16. Chapter 16

16

Heath

"You said those words to her?" Sebastian stares at me with his grass-like green eyes.

"It was the fucking truth." I throw away the dirty towel over the bench press and get on the treadmill to run myself to exhaustion.

My best friend joins me, not showing any signs that he'll let go of this topic. He's always been a persistent one.

"Heath, what you said was condescending," he reprimands me.

"It wasn't." Turning up the speed I run as if my life depends on it.

I want the pain in my muscles to numb the pain in my chest.

"You're an asshole."

"I've been called worse." I meet his gaze in the full-length mirror covering the entire wall of the home gym in my house. Well, not my house technically. My parent's house.

He scowls in displeasure, clearly irritated with my carefree attitude. "Then you need to work hard because being an asshole is getting old."

I ignore him and increase the speed. I need the fucking pain in my chest to disappear. It's been there since I said those words to Hope. I stepped over the line with her. I hurt her—which was the last thing I wanted to do.

For fuck's sake.

"You need to slow down," My best friend says from beside me as he runs at six mph while I'm at eight mph.

"I'm fine," I heave out, my breathing ragged.

Pain starts to descend into my muscles with the force of a meteor, but nothing is comparable to Hope's teary eyes and sad face. I might've ripped her heart out with how forlorn she looked.

Fucking damnit.

Our last interaction takes over my brain and kicks out every other thought until all I can think about is her. I've hurt people a lot of times, but this is the first time there's a weight over my chest that refuses to move no matter how hard I try. Her face keeps swinging in front of me like a pendulum.

I feel like shit for hurting her.

Those tears in her eyes were because of me. I'm such a fucking asshole.

When my legs can't take it anymore, I get off the machine.

Silence fills the room with the force of a dark sky. Tension ripples through my bones.

"You need to apologize to her," Sebastian says in a strained voice that I've only heard him use on me a few times.

"If the truth fucking hurt her, that's her problem. I didn't mean to." I feel awful for hurting her, but I don't have the courage to approach her and apologize. She might not even want to see my face after what I said to her.

Fuck. It was mean. I'll deserve whatever she hits me with. Probably a book.

Sebastian puts his hand on my shoulder. "You're wrong here. You need to do the right thing if you want to keep her close. Girls are sensitive. You have to be aware of not hurting them, but they're the best damn thing that could ever happen to you. I know from experience." He grins, definitely thinking about Marie.

I wipe my damp neck and then hunch over my knees trying to catch my breath. When I close my eyes, I see her face and the weight sinks deeper over my chest.

Why the fuck I'm feeling this way?

"I won't apologize, Sebastian. Forget it."

I need to stay away from her. I hurt her today and it's eating me alive. I don't want to do it again. I'm as volatile as a volcano. My fire should never burn her.

The next day at school, I attend all my classes for the sake of keeping attendance. The way I fuck up things around here, only two things keep me here. One, the handsome donation my parents make to the school, and second, my grades and attendance.

As much as I don't want to be here, I also don't want to be a dropout.

"Heath." A silvery voice nears me.

I take a long inhale of the cigarette and ignore her. This is not the first time a girl has approached me. I'm used to their flirty tactics, I just never indulge myself.

A petite girl with brown hair and blue eyes stands in front of me. She's dressed in a skirt that's too short and a top that's too tight. Every part of her is accentuated to grab attention, specifically when she crosses her bare leg.

I exhale the smoke, the cloud wafting in the space between us. A clear sign to leave me alone, but she's adamant about not going away.

For fuck's sake.

She wears a whimsical smile. "I saw you outside the girl's bathroom yesterday. Did you want to talk to me about something?"

What the actual fuck?

I look at her from head to toe. I don't like her.

"I don't know who the fuck you are." I take a drag and search for Sebastian. School ended five minutes ago, what the fuck is he still doing inside? He's supposed to shoo her away. Maybe I should text Marie. She'll come to my rescue.

I stay silent hoping she'll go away. I thought fucking wrong.

"I know you." She steps closer and arches her back pushing out her big breasts in my direction.

My eyes meet her in iciness. "You don't know a fucking thing about me."

For fuck's sake. What's her problem?

"I know your sister died—"

The cigarette hits the ground as I inch closer to her. "Don't you fucking dare speak about her." I take a breath. "Leave me alone. I have no interest in you."

That's how I am with every girl who approaches me. They irk me. I can't look at them, let alone think about touching them. They either think they can fix me or give me a good time. I want neither.

The girl steps back with a scowl. Disappointment blazes through her eyes. "Gosh, you're so rude and angry. What's your fucking problem?"

I frown in confusion. "My problem is, you're wasting my fucking time."

"Well, you're lucky that I'm even sparing you a few minutes." She crosses her arm.

Slowly, I spell it out to her. "I. Don't. Care."

"Fuck you!" Stomping her feet she walks away but stops when Hope gets in her way. That girl has a serious problem with walking into people.

"Get out of my way, nerd." The crazy girl screams in her face. Hope quickly side steps.

After a minute, she moves in my direction, holding onto her book that has a bookmark wedged between its pages, and a pen stuck to the cover.

At the sight of her, my anger begins to dissipate. She's in black tights and a maroon baggy top. Her hair is tied in a braid with a few strands flying around. She looks fucking pretty.

"Hi." She looks at me with her brown eyes.

"Hi," I reply softly.

She holds the book tightly to her chest as if gathering courage from it. "I need the password to the account. Marie said she'd help me."

Marie said what? I'm the one who made the account, and I know plenty because I've studied marketing. Marie only knows coding and other computer shit. Nowhere qualified enough to manage a business.

"She isn't equipped to help you," I say in a rough tone, trying to conceal the unknown fury curling inside of me.

She's staying away like I wanted.

Well, I don't fucking want it anymore.

"We'll figure it out then," she replies with a determination that I've never seen in her before.

Yeah. I don't fucking like it one bit.

I don't want her to stop talking to me.

Apologize!!!

Emotions cloud my mind and blur the lines of logic. "No, you won't."

A frown creases her delicate features. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I step closer to her. Her lavender scent catches my senses. I'm surprised at how much I like it.

"I need to use it. I can't if you have it," she protests.

Something is seriously wrong with me because I can't seem to focus on anything but her eyes. Fuck . Have they always been so beautiful or is it just today?

"Did you send the packages?" It's strange how I was thinking about it at midnight.

Hope gets puzzled by the change of topic, but nods. "Yes. I didn't make much money, but it's just the beginning."

"You need to look at some trends and figure out what's selling." The advice spills out of me quickly. I don't hold back because I genuinely want her to succeed. And to see her smile.

For fuck's sake.

Shock flashes through her eyes. "I'll s-see what I can do."

"You can come—"

Her face turns serious. "No. I don't want to. And please give me back the account. I told Marie and she's eager to help me without reminding me about my social status." Her voice gets quiet toward the end. I feel like a prick for letting her believe that.

An apology is sitting on the tip of my tongue. I can't get it past my fucking lips.

When did speaking become so difficult?

Sorry. It's one fucking word.

Taking out my keys, I unlock my car and get inside. Rolling down the window I say, "I told you, I'm not giving it back."

She glares—or she tries to, but it's definitely not a glare—at me. "It's my account."

"That I made."

She shuts up and eyes the passenger seat, then straightens in stubbornness.

"I'll make a new one then," she announces, surprising the fuck out of me.

I clench my jaw. I didn't expect her to stand her ground and make me feel ten times worse than I already do.

Pretty girl might be bad for my health.

Turning on her feet she walks away and leaves me in a fucking foul mood.