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It’s a bitter but sweet fucking poison. It’s like cocaine, and once you’ve had a taste, it’s damn addictive. It becomes something more. It infiltrates your system, running through your veins until you can’t see anything other than red rage.
Hate kept me going.
Rage kept me alive. It became the oxygen I breathed.
See, I didn’t hate my parents.
I loathed them.
I wasn’t angry at them. No, it was something more. The rage festered over the years. I tended to it, watered it and watched it grow into something nasty and ugly.
Years ago, I found out it was easy to hate but so damn difficult to love.
But no matter how deep my hatred ran for them, though, I still looked into their eyes and hoped to see something more. Love for the child they brought into this fucked-up world and forgot to look after. Me.
My mother and I stood opposite of each other in the hallway of our home. She had a cashmere shawl wrapped around her shoulders and the moonlight shone through the window, casting a glow on her face. I was the carbon copy of my father, but I had my mother’s eyes. I waited for her to acknowledge me, I waited for her to smile and say a few words. I waited to see if she’d ask me if I ate today or if she wondered how school was. Something simple, something small… but something other than silence.
It had been two weeks since we saw each other. We lived in the same goddamn house, but my parents were never here.
She clenched her shawl tighter to her body and walked toward me. It was way past midnight; I had come home late, yet again, after partying with Colton and the boys. I smelled of alcohol, weed and the scent of cigarette was heavy in the air, clinging to my clothes.
Her eyes met mine for a half second before she averted her gaze. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, and my heart thudded so hard in my chest as I waited.
The look on her face told me she didn’t hate me, maybe she even cared… but when she closed her mouth and walked past me, I realized… she didn’t care enough.
My heart plummeted to my feet, bloody and weeping, as mommy dearest walked over it and walked away from me.
I marched to my bedroom and slammed the door close, knowing full well my parents wouldn’t hear. I was on the opposite side of the house, the distance between us too big.
The bottle of liquor, sitting patiently on my nightstand, called to me.
I wasn’t an addict, but I needed it. Tonight, at least.
Grabbing the bottle, I sank into my couch and watched the shadow dancing over my walls in my dark room. I took a long swig of the bottle, feeling the sweet burn in my throat. Fuck yeah.
Rage… Hate… I breathed it in.
My head swam, the air was thick and hot.
To everyone, I was Maddox Coulter – the golden boy, star quarterback and Berkshire’s king.
To my parents, I was a disappointment.
To myself? I was just the boy trapped in the closet.
Hate was cold fire; there was no warmth from it.
My eyes fluttered close. Before I became lost in the space between sleep and consciousness, a mouthy girl with pretty brown eyes and black hair came to haunt me.
I slowly smiled.
Fuck, she was something else.
***
Lila
The next day, I walked through the halls of Berkshire as if I was on display. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I forgot to wear clothes this morning, but no, I was definitely dressed. Their eyes burned into the back of my head, and the whispers followed me. They made no attempt to hide their curiosity; some of them – Maddox’s fangirls -- even looked at me with open distaste.
Shit. Now what?
Riley popped next to me out of nowhere and gripped my arm. “You owe me an explanation,” she hissed in my ear.
Confused, I looked down at her. “What? What did I do?”
“The rumor,” she started, but then trailed off as her gaze skirted over my head. Riley scowled hard, and I turned around to see Maddox and Colton walking through the entrance.
I stayed rooted on the spot as he sauntered toward me. My brain told me to run. The look on his face was anything but nice. Mischief glimmered in his blue eyes, and a smirk twisted his full lips. Uh-oh.
The hallway became quiet, as if awaiting a long, overdue dramatic scene. I could feel everyone holding their breaths, anxious and curious as they stared back and forth between Maddox and me.
I tried to backpedal out of his way, but he ate up the distance between us with three long steps, stopping right in front of me. “Coulter,” I said in greeting, eyeing him with suspicion.
