PAST
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THEO'S POV
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"Wipe that smile off your face," Gregg said, leaning back in his seat, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air. His eyes flicked toward Damon, who was practically wheezing from laughter.
"I was just—just reminiscing the slap and Melina's make out session with pillar," Damon managed between laughs, clutching his stomach, half-slurring, half-gasping for air.
I just stared at him. The idiot didn't even realize how close he was to getting hit next. Still, a corner of my mouth twitched — I couldn't tell if it was from irritation or amusement. The memory of that slap and headbutt wasn't exactly funny, but for some reason, the way Damon was losing it almost made it so.
"By the way, why did you even tell Melina to 'know her place'? That's why all this happened," Gregg said, picking out a peanut, peeling it, and tossing it up — only to miss catching it completely.
I looked at the mess around him — dozens of missed peanuts and one persistent question hanging in the air.
I stared at the void ahead, forcing myself not to admit it — that ugly, familiar burn of jealousy.
Watching Melina laugh with Gregg earlier had done something to me.
She wanted me to stay away, she wouldn't even look at me anymore, but somehow she could smile with him — like I'd never existed.
It wasn't because it was him specifically.
I was just… jealous. Plain and stupidly jealous.
"No particular reason," I muttered, my voice flatter than I intended.
I looked at Damon still laughing, and my glare did what my words couldn't — shutexpression
Damon cleared his throat as if dragging himself back to reality.
"It's my first time seeing Theo get slapped and not doing anything in return," he said, flipping his plate upside down for no apparent reason.
"She was safe because she's a girl," Angela cut in, barging between us and plopping herself right onto my lap, scrolling through a phone, with a case that looked… way too familiar.
Wait—wasn't that my phone?
Just as I opened my mouth to ask, she snorted.
"Done."
"What done?" Gregg asked, frowning at her.
Angela flipped the screen toward him. I watched as Gregg's expression shifted from confusion to utter horror. Damon leaned over to peek and muttered under his breath, "Damn."
"What's going on, guys?" I asked, a knot forming in my chest.
"Angela just posted the video of Melina hitting her head on the pillar," Gregg said, his mouth hanging open.
"I captured it for fun. It came in handy," Angela said with a laugh.
…What? I thought she liked Melina.
I shot up, sending Angela tumbling off my lap.
"How many people have seen it?"
"Lots," she said, almost proudly.
My glare said the rest. I didn't wait another second — I grabbed my phone and bolted.
Rooftop? No.
Cafeteria? No.
Classroom—
A breath of relief escaped me. There she was.
I gripped the window rod, peeking inside. Melina sat there, calm as ever, until she felt my gaze. Her usually serene expression hardened, anger replacing the softness I'd grown used to.
She was furious.
At me.
I waved awkwardly, mouthing a small, "Hey."
She raised a hand — and flashed me her Middle finger.
Thanks i guess.
I looked left and right, scanning her surroundings. Thank goodness my sister and her annoying friend weren't there. Slowly, I stepped inside, my footsteps careful, almost guilty. I pulled a chair from the next row and dropped it opposite her desk.
"You wanted to tell me something important… earlier... remember?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, gaze fixed on her face, desperate to catch any flicker of emotion.
"You said you were busy." She didn't even look at me, her tone flat, matter-of-fact.
Ugh. She already hated me.
"Well, the video…" I started, rummaging through my brain for the right words. The right way to say Angela posted it, not me.
"Yeah, I saw it. Nice angle. Might as well get you admission for photography courses," Melina snapped, whipping her head toward me like an angry bull. Her nostrils flared, her eyes red — and yet she was still beautiful. Even angry, she looked like something I shouldn't be staring at.
"Ah… well… it was shot by Angela," I tried to explain, my voice careful, small.
She slammed her pen onto the desk with a sharp thud. My heart jumped, so much i thought it tried to jump out of my body.
"Did I ask?" she hissed, jaw tight enough to make her words sound like they were being chewed through her teeth.
"Nope." I lowered my head slightly, forcing the words out. "I came to say sorry."
"I don't need your sorry. I don't expect anything better from a playboy like you."
Playboy.
Like me.
She'd called me a manwhore before. I'd heard it from plenty of others — mostly people I'd rejected, their bruised egos turning into gossip. I'd learned not to care, not to explain.
But Melina… Melina saying it — that hit differently.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" My voice changed before I could stop it — no longer soft, but clipped, sharp-edged.
There was silence. For a few seconds, she didn't move. Didn't even breathe.
"If you don't want me around you," I said finally, my tone low, "all you had to do was tell me."
Her jaw tightened again. I saw it — that tiny twitch of anger before her words came out cold and steady.
"Fine," she said. "I hate you coming to my house. I hate when you hold eye contact longer than you should. I hate that you always find some excuse to hang around me."
Each sentence hit like an arrow, straight to the chest — precise, merciless, impossible to dodge.
And then, softer, but far more lethal —
"I hate people like you."
Her voice faltered just a little at the end, but it didn't make it hurt less. If anything, it cut deeper — like she meant every word but hated that she did.
Her words echoed in my head long after she turned back to her book. I just sat there, staring at the same page she was pretending to read, my throat tight, my chest hollow.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor as I stood, the sound slicing through the quiet classroom. I didn't look back at her. I just walked out, one heavy step after another, until I reached the hallway.
Her voice followed me all the way to the cafeteria.
Those same five words, over and over —
I hate people like you.
She hates me.
Hate.
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