Too Close for Comfort

Summer: Day 31

"There's a reason the girl goes after the quote-on-quote 'bad boy,'" I say, chuckling at him. "He's not afraid to break the rules, he helps her live a little, shows her the world, and brings her to hell and back."

"She shouldn't have to know what hell is," he argues, his brown eyes fueling with red.

"Yeah, well all relationships go to hell, but only real relationships get through it."

And as if he couldn't get more angry, his glare deepens. "So you admit it, you two are going behind my back and sleeping with each other?"

"So what? We kiss, we hold hands, we eat breakfast together," I say, listing off all the PG-13 things Mackenzie and I have done together. "She plays with my hair, I tell her how pretty she is, and I let her make me feel things. So fucking what? What are you gonna do about it?"

"So she lied to me?" he asks, anger still written on his face.

"No, she never lied, we just gave you half of the truth." I take a step towards him, lifting my chin in the air with a nod. "Mackenzie and I are friends, but I guess we just forgot to specify what kind of friends we are."

Kylar scoffs. "So you did this to deliberately hurt me?"

"I did this because I love her and didn't want her losing your guys' friendship," I say through gritted teeth. "So you better stop being a pussy and just own up to the fact that I have her—because you can be sure as hell that I'm not letting go any time soon."

When he's heard enough, he clenches his jaw so hard, I think he's gonna break his teeth. And instead of spitting useless venom out of his mouth, his fist finds my cheek and lightly grazes my nose in a punch.

I take the hit and stand still, unfazed and undazed. "Hit me again," I challenge. "I dare you."

Kylar looks at his hand one more time before diving it into my face again, and I can almost instantly feel a cut gushing through the bridge of my nose.

I glare at him with devil eyes and nod. "Are you done?"

He chuckles evilly, reclining his arm back again. "Far from it."

But before he can punch me again, I grab his wrist and yank it down, growling. "I let you hit me twice, but I will not let you hit me again. Ever."

"You love her," he says slowly, his face red with anger and pale-white in worry. "You love her, you liar! You've always loved her and that's why you told me to go after her, to hurt me and to let me get my hopes up. That's why you strung her along all these years, why you pulled at her heart. You never really cut her off. Once she'd start to get over you—you'd do these stupid things that would make her love you all over again!" he accuses, steam fuming through his ears. "You bastard! You sick, disgusting, horrible bitch. You did it again this summer, and when it's over, are you gonna go back to hating her guts again? After all, you can't stand being around her."

"Do not use my fucking words against me," I say, balling my hands into fists. "Make up whatever story you want to for yourself, whatever helps you sleep at night. But for you to insult me, I would first have to value your opinion."

"And I wonder what she sees in you," he says, confused and mystified with so much hate in his eyes.

"She sees the real me, not the fucked up version of me in your head."

And I don't want to hear his response, because I've heard far too many words from him to care about what else he had to say about me. I gallantly walk out of the house with my car keys, swinging them nonchalantly around my index finger. I need Mackenzie.