trapped remembering the choices I made which led to some of my darkest moments. And every time I wake up in a cold sweat, Aiden is right there, where he always is beside me to pull me into his arms and tell me it’s just a nightmare.
But it’s not. Every time I wake up slick with sweat, chest heavy, and mind warped with anxiety, I know it’s my own doing. I pretend to be okay, but I’m not. I pretend to be strong, but I’m not. How can I be when I’ve let my weaknesses get the better of me?
Sleep has always been hard for me. The few hours I get are the best I can do because I always force myself to wake up before something bad happens. You can never be too careful when there’s a stranger sleeping next to you—you never know who invited you inside their home, or what their intentions are past sex.
Yet Aiden’s reassurance is the biggest reason I never fight being carried to his bedroom every time I fall asleep on the couch. I curl up on his suede sofa watching something mundane on the television knowing the next time I open my eyes will be in a room surrounded by the only person I’ve ever called friend.
Next to his strong body.
His kind heart.
He never complains when I take the blankets or hog his pillows, and that’s if I’m not using him as my own personal body pillow. We don’t talk about morning breath or the clear morning wood he sports or make a big deal out of it. We never used to either, but there was never this tension—a tiny, invisible string attaching us that could break easily if we let it.
Blowing out a breath, I run the cold water and splash some on my overheated face. The poor exam grade isn’t going to hurt my GPA that bad. I’ll pass, which is a miracle considering I rarely understand what’s going on half the time. School has never been my strong suit, something I used to be reminded of when report cards were sent home to my parents’ house when I was younger. The C’s and D’s always sprouted another argument between them until the end result would be me promising to raise my grades by the end of the year. With Aiden’s help, I always did. Unlike me, he was a brainiac. Everything came so easy for him and it made me feel embarrassed when he’d help me study for something and it’d take three times as long for anything to stick in my head.
Even now, I can tell little has changed. Knowing his perfect GPA, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he can wait last minute to do an assignment and still come home with an A when I’d spend weeks on a project and still barely scrape by with a B-.
The biggest plus side to my new living arrangement, as temporary as I swear it’ll be, is that Aiden’s place isn’t very loud. Yet I still find myself struggling to concentrate on my work if the famed footballer is in the same room as I am. If he’s sitting on the other end of the couch while I’m studying, I find myself peaking at him through my lashes instead of absorbing the information in my lap. His presence interferes with my focus—he’ll shift on the cushion, or glance at me with those piercing eyes that see through a person, or simply breathe, and I forget what I’m doing.
Being around him has dug up old demons I’ve let myself bury for the past four years. Some of them aren’t so bad, after all even Lucifer was an angel before he fell, but most of them remind me of why I’m better off on my own—without my parents and without Aiden. I do better when people aren’t looking out for me because there’s nobody to disappoint when things go south. And because I’m me, Chaos, they always do.
Letting the water run, I stare absently at it while trying to pull away from the slick feeling that still crawls just beneath the surface of my soul begging to be let out. I’ve felt it before. The cloudiness in my head, blurred focus, and tightening chest, and suddenly the only thing I can think about is the release of pain and lack of control creeping up on me.
Swallowing, I dig through my bag anxiously for anything that will do.
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
I find a pen cap buried at the bottom of my bag that’s jagged from being chewed with subconscious anxiety. I frown at the sharp plastic edges, knowing it won’t do, but still lift the sleeve of my shirt anyway and find an unmarked piece of skin on my forearm. With a racing heart, I put the sharp edge against my flesh and begin digging it in just as the door swings open. I drop the cap with a startled breath into the sink basin and watch the ripples float it away.
A couple girls walk in I’ve never seen before and give me small smiles before disappearing behind the stall doors across from me, leaving me watching the blue pen cap and debating my next step.
I need relief but…
My throat bobs with a struggled swallow.
I turn off the faucets.
Grab my bag.
And walk out.
I don’t want to see your face again.