Page 21 of He Hate Me

“It was an accident,” Gio says, his fingers half curled. No palms up, nothing soft there—he’s angry.

“I don’t believe you,” I scream, shoving him hard again. He takes a half step back, but not as much as I’d like. I want him on his ass, but he’s too strong and too mad.

“Fuck you!” I grind out and stalk off towards the stairs. I should stay with Mello and make sure he’s okay, but I’m so angry I’m afraid of what I’ll do. I can hear the crowd murmuring behind me, and someone calls my name, but I don’t stop till I’m locked in the downstairs half bathroom. The last person who used the toilet didn’t flush it, and the hand towel is pooled on the floor below the loop where it’s supposed to hang. I’m breathing fast in and out and the assault of unpleasant odors is immediate.

There’s no bathtub to curl up in, no calming scent of ocean breezes or fresh linen, just a huge mirror above the sink reflecting my dark eyes and pinched lips back at me. Out of nowhere comes a memory of my mother yelling at my father, “What are the two of you even doing down there?” and my dad replying, “Nothing that gets your hands dirty.”

I shake my head, feeling disoriented. Where had this come from and what did it mean? The voices were angry and there was fear attached to that memory. Had my parents fought? From my mother’s description of him, even from the way other folks who knew him had talked about him, my dad had been near perfect. All my memories of him are pleasant. He taught me to ride a bike and helped me with my homework. He had a deep rumbly voice and I liked to press my ear to his chest and feel what he was saying.

“Are you in there?” Shelby’s tentative voice drifts under the door. It’s followed by an equally repressed knock. I sigh and crack the door open so she can slip through. The smile she gives me is a little sad, but sympathetic.

“Are you okay?” she asks, resting her hand lightly on my biceps. I nod and fight the urge to pull away. It’s not that I want to reject her affection, I’m just feeling raw.

“Is Mello okay?” She frowns. “Brandon’s friend,” I clarify.

“I don’t know,” she replies. Her nose wrinkles and she glances at the toilet. I shrug and flush it. The smell of strong pee begins to dissipate. “I think they decided to take him to the ER. Brandon and the other Black guy already left.”

“That fast?”

“You’ve been in here for nearly fifteen minutes.”

I frown. That doesn’t sound right. “I must be…” I stop myself from finishing the sentence. Why give voice to the idea that I might be mentally unstable. I rub my eyes tiredly.

“I’m just tired.” I am tired; drained, actually.

“What was all that about?” she asks, eyes rising to meet mine. This is pretty bold for Shelby, but I let her have it.

“What do you mean?”

“Those two guys were…they were like fighting or something. And then you got mad at Gio. Are you dating both of them?”

“Wow!” I say, letting my eyes bug out. I push my way out of the bathroom to see that a lot of people have left, but there are still plenty of bystanders. “You really think I would lead two guys on like that?”

Shelby flushes, her pale complexion doing nothing to hide the rush of blood to her face. It’s not a pretty blush. She’s splotchy and red. “No,” she sputters. “I mean⁠—“

“Whatever, Shel. No way I’m screwing around like that; you know that.” I turn around to see that Gio is standing down the hallway, right between me and the room where we stashed our coats. His face is stony. I look right at him when I continue. “I just think that my friends should be mature enough not to act like children and hurt others when they get up in their feelings. Especially when we’re just friends.”

Not breaking eye contact until I pass him, I walk straight ahead to grab my coat and leave.

Nine

Deja

By the time I get home after dropping Shelby off it’s close to midnight. Brandon is standing in front of the house, tucked into the blind spot where the doorbell and courtyard cameras don’t quite cross. Clever, I think grudgingly, because he hasn’t lived in the house that long but already knows its secrets. His eyes meet mine, dark and hot. I feel like they could burn through me. My usual armor is thin, like a sheet of rice paper, offering me no protection. I don’t want to talk to him.

As I walk towards the door, I pretend not to see him, but he snags my arm and pulls me into the shadows with him. I glare right back at him, all my frustration and hurt coiled to strike out.

“Let me go,” I hiss, trying to pull my arm away, “we’re going to miss curfew.” He doesn’t let go; he turns me around, pushing me further into the corner.

“Why don’t you ever fucking listen,” he says quietly. It’s not a question. It’s a reprimand.

“Maybe I’m not hearing anything worth listening to.”

“How can you be so stupid?” He looms over me, much too close, and I can smell his body, turning ripe with sweat and musk from the earlier exercise. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice full of hostility.

“How about for you to act right,” he says.