Page 211 of The Way I Hate Him
He doesn’t get to finish as I hang up and drop the phone next to me. I push my hands through my hair, my eyes squeezed shut as I attempt to take deep breaths and even my skipping pulse.
Nausea rolls through me.
Memories of my mom leaving me behind flood my mind so rapidly that I can’t control my thoughts or emotions.
I recall the smell of her perfume that clung to me throughout the night when I wondered why she’d leave me with my grandma.
I could feel the stiff pat on my shoulder she gave me before she left, not even a parting hug.
And I could taste the stale pretzels she left me with as a snack, a parting present.
This woman who I was supposed to trust, who was supposed to be there for me every step of the way, she just . . . left.
My dad left, not even taking one look back.
Ryland left without hearing my side of the story.
It feels like everyone leaves, everyone who’s supposed to love me, supposed to be there for me. They extinguish any trust I might form, and they leave me.
They leave me with a broken heart, a damaged soul, and a mind so fucked. I’m reliving every moment I’ve ever been hurt, scared, or obliterated by the few people who should always love me for me.
But they don’t love me, and that realization fucks with my head.
I stand from the floor, my stomach roiling, and before I can lose all contents on the concrete beneath my feet, I run to the trash can, where I throw up, just as the doorbell rings.
* * *
Hattie:Are you okay? I’m worried. Please let me know you’re okay. I love you.
I stare down at the text, feeling the physical pain of reading those words from her.
She loves me.
I had a feeling that she might, that there might be something there with her. And this morning, when I told her I loved her, when I admitted to my true feelings, nothing had ever felt more freeing.
But what a couple of hours will do to a person.
I open my car door and step out onto the dark pavement behind The Almond Store. Hattie’s car is parked in one of the spaces, and thanks to one singular street lamp, I don’t trip along the way to the back of her door, where I plug in the code to get in.
With my chest feeling heavy, I move up the stairs to her apartment. She must hear me approach because before I can knock on the door, she whips it open, a relieved look on her face.
“Hayes, oh my God,” she says as she wraps her arms around me. “Are you okay?”
My body goes stiff from her touch.
My breath becomes labored as I stare down at her.
And dread fills my stomach as I realize what I have to do.
What needs to be done.
“Hey,” she says, running her hand over my chest. “I asked are you okay? You’re very stiff, and I know today must have been—”
“I can’t do this,” I say.
Her nose scrunches up in confusion. “What?”
It’s her goddamn birthday.
