Page 56 of The Way I Hate Him
Hayes:Yes. She doesn’t have a job, she barely has a place to stay. I’m pretty sure she’s terrified of coming clean to her brother. If I cut her off, I don’t know what she would do.
Abel:Jesus Christ.
Hayes:And to be honest, I saw the same look in her eyes that I see when I look in the mirror. Loneliness.
Abel:Hayes, are you trying to help her . . . or are you trying to help yourself by helping her?
Hayes:Maybe both.
Abel:This won’t end well. You know that, right? Are you prepared for that?
Hayes:I have no fucking clue, man. But I’m struggling, and I feel like if I can help her at least one of us doesn’t have to struggle.
Abel:You’re crossing a line. Just . . . just be careful. And for the love of God, don’t fuck her.
Hayes:I won’t.
I set my phone down and steeple my hands together as I stare at the ground.
Everything he said was correct. I am crossing a line. Perhaps I’m trying to save myself by saving her. I shouldn’t even be near her.
All fucking facts.
But . . . that’s not stopping me from lifting off this couch and heading into the kitchen.
“How’s your leg?” Hattie asks as I walk into the living room. Her surprising smile catches me off guard as I walk toward the kitchen. Coming from someone who wants to hate me, seeing a smile as a greeting is different.
“Sore,” I answer.
I’ll never fucking admit this to her . . . ever . . . but I think because I was able to tear my pants off quick enough, combined with her idiotic spraying of cold water, I didn’t end up blistering. It’s just a little sore, but she doesn’t have to know that. She can sit in the fact that she nearly scalded my dick off with her mockery.
She shifts to face me in the midst of all of her letters. At this point, I’ve stopped worrying about her process, and I’m just going to let her do what she’s doing even though it’s taking over my entire living room.
“Do you need me to press a cold compress against it . . . maybe spray you with more water?”
“You’ve done enough,” I say as I pick up a banana from the counter.
“Are you sure? Because I’m at your beck and call. Anything you need, let me be of service.”
Let me be of service?
I can see that maybe she was feeling guilty about the whole coffee burning my leg thing, but . . . let me be of service? Nooo, that’s not the Hattie I’ve come to know. So what gives?
I cock an eyebrow at her. “What do you want?”
“What?” she asks, her voice rising. “I don’t want anything. I’m just here to help. Help my boss out. Yepper. Boss, boss, boss. Bossity boss. The bossest. Just giving him all the help.”
“Bullshit,” I reply, not buying a single second of this. “You want something. You’re never this nice to me, even if you do try to sear the skin off my leg.”
She holds a finger up to me. “That was an accident. I might not like you, but I’d never purposely try to harm you. And I’m just trying to make sure I’m fulfilling all of your needs. You are paying me, after all, and it would help to lighten the mood in this dark dungeon with a little niceness.”
“You know, the more you lie to me, the less likely I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“What makes you think I want something? Honestly, can’t a person be nice to another person without—”
“Hattie,” I say sternly.
“Fine.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. I fucking knew it. She makes her way to the kitchen island where I am and says, “My best friend Maggie is coming to visit me this weekend, and I was hoping I could use your kitchen to make cookies. I don’t have a kitchen in the studio apartment I’m staying in and I promised her almond cherry cookies.”
