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It was all meaningless.
I hated that I woke up thinking that thought… it’s all meaningless, like why do I even try with this guy? Every word I said was offensive to him, and every response he gave to me was so bitter that I was instantly triggered to the point of lunging at him.
My brain went back to the night things shifted—the night they changed between us, the night he still never admitted to happening, which just pissed me off even more because it made him a dirty liar.
“Can’t,” Ivan whispered. ‘Leave. I can’t.”
“I can.” I fought him, and then I jumped into the bath with him. He wrapped me in his arms and cried, and then he kissed me.
It was my first kiss.
It was full of anger and pain.
And all I could do was accept it, drink it and swallow it away into the darkness where it belonged.
He was hurting and if by giving him my mouth, I could make him feel slightly better, I would.
And I did.
He pulled my shirt over my head.
He was already naked, his eyes crazed, wild, when he bit down on my shoulder and gripped my arms.
I screamed out in pain.
He shoved me away. “Go, just go!”
“Ivan—”
“—go!”
I flipped onto my back, every sound he made, every sigh, every movement in his bed made me want to murder him, it was like he was doing it accidentally on purpose—annoying me, making me question everything, doubt, and then rage.
Maybe that was the issue I truly had at the end of the day, the rage. We’d been in the dorm—the south dorms, thank God—for less than twenty-four hours and I was already glaring at him and hoping he’d actually feel said glare in his sleep.
He lied about the snoring.
He looked like a sleeping god, which quite honestly made it so much worse than him being loud. I never actually asked the universe this, but why were the pretty ones such assholes? Were his good looks to make up for his lack of personality? Was he cursed? Was I cursed for having to both stare at him and put up with him?
Ivan tossed on his left side and ran his hand through his hair. I quickly looked away like I was doing something wrong, only to look back over my shoulder in an attempt to convince myself why he was the absolute worst.
His eyebrows were clearly too sharp just like his jawline, who actually liked someone that perfect?
His chin was obviously too—obvious just poking out there like he was Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, but a way better looking version, and his fingertips were full like his stupid eyebrows and lips.
His knuckles were scarred from beating the shit out of everyone and everything, see? Welcome rage once more. His full lips pressed together in a dreamlike smirk, and I was once again angry that he existed—not only to torment me, but to make me feel inferior.
Ivan sighed again and turned toward me. The universe decided it would be an obviously good time for the sheet to fall down to his hips. Nope. I jerked away and glared at the opposing wall.
He had nothing.
I had everything.
Maybe I’d been too spoiled, too spoon-fed, too young? Who knew, but at the end of the day, he wouldn’t matter to me, he was a means to an end, not even a friend.
And he’d never know the real reason why I hated him so much, just like I’d probably never know why he provoked me in the same way. We were on opposing teams in my book.
So, at the end of the day, when you took everything individually into mind, that just meant annoying and not beautiful as far as his features, which was perfectly fine by me because he already lost when it came to personality.
