Page 1 of His Untoward Hate

prologue

It was the start of the wet season, but sweat was profusely dripping down the side of Jude’s face.

“Fag!” Sky’s shout reverberated through the hallway, sending an immediate jolt of shock and fear through him. Students’ gazes and glares in the locker area flickered at him; his deep, intimidating voice always scared him—it sent millions of shivers racing up his spine, goosebumps over his skin, and a bolt of thunder waves under his chest.

Jude brisked his pace, practically running as fast as he could. Although his feet wobbled tremendously, he managed not to stumble.

As he passed the locker area, he instinctively tightened his grip around the strap of his worn black shoulder bag, slung across his chest and down his back. Around him, judging eyes followed his every step, though such scrutiny was hardly unfamiliar amongst the privileged students of Lindaville University.

Jude’s body was trembling with such edginess as he made his way to the men’s bathroom. Fortunately, there was no one else there, and he hoped that no one would ever find him as he locked the door in one of the cubicles. He settled himself on the toilet seat cover and silently prayed that he had lost him.

There was a moment of cold silence. All he could sense was his shaky and heavy breathing, his sudden dysphagia, and the abnormal beating of his heart that wanted to make its exit through his mouth—which he simultaneously tried so hard to control.

Jude jumped off the lid when he heard the main door slam hard open. He immediately covered his ears with his hands, wishing that he could flush himself down the toilet and decompose like poop.

“So, you like playing hide and seek now, huh?” Jude caught his breath when Sky spoke.

Tears welled up in his eyes instantly. He leaned his head slightly against the wall to push the tears back behind his orbs as he covered his mouth with his hands to keep any potential sound from escaping.

“When did you start trying to avoid me, Jude?” Sky asked casually, though his tone carried a restrained anger and dismay that Jude had long learned to recognize.

Beneath the calm facade was the familiar edge of someone who could easily lose control. Jude knew him well enough to understand that, too. Jude hated it very much when Sky acted like that, because he knew it was the complete opposite.

Another moment of silence passed by, and the tension in the room only intensified.

“You come out, or I will break each of these doors and kill you?” he threatened.

Jude did not move, did not say a word, and forgot to breathe. He was filled with immense worry that he might hear his heartbeat instead, hammering like thunder under the fragility of his chest.

“Don’t let me count fag.” Sky seethed.

Jude knew all too well how impatient Sky Granger could be.

The eerie silence enveloped the cold area once again. The tension in the air seemed to echo between the four walls. For some reason, Jude found himself being unusually stubborn today, though he could not explain why.

“You already know how impatient I am.” Sky reminded him; his deep voice only worsened what Jude felt. “Okay, then. Let’s play.”

Perhaps people had been right all along. Perhaps he really was a masochist, because the first option seemed infinitely better than being killed by Sky Granger. Throughout the years, he seemed well-practiced at being that person, too.

“Five,” he started counting slowly, without asking permission if Jude wanted to partake in his invented game. “Four, three,” he continued with commanding authority.

Those seconds were like torture for Jude already. He curled up onto his knees in a fret, and tears now started to fall.

“What the hell comes into your mind that you feel like you can already do this?” Sky uttered in quiet disbelief. “Do you have the courage now to go against me?”

The sound of Sky’s black, low-cut leather shoes against the tiled floor only exacerbated the atmosphere. It had gotten louder with every taunting step he made, as if he really knew where Jude Finn was.

“Now, tell me!” he suddenly hollered.

A loud bang echoed in the restroom. Jude jumped out of his feet in terror when Sky effortlessly ripped the door from its hinges, even though he had made sure he double-locked it. In his mind, maybe Sky had heard him holding his breath; otherwise, how could he have picked the right stall so easily? Even in his situation right now, a small, irrational part of Jude’s mind fixated on that impossible first guess—that out of all the doors in the bathroom, Sky had found him on the very first attempt.

Was that what they call a gangster instinct?

“Fuck, Jude Finn!” Sky cursed angrily, staring deadly at Jude like he was some prey.

“You have the guts now to test my patience, you son of a bitch!” Sky shouted in wrath; veins on his nape and neck were about to pop out, and beads of sweat covered his face.

Sky raised his hand in the air, ready to hit him. Jude, with all his speed and well-adapted instinct, sprawled onto the untidy floor, and his hands were quick to cover his head in defense, as if it worked. He had done it multiple times before, but it did not.