Keyframe

I Really Wish I Hated You

"Save me from myself the way you used to,

'cause I don't really like myself without you."

- "I Really Wish I Hated You," Blink 182 (2019)

Jordan

I loathe the West Coast.

The sun is hot, there's no shade, and the people are unbearably obnoxious to someone who's been a New Yorker his entire life. They move, talk—hell—even think in slow motion. But my move was worth it. If I'm still holding on to Alex, it has to be.

I've been stewing in my dorm room for hours since Alex left for his appointment; I was able to chase my roommate—Adam, or Alan, or Aaron, something—away with a few sustained glares. But my mind has been far from idle.

Somewhere in this building, Lillian Bennett is hiding from me. Again. If she ever gets the courage to leave her room, I could track her down, but...then what?

It's been a looming question since yesterday, one that set in after the blinding rage subsided. What do I do now? Ignore her? Talk to her like nothing happened? Terrorize her in retribution for what I felt when she left me? I don't know.

Her being here has thrown a wrench in my week, my year, my life. Just when I got accustomed to her not being around, she's back in my world again. Before, I thought I wanted to see her again more than anything, to get some explanation or closure for her disappearance. But now that I have that opportunity, I realize that might be worse than thinking she's dead.

There's a knock on my door, and my eyebrows jerk downward when I assume it's Adam again. We've only known each other for a day, but I've made it plenty clear that I want to be alone.

"Jordo?" Alex's voice says from the other side, calling me that hideous nickname, and my heart melts along with my tension.

"Oh. It's unlocked."

He opens the door and elbows his way in, a coffee in each hand. I'm seriously considering sending him to rehab for his caffeine addiction, but he stops short of where I'm sitting on my bed and hands me one of them.

"Cortado? Double-shot?"

I don't take it, my mind immediately turning to what the catch might be. Random acts of kindness aren't exactly our shtick, so, in my experience, he's either asking me a favor or begging for forgiveness.

My question is one word.

"Why?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "I was already getting coffee, and I figured you haven't had yours yet, so..."

He wiggles the cup, arm still extended, and I take it before having a reluctant sip.

"Shit...it's good."

A smug smile flashes across his face for a moment, and I look away.

Flip-flop.

"Th-thank you," I mutter, stumbling over the foreign words.

He gives me a small "hmph" of acknowledgement, sitting in the rolling desk chair with which I replaced the school-issued one.

"So. What were you up to when I was gone?"

I narrow my eyes at him as he starts to spin in slow, lazy circles, not buying his feigned interest.

"I chased Adam or whatever his name is out of the room earlier this afternoon—my day has gotten exponentially better without him blabbing my ear off."