Hate to Love You - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Hannah
Sitting in Health Psych, I was lost in thought as the class slowly filled up with students. In my head, I played out the conversation I would have to have with my parents. My dad was going to be fine with whatever internship I chose, but my mom? She wouldn't even entertain the idea of me moving to another state. She's always been super protective and extremely overbearing, especially when it came to my brother and I.
Dad and Mom had their fair share of fights over her helicopter parenting while I was growing up. It was one of the many factors that contributed to their messy divorce. But even after all that, she never really changed.
Sighing, I rubbed both hands up and down my face. This wasn't going to be easy.
I dropped my hands and looked up just as Fuckface strolled through the door.
Oh God. I'd forgotten about him.
But, I reminded myself, this time I'd deliberately chosen a seat in the middle of the third row — so there was absolutely no way he'd sit near me. As far as I was concerned, he could find his blonde bitch, and the two of them could go back to whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears. As long as I couldn't hear or see any of it.
I averted my gaze, focusing on the board in front, but inevitably, my eyes would drift back to him. Now that I was aware of his existence, I couldn't help but watch him as he made his way up the stairs between the rows of desks, carrying a brown paper bag and a cup of coffee in one hand. I recognized it from Beanz. It seemed he went there pretty often. Did that mean I was going to have to find a new coffee shop?
People instantly started to gravitate towards him as soon as they caught sight of him. Some intercepted him, engaging him in pointless conversations, while those who obviously also wanted to talk to him, only managed quick or hesitant greetings.
He seemed to really know how to handle all the attention, effortlessly initiating casual banter and laughing along before smoothly moving along. He almost seemed genuinely interested in others, and if I didn't already know what he was really like, I might have believed it. Their eyes sparkled every time he replied to any one of them.
I'd never noticed this before because I'd never bothered to look, but conversations flowed more freely. Laughter echoed a little louder, and smiles seemed a bit brighter when he was around. The whole room buzzed with a new energy fueled by his presence alone. He was undeniably Mr Popular.
Frowning, I watched as a group of girls clamored for his attention, their giggles echoing throughout the room and making it all the way to my ears. They wasted several minutes engaging in flirtatious banter, and he smiled at their antics — though, surprisingly, he didn't return the attention. In fact, he seemed kind of distracted.
I suddenly realized how closely I was scrutinizing him, and shook my head, silently chastising myself. Forcefully dragging my eyes off of him, I leaned down to take out my laptop and other essentials.
I was busy setting up when someone near me shouted, "Hey, Number thirteen!"
Brows furrowing, I looked up and saw Fuckface making his way directly towards me, eyes on me. Someone tried to stop him to talk and he politely declined and pointed in my direction. I scowled before looking behind me, hoping he was pointing at someone else — but it was hard to tell when everyone was watching him. So I looked down, planning to ignore him while he passed me.
And then, to my utter shock and horror, he sat down in the empty seat next to me.
"What do you think you're doing?" I asked, outraged.
I really didn't feel like dealing with him right now. Our every interaction left me both all worked up and drained at the same time, and I was still mulling over the difficult choices this morning had dealt me.
He didn't answer the question, just put the cup of coffee and the brown bag on my desk. "Here you go — three sugars, extra cream, and six chocolate chip cookies. Just the way you like it."
I looked at the bag, then at him. Did it surprise me that he'd memorized my order? A little, but I wasn't going to let that sway me. Again, why was he here? What was the point of all this? If this was to pay me back for Friday, it wasn't necessary — he already paid for that food.
I narrowed my eyes, suddenly suspicious. "Why are you giving me all this?"
He gave me a grin I could only describe as goofy yet adorable, and I knew it was meant to disarm or charm me; I wasn't going to let it work. "Think of this as an olive branch. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot."
I snorted at that, folding my arms as I leaned back in my chair to regard him. "I'd say one of our feet is more wrong than the other. And it's not mine."
Chuckling, he raised both palms in a gesture of surrender. "I know we haven't exactly had the best run-ins, and I'll admit, that's mostly on me, but I would also like to defend myself by saying that you have the wrong idea about me," and then he grimaced, "Well, not completely. I do admit that I..." He glanced at me and my folded arms, "Enjoy women — but it's all consensual and they enjoy me just as much. It's a win-win for everyone involved."
I tilted my head at him. "And what point are you trying to make exactly? That you aren't a manwhore? Because you're failing abysmally."
He ran a hand through his hair, laughing softly to himself. "This isn't going how I imagined," he muttered, but then he looked back at me, speaking louder, "Look, when you saw me that time, I'd just come back from a weeks-long training camp. Maybe I wasn't as discreet as I should've been about my intentions with those girls, but I never meant for you to see or hear any of it. Believe it or not, I'm actually quite private about those parts of my life. And as strange as it might sound, my mother raised me to be a gentleman, and for the most part, I am one."
I stayed silent for a few beats, surveying him for any signs of deceit or trickery, but for once, he seemed genuine. It made me uncomfortable to think of him in this new light so I chose not to. Instead, I just nodded and reached for the cup of coffee.
"I'm only accepting this because you forced me to listen to that whole speech."
I took a tentative sip, still suspicious. No salt or any other weird flavors. Wait. Can you taste laxatives? Or spit? I took another sip, but all I could taste was the familiar blend of the heavenly liquid that I loved. So I took a much larger sip.
He watched me closely. "I could never drink something so sweet."
Sighing, I lowered the cup. "And now you criticize my taste in coffee. You've really done it this time."
"I don't mean to judge," he hurried to clarify, "You can definitely enjoy it as sweet as you want. It's just that as an athlete, I have to focus on more nutritious foods over sugar."
"What a tragic life you must lead," I murmured, taking another sip.
"Oh, extremely. It makes you wonder why we do it. Is it for the gains or the girls—" He caught himself, noticing my arched brow. "I mean — glory?"
I rolled my eyes at him. He talked a lot and acted like we were friends, as if everything that happened before was just water under the bridge. I wasn't sure how to feel about that.
As I glanced toward the door, hoping to spot our professor, I noticed the hundreds of eyes on us. The entire room was watching him talk to me, their gazes dissecting me with an unsettling intensity.
No — I knew exactly how I felt about this situation. If this was what I'd have to deal with every time he was around, then I wanted nothing to do with him. I wasn't cut out for this kind of scrutiny. I hated having my flaws picked apart, just as my mother had done throughout my life. It was soul-crushing to know you'd never meet someone else's expectations.
"Shouldn't you go find your blonde friend? I'm sure she'd appreciate your company," I suggested, my voice strained as I avoided eye contact with everyone.
He shook his head, a loose curl of dark hair falling onto his forehead. My gaze fixated on it until he brushed it back with his long fingers.
"Nah," he shrugged, leaning closer to tease me, "We don't want to risk another episode like last week."
I raised an eyebrow. "So you think you can keep it in your pants long enough to last through the whole class?"
He narrowed his eyes playfully, pretending to think it over. "If I remember correctly, my pants stayed on the whole time. Sounds like you might be the one who wants them off."
I recoiled at the suggestion, immediately rejecting the thought. "Ew, don't even suggest that. I would never go there with you."
His brows shot up and he put a hand on his heart in mock hurt. "Go easy on the punches, Rocky. Am I really so bad?"
I felt a pang of regret over my harsh words. I could have subdued my reaction a little, or at the very least — been a little more polite about it. No one likes being so bluntly rejected.
I opened my mouth to apologize, but he spoke first, catching the change in my expression. "Don't sweat it, Hoodie-girl. I get that your pride won't let you admit that I'm a catch. It would be like admitting defeat."
Yup. There it was. Inevitably he'd always say something to piss me off.
"'A catch'," I scoffed, putting down the empty cup. "More like 'used goods'."
Smirking at my clever response, I leaned back in my chair and waited for his reply... but it never came — only silence. Confused, I turned my head to see why he wasn't answering and froze when I saw his expression.
He was angry. I think.
There weren't many indicators, but something about his green eyes looked colder, lacking the humorous glint they had only moments before.
And then he smiled, but there was nothing even remotely funny about it. "Right. Wouldn't wanna get those pretty little hands dirty with the likes of me. I do tend to fall on the filthier side of the spectrum." He glanced around, his gaze sweeping over the rows of faces watching us. "But don't worry, I'll stay out of your way from now on. I think everything that's happened between us can be put to rest now, no? We'll let bygones be bygones after today."
I was still shocked by the sudden shift in attitude, as well as his words, but I could come up with no conceivable reason to say no, so I nodded wordlessly. He didn't notice, having already dismissed me as he placed his hand on the chair's armrests, preparing to stand. But right as he was about to get up, the professor walked in, shouting at everyone to quickly take a seat because we were behind schedule.
Watching with wary eyes as Fuckface reluctantly settled back into his chair, wearing a resigned expression, I chose to stay quiet. It was clear he wanted to be anywhere but next to me, and it forced an uncomfortable awkwardness between us. Deciding to follow his cue, I kept my eyes on the front of the class. However, focusing on anything Professor Haynes said was nearly impossible with him right next to me.
I replayed our conversation in my mind, trying to understand how my words had triggered such a reaction. Had I crossed a line? I was sure I'd been worse to him at the coffee shop. Deep down, I understood that my bitterness and animosity were slightly misplaced, but I couldn't help myself. I had to.
I had to.
One man had single-handedly broken me and I couldn't afford to let another one try again. My heart wouldn't stand another blow. Not when it still burned with unresolved anger. Not when trust and respect in a relationship felt like distant concepts.
So, maybe he'd never come to understand, but I wasn't going to stop acting like this.
For the rest of the class, a tense calm settled between us as we deliberately ignored each other's presence. When the lecture ended, we exited the classroom without a single word or glance, each of us veering off in opposite directions.
As I walked away, a flicker of hope sparked inside of me, letting me believe that maybe, just maybe, he would now cease to be a constant thorn in my side. And maybe we could return to that blissful state of indifference — where our paths didn't cross and our worlds remained separate.
Only now, I wasn't so sure I could ignore him.