Page 215 of The Way I Hate Him
“You know I’m right,” he says. “I was fucked over by my dad, fucked over by my mom, by my assistant, by my label . . . how the hell do you think I can just sit here and think I won’t be fucked over by you . . . when the person you were closest with didn’t think you were worthy enough to hold a piece of her life.”
My lip trembles.
Tears fill my eyes.
He didn’t just say that.
But when I meet his gaze, when I see the hurt in them that he’s trying to impose on me, I know that he did. That he uttered those words without a second thought, without even considering how deep it would cut me. Because someone who truly loves, who woulddo anything for you,would not hurl such painful knives at an open wound.That’s not love. That’s not fucking love.
And that’s what makes me back away.
It’s what makes me stare him dead in the eyes.
And it’s what causes me to utter, “Fuck you, Hayes.”
I turn on my heel and take off, not bothering to glance over my shoulder.
* * *
Maggie:Okay, it’s been two days since I’ve heard from you. Now, I know you’re in a dreamlike state of Hayes Farrow and his delicious penis, but if you get a chance, please text me back, you know, just so I know you’re alive.
Maggie:Hattie, you can’t possibly have had Hayes inside you for three hours straight. That’s right, I texted you three hours ago. There is NO WAY! Unless . . . God, I need to find my Speedo man. Is this what good sex is now? Three hours straight of penis inside vagina? Wondering minds want to know.
Maggie:Six Hours!! Six freaking hours. Now I’m calling bullshit. I would have given you three hours, you know, with all of the cuddling and light caresses after a mind-blowing orgasm, not that I would know, haven’t experienced one in what feels like a century, but there’s no way you could go six hours with ten inches deep inside you.
Maggie:Okay . . . okay . . . I’ve heard of sex-a-thons. I get it, the dude wanted to carry your birthday through the weekend. And if I was getting fucked the way you are, I’d set my phone to the side as well and forget about everyone around me, but a thumbs-up to let me know you’re still breathing from all of the sex would be great.
Maggie:Well, this is irritating. I didn’t think death by sex was possible, but . . . I’m considering it now. Are you alive? What’s happening? Please don’t make me text Aubree. She scares me!
Maggie:Now, you see, I’m starting to really worry because I called you three times, and sure, is that a little stalkerish? Maybe, but I’m worried now that perhaps his dick got stuck in you, and you’re in some emergency room situation. Please call back. Text back. Send me a picture of the stuck penis, whatever works.
Maggie:Goddammit, Hattie! You made me text Aubree. And I will have you know that when I pressed send, my boobs shriveled to the size of an apricot, and you know I have grapefruits over here.
Maggie:And . . . now Aubree is checking on you. I hope you’re happy because she said if she walks in on you naked with Hayes, she’s going to come for me. The apricots are now prunes!
* * *
Knock.Knock.
“Hattie, you in there?” Aubree’s voice comes from the other side of my door. “Maggie texted me to check on you and since your car is out front, I’m assuming you’re in here.”
I curl into my pillow some more, my eyes burning from all the crying I’ve done over the past two days.
When I don’t answer, I think she’s going to leave until she opens the door. I must not have locked it when I returned here after being at Hayes’s house.
“Hattie?” she says as she steps into the apartment. “Are you—” She stops when she sees me curled on the bed, the covers pulled up to my neck, probably my tear-stained face in full view. “Oh my God, are you okay?” she asks as she approaches me and sits on the bed.
And because she asked if I was okay, what Hayes said to me comes back to me—again—which brings on a whole new fresh set of tears.
“Hey.” She places her hand on my back. “What’s going on?”
With a tight throat and through my tears, I manage to say, “Hayes broke up with me.”
“What?” she asks, her tone harsh. “He broke up with you? For what reason?”
I wipe my eyes, but it’s no use. “I don’t . . . I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, we’re talking about it.” She pushes my hair out of my face, something Cassidy would have done if she was here. “When did he break up with you?”
