Hate to Love You - Chapter 44: Chapter 44

Hannah
"Hannah! Hi!" Skylar exclaimed, releasing me from her surprisingly strong grip with a big smile. "I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages. It's so good to see you!"
I blinked, trying to process the sudden, unexpected interaction. "Skylar... hey. It's, um, nice to see you too." I looked at her like a fish out of water. "H-how have you been?"
Bailey arched a brow at me, obviously curious about who the new girl was and waiting for some context or an introduction. I'd told her bits and pieces about Skylar over the phone, but I'd never thought it necessary to reveal her name — so it would be hard letting Bailey know that this was the pretty blonde who had a massive crush on Tristan. And that this was the woman who suited him so much better than I did.
She was literally the perfect athlete's girlfriend — an athlete herself, looked like a Viking goddess, was extremely outgoing, and was already familiar with public attention and scrutiny. If she and Tristan ever got together, they'd undoubtedly be a power couple.
It was easy to picture her as one of those social media wives who nailed meal prep, worked out daily, and appeared to have everything under control all the while looking perfectly put together. It wasn't that I despised those women — it's just that I'd never be one of them.
"I'm doing amazing! I just got here, but I'm so excited to join in on the festivities. I see everyone has already gotten into the full swing of things." She looked around with a mix of excitement and wonder.
She wore an iridescent crop top revealing her toned abs, a tulle mini-skirt adorned with pearls and crystals, and knee-high pink boots accentuating her model-long legs. She looked gorgeous. Meanwhile, I felt like a blobfish beside her, wearing basic jean shorts and a plain white shirt, stained with face paint and dirt from this morning. And let's not forget the faded goggles around my eyes — while she seemed to be glowing in glitter, jewels, and a full face of makeup.
"Oh, yeah. It's been fun..." I trailed off because it felt like my throat was closing in on itself.
I hadn't felt this self-conscious and out of place since Dylan. I hated the thoughts currently racing through my head, comparing every aspect of myself to her. And worst of all, I was developing this stupid, irrational hatred toward her. For no reason at all.
I missed not caring.
Seeing the turmoil on my face, Bailey stepped forward, donning a wide, confident smile. "Hi, I'm Hannah's best friend — Bailey. I love your boots! I can already tell I'll be browsing for them online later tonight."
Skylar laughed, lifting her leg to give Bailey a better look. "Because I'm a girl's girl, I'll tell you exactly where I got them."
The two launched into a conversation about online shopping, affording me a moment to step back and collect my thoughts. I was glad that Bailey took the initiative because I felt wholly unable to deal with Skylar right now. Not only was her sudden appearance a shock to my system, but my mind was still replaying the events that had just happened with Tristan. And now the girl who always triggered my jealousy was here?
With Amanda, I knew he'd never touch her, not when he could see her for what she was. But Skylar? I knew he genuinely liked her as a person. During our project, they had developed some sort of friendship. I also think there might have been some interest on his part when they first met. From both of them, actually. He was a natural flirt, and she was a willing partner.
My insecurities were not prepared to deal with her.
Deciding now was the perfect time to take a much-needed break, I slipped away quietly, pushing through throngs of people until I found a quiet and somewhat secluded spot between two food stalls.
After taking a moment to gather myself, I tried to push away all the negative thoughts and emotions because dwelling on those always left me drained and feeling hopeless.
Seeking a distraction, I pulled out my phone, remembering I hadn't messaged my mom yet. No doubt, she'd left a barrage of messages, each increasingly frantic and riddled with spelling mistakes as she worked herself into a panic. True to my predictions, I found twenty-six messages demanding to know if I was safe, if she needed to come get me, if I was hurt, if she needed to phone the cops, etc.
It took everything in me not to snap at her in my current mood — but that always accomplished nothing. So I sent her a long and detailed message reassuring her and answering all of her concerns. Knowing my luck, I'd still need to phone her before she actually calmed down.
As I answered a message from Jace about dinner at our dad's place, an Instagram notification popped up. A sense of déjà vu washed over me as I opened it. Like the other one, this account was clearly a throwaway — no pictures, no bio, no followers, and no profile picture. I hesitated before answering, wary of my current mental state.
?: Is it just me or does it seem like he's already bored with you?
I stared at the message with a frown. Considering the familiarity behind the tone of the message, I had to assume this was the same person from before. Unease prickled at me, and I glanced around, searching for anyone who might trigger my suspicions, but no one seemed particularly interested in me; they were mostly heading toward the game or the bathrooms.
Fine, I thought, teeth clenched hard as I looked back down at my screen — I'd take the bait and play dumb, but only until I had more information. It seemed pointless asking who they were and expecting a truthful answer, so I tried another strategy.
H: Who are you talking about? And why are you messaging me?
To my surprise, they started typing back almost immediately.
?: Don't play dumb, Hannah. We both know who I'm talking about.
?: I bet you feel so proud of yourself for landing someone like him. Maybe you're thinking that you can keep him, but you can't. You're the wrong girl for him, and we both know that.
Tristan. There was no one else they could be referring to. I briefly wondered whether I should be worried about whoever this was. Or was this really just a crazy fangirl, jealous of the fact that I was the one in his bed? That was the most probable answer. Girls could get ruthless when they wanted something. Or someone.
H: He's not something you can own.
H: Also, why are you doing this? Do you seriously have nothing better to do than obsess over us? Just a little head's up, this is really weird and desperate behavior.
I shouldn't be antagonizing them, but that was easier said than done. There was a part of me that wanted to retaliate, to hit back at this person's vulnerabilities like they were doing to me.
?: We all know he doesn't date, and you're not special enough to be the exception. Do you really think he's going to want to be with a girl who's known for being a bitch and a slut? Over so many better, prettier options? You're not good enough for him. Let's just hope that he realizes it before I'm forced to take things into my own hands...
My hands tightened around my phone in anger. It wasn't about whether I agreed with them or not, it was about the audacity this person had — thinking they had any say over us or that they could threaten me.
H: Do you really think I'd be scared of some coward hiding behind a screen?
H: And what do you even know about us? Nothing. So mind your business, stop messaging me and get a life.
?: I know more than you think. Just like I know you won't last. I'm looking forward to the day he dumps you for someone better.
H: Like who? You? You're out of your mind if you think your messages will have any effect on our relationship.
I hit send, blocked the account but kept the messages this time, and switched my profile to private. My hands shook with uncontrollable anger throughout the whole exchange. If this person had something to say, they could say it to my fucking face. I was done with these threats over Instagram.
Closing my eyes, I forced myself to stop fuming and take a few deep breaths. Anger pulsed through me like a hot, unrestrained fire. But it wasn't just anger — it was a tangled mess of frustration, jealousy, and an uncomfortable touch of fear. Fear that they were right.
If I were being honest, this person had hit the nail on the head. I was now terrified to be in this relationship with him because, while all of my previous fears hadn't vanished, I now had new ones.
Like the fact that I didn't deserve him.
It was obvious that I wasn't good enough to be a man of his stature's girlfriend. He was too good for me. Too good-looking, too funny, too sweet for a broken, mundane nobody like me. I had nothing to offer him. Except for the sex, it felt like all I ever did was take from him.
I didn't want to be undeserving of him — I wanted to be better. I wanted the best for him, but I also felt like I couldn't be that for him. Being overly cheerful and positive didn't feel like me. And I didn't have the gall to openly support him and stand by his side, much less claim him as mine.
I realized that our undefined relationship status was a safety net for me. Not officially being his girlfriend meant I didn't have to live up to the burdens that role would bring. I could just be me — no expectations and no label. I was also scared that if I started to want more, he'd leave — and I wasn't ready to let go yet.
One thing was for sure — I needed to tell Tristan about this. It was the second occurrence, and I suspected it was the same person as before. This was blatant harassment and he'd handled similar situations in the past, so it was better to be safe than sorry. I didn't want him to get hurt because of my carelessness.
Come to think of it, I didn't know too much about the other incidents. I never brought it up because I sensed he didn't want to talk about it, but this was the best opportunity to breach the subject. I made a mental note to bring it up when we had some private time together. Right now wasn't a good time. Not while he was happy, and enjoying the football festival that him and his team had worked so hard on. Timing mattered, and I wasn't about to spoil the moment.
Annoyed that I'd allowed the messages to affect me like this, I pocketed my phone, surveying my surroundings as I wondered what my next move should be. I wanted to tell Bailey everything and get her opinion on what I should do, but the thought of going back to Skylar made my stomach knot.
However, that decision was taken from me when Bailey came running, waving her hands at me like a crazy person. Frowning in concern, I started walking to meet her.
"Bay? What's wrong?" I asked as she stopped in front of me, hunching over to catch her breath.
Inhaling deeply, she gasped out, "You just missed the craziest shit! So there was a pretty close match, right? But our team won at the last second when one of our guys tackled the other team's guy before he could get to the end zone. Anyway! Suddenly everyone was rushing the team, and-and," She gasped for air, still breathing heavily, "We were all celebrating and jumping and stuff when Amanda jumped on Tristan and kissed him! In front of everyone!"
"What?" I asked, an ice-cold shock blanketing my whole body.
"Yeah! And she was like — trying to put her tongue in his mouth and everything. That bitch! You seriously need to talk to her, Hannah." She put her hands on her hips and gave me a stern look.
Instead of my usual anger this time, that hollow emptiness just filled me. Overwhelmed with everything happening today, I rubbed my hands over my face. First Tristan, then Skyler, my mom, some internet creep, and now Amanda? Why was this day quickly turning into the worst?
I thought we'd outgrown the high school drama shit, but apparently not. Amanda wasn't stupid — she had to realize that Tristan had no interest in her nor would he any time soon. So why was she doing this? To get to me?
Letting out a weary breath, I asked, "Is Tristan okay?"
She shrugged. "He seemed fine to me. He pushed her away pretty quickly and I saw him say something that made her back off all the way."
A small flicker of relief darted through me at her words. Relief that he seemed fine and relief that he'd pushed her away.
"What did he say?"
"I couldn't really hear anything over the noise of the crowd. But what does it matter what he said to her? You still need to talk to her," she said.
"And say what?" I croaked. "That she should stay away from him because he's mine? He isn't. He's not mine."
She stared at me in shock. "What are you saying right now? You're just going to let her get away with kissing him?" She narrowed her dark eyes at me. "You're not usually like this. Did something happen? Is it your mom?"
"My mom is fine. I'm fine. I'm just..."
Tired.
I let out a heavy sigh, absently running my hand up and down my arm. "I'll talk to her if I see her, but Tristan can handle himself. He's a grown man — he doesn't need me." Those words tasted bitter even though they were true.
Bailey stared at me in disbelief. "Are you sure? You're not usually one to let things slide. Aren't you angry about this?"
"It doesn't matter what I feel. And I only confront someone when I have a good reason to. I don't have one now. From what you told me, Tristan handled that on his own."
Did a part of me want to claw out Amanda's eyes for even daring to touch him? Yes. But that was the easy answer.
"Okay," Bailey conceded, face softening in concern. "If that's what you want."
"It is." I nodded, feeling incredibly drained. I rubbed my temples as a headache began to throb there.
"Do you want to head back?" she asked gently, reaching out to hold my hand.
"No."
"Do you want to go anywhere else?"
"No." I shook my head softly.
She pulled me into her arms. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Bailey's hug engulfed me in a blend of lilies and roses, while her hair lightly tickled my nose. As she held me, she accidentally stood on one of my toes, but strangely, even that was comforting.
"I guess." I nodded.
"Okay." Bailey squeezed me in her arms before pulling back to look me in the eyes. "Tell me everything."
So I did. We found a quiet spot to sit and I poured it all out to her, including all of my thoughts and feelings. She listened patiently while I explained in as much detail as possible, keeping her reaction tempered until I'd told her everything. And when I was done, we both settled into a thoughtful silence as I waited for her to say something.
Finally, she said, "So... basically, you're constantly internally freaking about the situation with Tristan while pretending everything is fine, Skylar is making you feel like an ugly fish, you might have a potentially dangerous stalker, your mom is your mom, and Amanda has been a constant thorn in your side?"
I blinked at her bluntness but nodded. "Basically."
"And have you spoken to Tristan about any of this?"
"No. What would I say? I mean, I know I should tell him about the online creep, but everything else? Every time I try, it won't come out."
Or maybe it was the fact that I melted when he looked at me, and all nagging thoughts disappeared when he was with me. It was hard to feel anything remotely negative when Tristan was smiling at me. Or when he was kissing me, or touching me — which he did a lot.
"How about everything you've just told me?"
"That's not the same. You're you, and he's him. There's a big difference."
She laughed and patted my back affectionately. "I'll say it again — you're overthinking things. What are you actually scared of telling him?"
It was instinct and defensiveness that had me arguing, "I'm not scared. I'm just..."
"Afraid," she answered flatly. "Or in other words — scared."
I winced. "Fine. Maybe I'm a little scared, but it's also not as simple as that. Like, what if I say something to piss him off and he wants to break things off? What if..." My voice trailed off as the real fear crept up. What if he tells me this has all just been in my head?
"We both know he's not the angry type. He's a lot more likely to be understanding. Maybe he can help you sort through some of the things troubling you, but he can't read your mind. You need to tell him what's bothering you, especially when it's concerning him."
"Yeah, but what if — because he believes it's for my own good — he ends this? Or he sees that I'm in too deep and he freaks out? Things are good right now, I don't want to ruin it with my stupid problems. I don't want to be the distraction he was worried about." I rubbed my arm, looking away.
"All I'm hearing are 'what ifs'. If he's the guy you think he is, then there's no reason to worry. If he isn't — then that's his loss anyway. Do you really want to be with a guy you can't talk to? Issues like these tend to resurface when you don't deal with them; they don't go away because you ignore them."
Well, I could always count on Bailey to give it to me straight. Maybe it wasn't what I wanted to hear, but it was true.
"Fine," I gave in. "I'll talk to him, but not yet."
"Then when?"
I gestured at the festival going on around us. "When all of this is done. When he doesn't have so many things he needs to focus on."
"He's a busy man — he's always going to have things to focus on. You're stalling." She pursed her lips, unimpressed.
"It's one more day, Bailey. And then I'll talk to him."
"Promise?"
"Sure."