Page 106 of Hate Me Like You Mean It
“I’d been in love with him for close to half a decade by that point, whatever that means,” she went on. “And when I finally managed to stop crying and come inside, I saw you holding his hoodie and… I don’t know, something in me snapped. All the resentment and jealousy that had built up over the years spilled over, and I realized just how much I hated you. I hated you so much that the thought of asking you for the money, giving you that power over me on top of everything else you had, made me want to peel off my own skin.
“Just once, I wanted you to feel what I felt. I wanted you to hurt the way I did, so you’d finally get that the world wasn’t one big ball of sunshine and roses that served no purpose other than to revolve around you. What had you done to deserve being so loved, and cherished, and… you weren’t special. There was nothing exceptional about you, so why, when I had to spend my birthdays alone because neither of my parents could be bothered to commit the date to memory, did you get an entire week dedicated to celebrating your life every year?”
My jaw hurt, my vision blurring as hot, angry tears threatened to spill over my blotted cheeks. “You know what’s fucked-up, Rach? Had you admitted to lying after the fact, told me what was going on, I’d have?—”
“I know,” she interrupted, her lips wobbling. “That’s the point, Alice. You’d have forgiven me. You’d have gone to your parents and not only gotten me the stupid tuition money, but tried to help us fix everything else. And you wouldn’t haveunderstood how fuckinginfuriatingit would’ve been. Youstilldon’t.”
She was right. I didn’t understand.
Truly, I did not get it.
We’d had a few fights over the years. Of course we had. But we’d always beenus. She was my best friend, the closest thing I had to a sister. I would’ve done anything for her, and I didn’t fucking get it.
“The plan formed itself. I knew he’d never forgive you if he thought you’d tried to hurt Rosie, and I needed money, quickly. She’d always been a little scattered and forgetful, and I’d overheard your parents talking about how it’d gotten worse… I was so sure they wouldn’t fire her anyway and… I don’t know, it just happened.”
“It just happened?” I snapped, the rough ache in my chest leaking acid. “You framed Rosie—myRosie—for theft, stabbed me—stabbedall of us—in the back, told Dominic it was all my doing, toldmethat you’d seen her take my dad’s watch with your own two eyes, fucking stole her keys out of her bag, snuck into her car, went behind my back to show your quote, unquote, ‘evidence’ to my parentsafterI told you to wait because I knew there had to be another explanation, andit just happened?” I wanted to throw something, to scream and stomp until time agreed to bend backward and reimburse me for all the years she’d stolen. “You had eight fucking years to come clean, Rachel. Instead, you tried to gaslight me into cutting contact with Dominic after he came back because you didn’t want to get caught.”
I didn’t know this person.
Rachel—my best friend, my other half—would never have done anything like this. She wouldn’t have ever eventhoughtto do anything like this. She wasn’t capable of it. Six hours ago, I would’ve bet my life on that.
“I know, and I’m really, truly sorry, Alice. I am. I was a kid, and I made a mistake, and I’ve regretted it every day since. The guilt has been eating away at me for so long. You haveno idea?—”
I jerked away when she reached for my hand. She had the nerve to look hurt over it.
Sorry? She wassorry? She’dmade a mistake?
I shoved to my feet.
“Alice, just wait?—”
“Do not,” I snapped, yanking my arm out of her grip, “touch me. Ever again. Do not touch me. Do not talk to me. Do not… You are the most unfathomably obnoxious,selfishhuman being I have ever… I don’t know who the fuck you are, Rachel, or who the fuck youthinkyou are—sodo not.”
I stormed away before the blinding rage took over and made me say something worth regretting.
Dominic had been instructed to go home after dropping me off at my apartment last night. Not only had he refused to listen then, insisting instead on sleeping on my couch “in case I needed anything” in my own home, but he’d practically pushed me into his car this morning when I’d told him where I was going, how far it was, and that I’d planned on walking.
We’d settled on a compromise—he could drive, but he’d have to drop me off two blocks away.And then leave.
Yet here he still was. Restlessly pacing in front of his car.
“What else?” I asked before he’d noticed me approaching.
He whipped around. “What?”
“What else do I not know?” I asked, my lungs heaving with rage, my skin itching relentlessly. I stopped a few feet away. “There’s more, right? There’s more that you haven’t told me.”
The tip of his tongue flicked over his bottom lip. “Maybe we should…”
“No, Dom. We shouldn’t. The only thing weshoulddo, and the only thing we’re going to do, is talk about how the fuck this even happened.”
I was sick of the secrets.
Sick of the lies.
Sick of the games.
Sick to my stomach.
