“Cathy, do come. Oh, do — once more! Oh! My heart's darling! Hear me this time, Catherine, at last!” — Heathcliff Earnshaw.
Not being able to stop the huff that escaped my lips, I forced myself to gaze out of the window, quietly following the trees that dotted the side walk, along with the streetlights. They threw sources of bright light along the dark, deserted roads, casting harsh silhouettes of the trees that aligned with them. It was peaceful, nevertheless, especially because the silence in the streets were haunting and serene. Darkness wrapped around the car, further easing out my muscles, ebbing the tension away.
“What do you think we're doing?” His sudden interrogation catched me off guard, shaking me from my much liked isolation.
“Having hate sex.” I muttered, quietly fumbling with the cuff links of my tuxedo shirt, not sparing him another glance. My answer met a deep sigh, after a sharply taken breath inhaled by the nose before letting it all out at once.
“You don't hate me.” The four words created a bubble of torturing silence, covertly placed in such a manner in which it was made clear that he wasn’t asking that; he knew it. I had no reason to hate him. Why would I? I've never hated anyone in my whole life. Disliked lots, yes. Except for the poor excuse of a father of whom I had heard from my sister, I hated no one.
“Does that matter? You do.” Once again, the words hung in the night air, beginning to get stale and tiring. I wasn’t asking that either; I knew it for a fact. The hierarchy among us was very profound — he, the star swimmer, the captain of the team, who hated me and then there was I, who was the second best swimmer, having no clue as to why the captain hated me so. I didn’t think that overwhelming detest was because of Jenna. He wasn’t the relationship kind and the whole college knew that. He'd have left her sooner or later just like I did. Yes, he could be batshit for weeks at me because of his girlfriend dumping him for me when he should've been the one to dump her.
The vehicle moved on as if it didn’t care what the people sitting inside were talking about. The desire for him was so rough, that it threatened to drive me to insanity. Debauchery throughout the whole life up to this point hadn't been crazier until now. With Jeremy, there was none of this — no trepidation, no aching with desire, no roughness in sex, no heady and addictive seduction, no obnoxious tension filling the environment while we were not fucking, no undergoing pain to strike up a normal conversation.
“I do.” I let out a soft humorless laugh after the two words which he provided as an answer slapped me across the cheek. Turning to look at him, I found that he was already staring at me with a strange intensity in his eyes, slightly raising his eyebrows as if he wanted me to challenge his answer. As if he wanted me to challenge the percentage of truth in his claim. Another dry chuckle escaped my lips, while I shook my head, trying to push back the tinge of hurt that might surface.
“As you should.” I replied casually, not bothering to steady myself further before providing a confident, unwavering answer. Silver eyes bored into mine, and I watched an emotion like disappointment wash over his face, momentarily making me flinch. I watched him clench his jaw, viciously gritting his teeth to stop the convulsions, maybe. His muscles tensed, knuckles turning white because of gripping the steering wheel harder than one should. Tearing his gaze away from me, he fixed his eyes on the road, the cold façade of indifference taking over his facial features.
There was a swift kick in my gut because of the fact that he hadn't denied his previous claim of hating me. I just didn’t know why. I couldn’t put my finger at the reason. Such profound, deep hatred. For what? It’s not like I wanted to date him or something. All the times when I told I hated him was solely to keep my guard at the highest point possible because I expected him to exploit my vulnerability if he found any. Problem was, my guard was still up and dejection had started to creep in slowly every time he said he did hate me.
Once again I felt his unmistakeable gaze burning me, while I proceeded to look out of the window, not wanting to give him any further attention. Upon inspecting the roads I found them to be twisting back and forth very strangely, making me believe that we were travelling in the same path over and over again.
“Are you even driving in the right direction? I think we've barely made progress. We may me going on and about in the same road.”
“I wasn't. Just prolonged our journey to tell you that sex doesn’t change the emotion I have for you. I hate you. I always have.”