Page 54 of Hate Game

The next day and the rest of the week at school are different from the horrible first day. Trace didn’t break up with me as I thought he would and as Malice had demanded he do.

Trace stuck by my side and glared at anyone who looked in my direction while Malice finished his suspension at home.

Malice asked every day whether Trace had broken up with me. Every day, my answer was “no.” Malice brooded or smirked before he avoided me for the rest of the day and night, even when I tried bribing him into studying with me using homemade cookies. He gave me a terse “No, thanks” and then returned to tinkering with his motorcycle. The garage is his new favorite spot away from me.

What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me that I can’t do my job properly? How difficult can it be to convince one guy to straighten out his life for the better?

Is he angry because I didn’t want to talk about my miscarriage? Talking means reliving my loss, and I’m not ready to be that vulnerable again. Not after Mom minimized my feelings and said I was jealous when I told her how I felt about being second best to Riley, her favorite.

I’m not jealous of my big sis. I just wanted the same attention she received from my mom.

Sighing at how pathetic it is that something from the past still affects me, I sit on my bed and type an email to Malice’s parents. It’s my first report.

Hello Mr. and Mrs. Sterling,

I stare at the line. What next?

Please don’t be angry at Malice for his suspension. It’s my fault he got into the fight. A boy said something mean, and Malice came to my defense. He is trying his best. We’re working on getting his grades up and finding him a job. There are no parties at the house. He’s tidying up the place during his suspension and takes great care of the houseplants. The monstera is huge and prospering. I hope to send you good news next Sunday.

Rue

There.

One week down and seven more months to go. I close the laptop and listen for sounds from Malice’s bedroom. Nothing. I grab a jacket from my closet and sneak out the bedroom window, in need of fresh air.

I’ve snuck out of the bedroom window every night. Malice doesn’t follow. I’ve listened for footfalls in the silence but heard only the noises of the insects and the frogs. He doesn’t knock on my bedroom door and ask to come inside for a talk either. I wish he did. Taking our hate game to the level of the silent treatment hurts like a nearly healed wound split open.

Why is he avoiding me? Did his hate for me change to something worse?

I slip off the NVGs and stare into the darkness. The darkness doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the day when Malice stops hating on me. Without hate, there is nothing but indifference. He’ll go his merry way, living his life while I’m left to deal with my leftover hatred for him.

Except I never hated Malice, even when I lost the baby. I blamed myself for hurrying him along, not giving him the chance to put on a condom. I hated myself for not taking my birth control pills regularly.

What is the antonym of hate? Love. And I loved my unborn baby so much. I look up at the moon and the stars. She is up there in heaven. Is she looking down at me with regret, anger, or love?

I slip on the NVGs and walk back to Malice’s place. I return to the warmth of the bedroom and FaceTime Isaac. After hearing about his week, I take turns speaking with Johnny and Colton. I miss them and our talks. They go on and on about their auto mechanics classes and how they will one day own their own shop.

At the end of our call, they remind me not to step into the Eastside. It’s important I am nowhere near the purse of money.

“How is this fight different from the others?” When I was allowed near the cage.

“It’s not the fight,” Colton says. “It’s who will be there. These men are dangerous.”

“More dangerous than Maddox Stassi?”

“More so. Maddox is one man. The McCabes are layers and layers of brothers, cousins, fathers, and uncles. You get the picture.”

Why are mobsters interested in our small town?

“Stay away, Rue,” Johnny warns.

“Will Malice be safe?” Another rumor is that Seven’s father, Six, is part of the Irish Mob. Seven is his best friend. By default, Malice should be safe from any mob retaliation by association, right?

“No one is when the McCabes are around. They have hot tempers and don’t tolerate disloyalty and betrayal. Thievery is seen as an act of disloyalty and a betrayal of trust,” Isaac warns.

“I understand. I’ll stay away.”

We hang up, and I tiptoe to Malice’s room before I call it a night. I press my ear to the door. It’s quiet. I’m ready to return to my room when I hear a girl’s voice.

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