Page 6 of The Way I Hate Him
“That’s because my fucking sister died!” I yell.
To his credit, he keeps his voice steady. “I understand that, but you were mopey before your sister died, and to be honest, I did the right thing and waited to break up with you after a couple of months. I wanted to break up with you before your sister died but waited.”
I sit back on my heels, raise my hands, and offer him the slowest clap known to man. “Well, pin a fucking rose on your nose, Matt. You are truly a hero.”
“See, I knew you were going to be like this,” Matt says as he moves toward the couch and flops down. “I knew you were going to be dramatic about it.”
“I’m not being dramatic.” I point at my chest. “This is a normal reaction for someone finding out their boyfriend of nearly eight years is breaking up with them . . . because he finds her boring.”
“I didn’t say boring,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “We had some good times, but just lately, you haven’t been fun, and now that we’re older, I’m afraid you’re settling, and I don’t want to settle. I want to be free. I want to be with someone who wants to do fun things, travel the country, get in trouble.”
“I’ve been in school,” I yell. “What did you want me to do? Skip class to go steal something from your boss?”
“See, that’s the kind of fun I’m talking about,” Matt says. “Remember the night we stole one of Hayes’s Grammys? That was a night to remember.”
“And so fucking illegal. You’re lucky we didn’t get in trouble.”
“But that’s what I’m talking about, that kind of fun.”
“Felon fun?” I ask. “Is that what you want? To be a felon? Because if that’s the case, have a good life, Matt. Not interested.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’ve become such a square, Hattie.”
“I’m not a goddamn square. You’re going through some sort of pre-midlife crisis. I’m sorry if I’ve been mopey and not fun, but that happens when your closest sister has stage four breast cancer, and you have to watch her slowly die. So yeah, maybe I wasn’t fucking fun.”
“Thank you for admitting it.” He throws his hands up in the air as if he just won the battle and is relieved.
And for a second, I have this out-of-body experience as I stare at Matt, the man I thought I’d marry one day. Yeah, we’ve had our ups and downs, and we might have been drifting apart lately, but I still loved him . . . but this man standing in front of me, this is a different man. This isn’t the man I fell in love with.
He’s cruel.
He’s rude.
He’s inconsiderate.
He’s . . . as Maggie put it so eloquently, he’s the ick.
And I can’t believe I’m finally seeing it. Talk about rose-colored glasses. Cassidy never liked Matt. Maggie has never liked him. Ryland tolerated him, and Aubree told me to dump him back in high school. It’s taken me this long to realize what kind of character he has, so what the hell does that say about me?
After a bout of silence, he stands from the couch, presses his hands into a triangle, and says, “Anyway, I’m moving out, so you’re going to have to grab your stuff and get it out of here.”
“You’re moving? You didn’t plan on telling me?”
“I did. I’m telling you now.”
Nearly growling with frustration over my stupidity for liking this man, I push past him, stiff-arming my hand into his shoulder to get him out of the way, and grab an empty box on the couch.
“Hey,” he bemoans as he rubs his shoulder. “You don’t need to get physical.”
“That was barely on the blip of what I could do to you, Matt, and unless you want to find out the full extent of my physicality, I suggest you give me ten minutes to myself to grab my shit and leave.”
He slowly nods, eyes on me. “So I’m guessing you won’t want to be friends with me after this?”
Add moron to the list of things that Matt is.
Moronic ick.
Yup, couldn’t have said it better.
