Page 7 of He Hate Me

Deja

I’m sitting in my car, kind of in and out of it as Brandon drives me home. I’m still high, but the intensity is coming down I think, and I’m just sober enough to realize that I’ve fucked up big time. Brandon hasn’t said anything since we got into the car, and he insisted on driving. The radio is off, making the silence that much more deafening. I turn my head a bit to the side, and I can see that his face is not angry at all. No, he looks pleased, the smug look from earlier in the day even more deeply etched into his features.

“You’re gonna rat on me,” I say as we turn into our subdivision. It’s just before midnight on a Friday night, but most of the interior lights are off. I know my parents are already in bed. They don’t wait up for me anymore, just check the logs to see what time I entered the code into the security system. Add the external security cameras, and there is no way of fooling them about when I got home.

“What would be the fun in that?” Brandon says, smiling thinly.

I am not fooled. It’s only been hours since Brandon cornered me in the hot tub and called me a hood rat. He’s openly hostile towards me in front of my parents. There is no way he’ll waste this opportunity.

“We can work something out,” I suggest. “You know I’m the most popular girl in school. I can make sure you get invited to every party that matters this year.”

“I’m focused on soccer, “ Brandon says, smugly, “but thanks anyway.”

“All my friends are super cute and most of them are cheerleaders⁠—“

“Are you trying to pimp your friends out right now?” he asks, pulling onto our street. “I mean you all dress like hoes, but I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

“Fuck you,” I say, sounding more exhausted than angry. I want to crawl in bed right now and wrap myself around the oversized teddy bear my ex gave me.

“Okay,” he says, as we pull up into the circular driveway in front of the house. “I won’t tell ‘em anything. But that means you owe me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” I ask warily.

“Whatever I want,” he says, laughing.

“I’m not fucking you.” I roll my eyes, reaching for the door. When I climb out of the car, the cobblestones are whirling under my feet. I lean against the car, wanting to do nothing more than slide down the side of it and lie on my back. I’ve heard before that edibles can hit you hard, but this is ridiculous. It was one piece of candy! Brandon walks around the car and wraps his arm around my waist, half-dragging me over to the stone bench next to the entry. We sit down, my head on his shoulder, and the only thing keeping me upright is his arm around my middle.

“I know this is hard for you to believe, princess,” he says, “but not every guy who meets you wants to bone you, and not every teenaged guy’s life revolves around getting sex. I can get sex whenever I want. I don’t need to blackmail girls or get pathetic queen bees to set me up.”

“You called me princess,” I say, inanely. “That feels like progress.”

“I don’t even have to turn you in at this point,” he says, stroking my back. “I could just go inside and leave you out here, then sit back tomorrow morning and watch you try to explain why you were lying on the bench for an hour past curfew.”

“I’ll be soberer soon,” I say, pouting.

“No, you won’t,” he says. “I don’t know what the hell you took, but if I scooted over two inches, you would fall on your face.”

You might be thinking I was weighing pros and cons at that moment, but honestly all I was thinking was that I was cold, and the bench was hard, and I wanted to be in my soft bed under a blanket. I just wanted to go inside, and the challenge of standing up and walking there seemed insurmountable.

“Okay,” I say, nuzzling my head against his neck, my eyes tightly shut against the spins. “Take me inside and I’ll owe you one favor of your choice.”

“You’re going to hate yourself tomorrow, you know that?” he says, chuckling.

“I hate myself now,” I respond.

Brandon

Deja wears a loopy smile as I guide her up the steps and into the house. I feel a weird twist of something in my gut. Tonight is the first time I’ve seen her happy. That carefree smile while she danced in the field is so different from the practiced expressions she usually wears. She’s a cute girl, but when she smiled like that, she was downright beautiful. It’s making me weak. I should be setting her up to get caught. I haven’t forgotten how mean she was to me when we were kids. Instead, I’m helping her evade the parents.

I scoop her warm body into my arms and carry her upstairs. She’s not heavy, but she’s more solid than I’d realized. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I make fun of cheerleading to piss her off, but I know it’s a real sport; of course she’s fit as hell, not just skinny.

I set her down on the edge of her bed and she raises her arms like a toddler. Is she asking me to take her dress off? Fuck me!

“Get on the bed, Deja,” I tell her, tempted and annoyed that I’m tempted.

With some coaxing she awkwardly climbs onto the bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. Almost unbidden, my phone is in my hand and I’m taking a picture of her prone body. The flash is blindingly bright. How would this look if one of her parents came along right now. Me up-skirting a barely conscious Deja.

I should leave right now, I think as I lock the bedroom door. I flick on the bedside lamp so I can see better. Her skimpy dress rides up her hips, exposing the luscious curve of her ass and sending a surge of primal lust through my body.