Dare You to Hate Me by B. Celeste (best android ereader .txt) 📗

and still come home with an A when I’d spend weeks on a project and still barely scrape by with a B-.

The biggest plus side to my new living arrangement, as temporary as I swear it’ll be, is that Aiden’s place isn’t very loud. Yet I still find myself struggling to concentrate on my work if the famed footballer is in the same room as I am. If he’s sitting on the other end of the couch while I’m studying, I find myself peaking at him through my lashes instead of absorbing the information in my lap. His presence interferes with my focus—he’ll shift on the cushion, or glance at me with those piercing eyes that see through a person, or simply breathe, and I forget what I’m doing.

Being around him has dug up old demons I’ve let myself bury for the past four years. Some of them aren’t so bad, after all even Lucifer was an angel before he fell, but most of them remind me of why I’m better off on my own—without my parents and without Aiden. I do better when people aren’t looking out for me because there’s nobody to disappoint when things go south. And because I’m me, Chaos, they always do.

Letting the water run, I stare absently at it while trying to pull away from the slick feeling that still crawls just beneath the surface of my soul begging to be let out. I’ve felt it before. The cloudiness in my head, blurred focus, and tightening chest, and suddenly the only thing I can think about is the release of pain and lack of control creeping up on me.

Swallowing, I dig through my bag anxiously for anything that will do.

Don’t do it.

Don’t do it.

Don’t do it.

I find a pen cap buried at the bottom of my bag that’s jagged from being chewed with subconscious anxiety. I frown at the sharp plastic edges, knowing it won’t do, but still lift the sleeve of my shirt anyway and find an unmarked piece of skin on my forearm. With a racing heart, I put the sharp edge against my flesh and begin digging it in just as the door swings open. I drop the cap with a startled breath into the sink basin and watch the ripples float it away.

A couple girls walk in I’ve never seen before and give me small smiles before disappearing behind the stall doors across from me, leaving me watching the blue pen cap and debating my next step.

I need relief but…

My throat bobs with a struggled swallow.

I turn off the faucets.

Grab my bag.

And walk out.

I don’t want to see your face again.

Mom’s words hold tight and squeeze.

But the pressure never bursts.

I’m absentminded at the bakery and Elena’s persistence on making conversation makes it hard to sink into routine without notice. “What’s going on with you and Aiden? He came in here all the time when you were sick to get you things like a boyfriend would or something.”

As I finish making a hot chocolate for one of the customers waiting, I say, “Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing is going on. Are you going to help me with this or not?”

“Are you going to quit lying?” she quips, walking over and grabbing a few requested pastries from the case with a grin.

“I’m not.” I walk over to the young woman and her eager-looking little girl with the kind of curly hair my little brother used to have when he was younger. I pass the mother her drink, give her daughter a small smile before focusing back on Lena perched against the counter. She doesn’t need to know where I spend my nights, or she’ll start planning some football themed wedding. “Quit staring at me like that and get back to work, twerp.”

She sticks out her tongue and flicks my hair before getting the rest of the order set. “You know you love me. And when are you going to let me do your hair? I’m sure Aiden would love to see something new.”

I choose to ignore her. “Get the banana nut cookies out of the back please. Your grandma wants to get the last tray sold before closing.”

Like Bea, her hand goes to her hip in exasperation. “You can’t avoid this conversation forever, Ivyprofen. I see the way he looks at you when he comes in. It’s not the same way it used to be. It’s…I don’t know. Intense.”

Ignoring the statement, I hip bump her out of the way and greet the next customer. When a middle-aged man walks up to the counter wearing a jacket that says COACH, a baseball cap with Lindon’s logo on it, and a stoic expression on his face, I’m surprised when the first words out of his mouth are, “So you’re the girl that’s got my best player all twisted up.”

I hear Lena’s squeak from behind me. From the corner of my eye, I see her grip her drink and stare between me and the man I can only assume is Lindon’s football coach based on his attire and brazen remark. “Can I get you anything?” I ask instead of entertaining his question.

The man crosses his arms over his chest, clearly uncaring of the people lining up behind him. “You can explain why you decided to make a move on my player right before his big move.”

I blink at his dry comment, replaying it in my head before asking, “Excuse me?”

“I normally stay out of my player’s business, but I think of Aiden as a son and want to see him succeed. Those boys gossip worse than middle school girls and the second your name popped up I knew there’d be trouble.”

My face heats as the young couple behind him start whispering. “Er…”

Elena clears her throat. “We’re in the middle of a mid-afternoon rush, Coach Pearce. If you don’t want to order anything you should probably head out so everyone else can get something.”

I give the teenager a quick, grateful