My Boyfriend Is A Geek ✔️

26: I just wish he'd give me a reason to hate him

I whipped my head towards the door at the sound of a knock.

“Hey,” he called, voice soft. “Can I come in?”

I found myself giving a small smile. “Yeah, sure.”

And a moment later, he was settling beside me on the floor, neither of us saying anything. It was like that for a long time – the both of sitting on the floor, shoulders brushing lightly, all the while enveloped in silence. But it wasn't the kind of silence you felt the need to break. It was a different kind – one that was oddly comforting.

“You might have noticed that I'm not exactly my dad's biggest fan.”

Seeing how his features flashed with mild surprise, I figured he hadn’t been expecting me to say something – at least, not anytime soon. But he responded anyway. “Yeah, a little.”

I gave a small nod, quite unsure of what to reply. So, again, I let us sink into the silence. But this time, it was a lot shorter, as my voice soon sliced through.

“I hate him.”

He didn't say anything, he simply stared at me, his eyes not holding any kind of silent reproof like Carla’s usually did. Instead, he looked at me like he wanted to really see me, and not just hear me. 

Ok, that didn't make much sense.

But what I could say clearly though, was that whatever it was, I realized I actually liked it. It was calming, relaxing to say the least. And it definitely made it a whole lot easier to continue speaking.

“I wish I could say those words and mean them – I hate him. But I can't. Because what I actually hate is the fact that no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I want to, I can't hate him. I should hate him for his lifestyle; I mean, my dad's a fuckboy! How awesome is that?” The sarcasm was practically dripping from my voice at the question.

“I should hate him for having a new woman everyday after the divorce was barely finalized. I should hate him for fucking our family up, for breaking my mom the way he did, for making a joke of our relationship. I know I should hate him for all of those things.”

I stopped to suck in a breath, only to add, “but I just can’t.” My voice was barely higher than a whisper now, and I hated that I sounded so stupidly frail. But I just couldn't help it.

Hawk, on his part, didn’t say anything. However, I could sense his focus on my every word, almost like he was soaking it in, that he was really listening. And I was grateful for that. 

Talking about my dad was something I hardly did – I found it difficult to. So, if he’d decided to constantly cut in while I spoke, I doubted I'd have been able to continue talking. Hence, my gratitude. 

“Sometimes, I try to make him blow off at me. I guess there’s a part of me that wants to hear him say he doesn't want me the same way he didn't want my mom. But even when I'm cold to him, when I’m being difficult – in fact, no matter what I fucking do, he never says or does anything to hurt me. No matter how hard I try to push him away, he's always there.

You know, he still calls me every night whenever he's away on business trips. He never misses a single call. At 10pm every night, regardless of the time zone, regardless of his schedule at that point in time, he never forgets to call. And the funny part is that half the time on those calls is spent exchanging half hearted smiles from me, and awkward ones from him. I mean, our conversations can rival that of an opera.”

I thought back to all his calls, and of how we’d stay staring awkwardly at each other after getting past the usual: ‘How was your day? How was school? How was work?’