Love to Hate You

Chapter Twenty

“I don’t know.”

No three words have ever seemed to achieve a greater lapse of silence then these. Sean’s blue-green eyes seem to electrify as the seconds tick by. With frustration, anger, or both I can’t be sure. And as the time passes, the clunks of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room seem to get louder and louder until—

Sean slaps his notebook against the coffee table so loudly I jump back in my seat. He stands again, this time to leave the room. My breath is shaky and I’m clutching the cushion of the couch so tightly my knuckles have turned white. Then, I hear a brief moment of running water and Sean walks calmly back into the room with a wet glass in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I just—“ and then he lets out an strained laugh and whips off the beanie from his head, taking a gulp of water before continuing, “She doesn’t know, ha, oh man, he’s got her good. He’s got her so good.” He says to himself while shaking his head and sets the glass of water down next to his notebook. “You don’t know, huh?” he asks me now, still bent over the coffee table and looking up at me through long eyelashes, “Cute, real cute because all I ever heard was how much you’ve hated him all this time. I just don’t get it, and quite frankly, I don’t want to. I don’t want to know what he does to make every last girl snap. Yet, you can’t remember—no--you don’t know why you hated him.”

He stands up properly now and turns away from me, running his hands down his face in exhaustion.

I swallow down the stale taste that his words left in my mouth and speak up now, my voice raspy and my throat dry.

“I don’t want to remember,” I say slowly so he can hear every last syllable.

He doesn’t flinch, his body doesn’t tighten up with anger like I would expect from Justin, instead he just sighs, and with eyes closed, turns back to face me.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me while shaking his head and running hands up through his hair, “This is so stupid. I’m sorry. I forget that—“he stops himself and opens his eyes. I stare back at him with interest, my eyes wide and my teeth gnawing at the inside of my cheek. “Sorry, just forget that ever happen, please. I just don’t think we should be working on a song together—not anymore.”

My jaw slacks and I choke on a breath of disbelief, “Are you kidding me? Who else am I going to do this with, huh? Nobody can write a song like you. I saw you last weekend, okay? You’re great and I don’t want to lose this contest.”

“This isn’t my place in your relationship with Justin. Clearly, all you ever want to do with each other is fight. Whether that’s healthy or not, I don’t know, I’m not a therapist. But, I can tell you this: I’m not getting involved.”

“Sean!”

“What do you want me to do? Huh? Write you a song?” he rolls his eyes, “I can only write down what I feel. How about you try that. It’s your song and you obviously can’t help me help you. I mean, what else do you want to sing about? You hate love songs, you hate clichés, you hate being predictable, you hate everything I say, you hate me, you hate him, you hate everything, you probably even hate yourself, and I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore because I completely lose my mind when I talk to you because you’re so damn difficult all of the time!”

He’s reached the point of yelling and I’ve sunk back into the couch cushions in an attempt to become invisible. All of the times he’s held back yelling at me seems to be exploding like fireworks inside him. I’ve hit a nerve.