Page 40 of Hate It with You

“Yeah,” I say before pushing him off and grabbing my shirt from the floor. Yanking my skirt back into place, I pull the shirt over my head, making quick work of dressing. Alex works to put his boxers back on but doesn’t seem in a rush to wear any of his other clothes as he gathers them in his arms.

He joins me by my side as the two of us look at the damage we’ve done.

Books line the floor, having fallen from the shelves and table, lying in a pile with my torn underwear and Alex’s tossed-aside shoes.

“I’ll pay for any damaged books,” he says, not a hint of a question in his tone.

I look up at him standing to my left, not hiding the smile as I say, “With what money?”

“It’s more money than you’ve got.” He winks, and we both chuckle. The ice between us is beginning to warm, a sensation that makes me uneasy.

After placing the books on their rightful shelves, we head upstairs for the night, stopping in the hallway that houses the front doors to our apartments.

“Do you want to come—” Alex motions toward his apartment door behind him, but I shake my head. Not wanting to take this any further than a heated one-night stand.

“I need to get some rest.” He nods his understanding before taking my hand in his and leaning down to place a lingering kiss on my knuckles. The move is cliché in practice, yet something about the way Alex does it makes my heart skip a beat.

When he turns toward his door, I watch as his back muscles shift with each step he takes away from me. He opens his door, but before turning in for the night, he stops to look at me one last time.

“Oh, by the way…” My eyebrows raise in anticipation of his words. “Next time, don’t wear underwear.” That devilish smile returns, and he doesn’t wait for my response before he takes a step into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him.

“There won’t be a next time, asshole.” I call after him, knowing he can hear me through the thin wood of the front door. Despite my insult, I’m smiling as I enter my apartment, locking the door behind me as I do.

Taking off my boots, I throw them aside, my feet feeling relief as I flatten my heels against the ground for the first time in hours.

I’m riding the high, looking forward to a restful night's sleep after relieving some pent-up energy, when I notice an interesting envelope mixed in with the mail sitting on my counter.

I had grabbed it this morning before heading out for the day but didn’t have a chance to go through the stack of mail earlier. Most of the time it’s bills I struggle to pay, and I didn’t feel like starting my day on a bad note.

Sifting through the mail, I find the envelope, my address handwritten on the front. When I catch sight of the scrawled handwriting, the E of my name distinctly slanted, my stomach drops, blood draining from my face. I tear into the note, and my hands begin to shake again as I read the words.

Business doesn’t seem to be doing so good, but remember what I told you when you were benched at that basketball game? Just because you’re knocked down doesn’t mean you can’t get back up again.

The corners of the note crumple in my hand as I read the dumb words I’ve heard many times growing up. I was stupid enough to think they were motivational when I was thirteen years old. It’s ironic looking back on it now. Especially when the words came from the man who repeatedly knocked me down.

I can’t bring myself to save this note. Even if it could be used for evidence later on. I toss it in my trash with trembling hands, unable to stomach looking at it any longer.

Pulling out my phone, I do the only thing I can think of to do at the moment. The one thing that can bring back my sense of control.

Beth

When can we schedule another training session?

I’d like to learn more.

Asshole

Come by anytime tomorrow morning.

I can get you on my regular schedule.

Beth

Sounds great. Thanks.

Asshole

No, thank you