Hate Me

“You mean leave our boyfriends alone?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“That sounds good to me. And who knows, maybe I’ll end up single tomorrow.”

“Are you really upset?”

“I’m more pissed than upset at this point. I think I cried it all out over the weekend.”

“It’s cold out here.”

“Go talk to Aiden. Be a big girl.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

But I don’t. I put my face in my hands, sit frozen in my spot, and try to think positively.

What could he have said to her that he wouldn’t want anyone to hear but that would make me happy?

I think.

And think.

And can’t think of a positive answer.

And that makes me really sad.

But I decide A

I get up and run down the path, being careful not to step in a puddle and ruin my suede shoes. As I come out of the trees, I get knocked flat on my ass.

“What the—”

Aiden picks me up off the ground. I’m soaked and muddy. “I’m sorry,” he says.

I look down at my muddy legs and my probably ruined shoes, burst into tears, and run to my dorm.

In the bathroom, I lock the door, strip off my clothes, turn on the shower to warm up the room, and then try to clean off my shoes in the sink.

I get most of the mud off of them, pat them dry, hope for the best, and then hop in the shower.

I take a long shower, spending more time crying than washing the mud off.

I don’t know why I’m crying. I was going to see him. To talk to him.

I’ll get dressed and text him.

I wrap a towel around my body, twist one into my hair, and run out in my room to grab some clean clothes.

“Ahhhh!” I scream, dropping my hold on the towel.

I instinctively throw my hands over my lady parts while Aiden chuckles, gets off the bed, and hands me the towel. “What are you doing here? You scared me half to death.”

I wrap it tightly around myself while he says, “I’m sorry I knocked you down. A

“Because you didn’t text me back.”

“I heard you crying in the shower. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Well, you did.”

“I wanted to tell you in person.”

“I want to trust you, Aiden. I really do. But this feels a lot like when Dawson and Whitney texted. And you liked Chelsea. I just . . .”

He frowns. “You’re shaking. Go get dressed.”

I realize that I am cold. I run into my closet, throw on some leggings and a sweater, and then go sit on the bed. When he sits on the bed next to me, I quickly move to my desk chair and roll away from him.

He grabs the chair’s arms and rolls me back toward him, so our knees touch.

“I didn’t tell you about Chelsea because I didn’t want to upset you. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.”

“What did she say?”

He hands me his phone. “I saved it because I wanted to show you. But then you told me you weren’t pla

His question combined with the pain on his face is why I didn’t want to come back. I can’t take seeing it. And I can’t imagine how it will look in March when I tell him the truth.

“I just didn’t understand why you wouldn’t show me at lunch like Logan did.”

“Because I wanted to tell you in private. And you didn’t answer my question. Do you trust me?”

I close my eyes, trying not to cry, and nod. “Yes, Aiden, I do.”

“Good,” he says, handing me his phone. “I want you to read this.”

Chelsea:  Looking forward to everyone getting back from break. You should stay away from Keatyn. She’ll be toxic when I’m done with her. 

Aiden:  Don’t you dare do anything to hurt her or I’ll go to the dean myself.

Chelsea:  All my friends hate me because of her. Surely, you don’t think I’m going to let her get away with it.

Aiden:  No, all your friends hate you because you were offering sex to their boyfriends. And what makes you think Keatyn did it? There are other people who wanted to get back at you besides her. 

Chelsea:  We’ll see . . . Have a nice break. 

“That must be why she texted Logan and Ace. She wants my friends to hate me.”

Aiden nods. “I think so. I want you to know that I told you everything about my past on break. Promise me that you won’t believe anything she says about me or your friends.”

“Okay. But what about your birthday?”

“What about it? I can honestly say that from the time Riley punched me in the nose until now, I haven’t even thought about it. But my mom did text me today to say they’re coming the week after, both to see the dance competition and to celebrate my birthday.”

“Your sister is pla

“As long as you’ll be there, I’ll be there.”

“I wouldn’t miss your birthday, Aiden.”

He kisses me. “Good. Are you hungry? Why don’t I order Chinese and we can study French here?”

“That sounds good. I’ll go dry my hair.”

Aiden stays in my room until he has to leave to make curfew. We eat, study, snuggle, kiss, and talk about where he wants to have his birthday di

After he showers me with goodbye kisses and heads to his dorm, I grab my laptop and start shopping.

Back to shore.

12:25am

I go into the stairwell and make myself at home on a cold, hard cement step. I pull up the video conferencing software and click on B’s photo. While I’m waiting for him to come online, I stare at his tan face.

I close my eyes and remember what it was like with him. So different than it was with Cush.

It was never fast. One time, I wanted to do it on the beach—like, quick—and he told me sex isn't about just riding the wave. That it should be the joining of mind, body, and soul. That it’s waxing your board, paddling out, floating over the swells, patiently waiting for and preparing yourself for the bigger wave. Then it’s all about working your way back to shore.

It never felt like just sex with him.

But I know why.

It’s because I loved him.

But then I think about Dawson and how hot it was.

How Aiden can make me feel on fire with a single touch.

And I can’t help it. I want it all. The co

I think about his surfing reference of working your way back to shore. Which is fitting because it’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Get back to my family. To him. To my home. To our beach.

I know I can’t keep going like this.

I hear him say, “Keats?”

My eyes fly open. “Sorry, I was just thinking about surfing.” I start to get tears in my eyes. “God, I miss you. For two years, I saw you almost every day. I feel like a piece of me is missing.”

“I feel like a part of me is missing too. I miss everyone. Our beach.”

 “Are you getting tired of traveling?”

“The flights are a bitch sometimes, and I complain about it. But then I find myself on another amazing beach. Kinda like our summer of waves—all the beaches we discovered. Except bigger and better.”

“It was a good summer.”

“Yeah, it was. So, I’m sorry, I haven’t had time to get together with the guy on the takeover stuff yet. I will, though. This week or next, maybe.”

“But, I thought that’s why we were talking tonight, so we could get started? We need to start now, B. You don’t understand. There are a lot of moving parts to this.”