Reverse Rivalry

Hate Isn't Just Another Word

"Mr Lain and Mr Kierson, I take it you have already packed and moved into the new house, I took the liberty of contacting Mr Lain's dear father who took time out of his busy schedule to help me or rather his son,"

The principal folded his hands into one with his elbows resting on the table. Jale scoffed and pushed his hand in his hair in frustration. He was forced to pack his shit two days ago by his mother. It was a painful process. He did not once see himself leaving his beloved room, his house that he grew up in just to stumble into a cage that included Skylar Lain and it wasn't cruelty-free. Jale groaned internally.

The principal went over the rules and how the plan would proceed. They still had to come to school, participate in their failing football team practices and keep their grades up as usual but after that, they were required to spend every other second together.

This was fucking impossible. Who in their goddamn mind-

"So you're saying if I want to go to the toilet, Kierson has to come with me?"

"No, Mr Lain, let's not operate like fools, using the essential facilities will be separate but doing anything outside of that including eating shall be done together, " Mr Pell responded.

"What a load of bull-,"

"Will this really makes us get along Mr Pell, is there such a thing?" Skylar inquired throwing a glance Jale's way. His eyes were scrutinizing, always showing that mockery Jale knew the bastard felt for him deep inside. He could sense it from how the boy's body was relaxed, his hands drumming on the chair arm and his smirk still very much permanent on his snotty face.

The gall of this piece of shit.

Jale's hands clenched into fists. Skylar Lain never once feared Jale, no matter, how many times they had tittered over the edge of violence. There wasn't a thread of fear in the boy's body when they were in contact. Skylar Fucking Lain encouraged it, flat out pushed Jale to be the worst to him. Jale had done it all. Jale had fucked up the bastard more times than he has had sex in his 18 years of living.

Yet this still went on

"I take it out this is all being done on an assumption that we will like each other if we live together?" Skylar continued. Jale had to agree to the impertinent shithead's statement. He had a point. Why the fuck would any of this make them any better? There must have been other punishments, other choices on the fucking table than this.

Mr Pell stared at them with his cold gaze. His demeanour was settled and calmed. He remained stoic while flipping his pen in his hands. Jale hated Mr Pell too, the ice-cold piece of shit but not as much as he hated Skylar Lain which he doubt was hate, it was deeper than that. So much more than hate if Jale could describe it.

If someone were to ask he reckoned, "What do you think of Skylar Lain?"

Hate wouldn't be the word. No, that would an injustice.

"There is a thin, minuscule line between love and hate Mr Lain, " Mr Pell replied placing his pen on the desk down gently. His eyes lifted to settle on the both of them.

"That line will be crossed if the emotions you show each other move in reverse,"

"Does that have a scientific basis? This-,"

"This is a hypothesis young man, but if you would stop to think even a little, what other interactions have you ever had with Mr Kierson that was never violent,"

Skylar was silent. Jale also did not have an answer. Having anything remotely peaceful to do with Skylar Lain was out of the fucking question. Jale felt the anger in him swell up like lava pouring out of a volcano. Skylar Lain was a psychological messed up fuck. He had done so much shit over the years, there was no line remaining between the both of them.

Mr Pell could shove that hypothesis up his backside.

Skylar chuckled then switched his gaze to Jale. Their eyes met and held in an intense stare. Skylar's eyes were snake-like, droopy just like his personality. It was sly, cunning and visceral pain in the fucking ass.

Jale had once tried to carve some good out of the boy in his head, had once tried to reason with himself that Skylar Lain was a troubled teenager. He was dead wrong. That asshole took pleasure in fucking shit up for anyone but the sole target was Jale Kierson.

He had made it on Skylar's shit list somehow but he would have been damned before he had let the bastard have his way.

***

Jale hated the house. Every minute he stood in it made his lunch churn like a ferries wheel in his stomach. This was where he was going to live now and Jale was still having a hard time digesting that reality but Skylar wasn't.  He already made himself at home snuggling into the sofa shoving ice cream down his throat.

Jale stood awkwardly in front of the wall behind the sofa where Skylar had plopped himself down. Jale wanted to take the bucket and smash into the bastard's smug face, just to satisfy some sick itch. He hated seeing Skylar with a happy face. The asshole didn't deserve happiness, not even a drop of it.

"Are you going to keep standing there or you going to stop being a pussy and move?"

It was like knee jerk reaction to lift his hand and move to grip Skylar's accessible head of hair but Jale stopped himself. He couldn't let Skylar get to him. He wasn't going to cave.

"What I do is none of your business,"

"You standing there like a fucking creep behind me ain't the best way to spend my first night here," Skylar quipped carrying up his sock-covered feet on the centrepiece. A sliver of disgust went down Jale's throat.

This was certainly unacceptable. He could not in his right mind be doing this. Living with Skylar fucking Lain is suicide. This was suicide. Trapped in four walls with this fucker would be raining hell down on his sanity.

Skylar lifted his left hand and did a lazy wave.

"If you want something to do, go into that kitchen and make me something to eat, other than that, you're practically useless to me,"

Jale almost combusted. He almost launched himself over the sofa to kick the boy in the face. Almost.

Jale breathed. He breathed out the anger in his lungs and willed himself to walk. He moved like a robot but at least he moved. He walked past the room and up the wooden white stairs.

There were two rooms that were placed up here. The bathroom and the one room, that one room that Jale had no intention to share. They would have to kill him first. Jale stopped in front of the white pristine door. It was untouched, new, and fresh. Skylar's father was one useful bastard, coming in clutch only at a time like this.

Jale opened the door and waltzed through. The room was what he expected. Average size, queen size bed, a closet, a dark green carpeted floor and nothing on the plain white walls. It was bland.

Something died inside Jale when remembered his room he spent hours decorating. He spent money on. It was almost painful to stand in a room he had to share with another and call it his own for now.

Jale groaned. He couldn't continue thinking. The thinking was depressing and depression was the last emotion he needed right now. What he needed was a shower, food and not even the scent of Skylar Lain in his immediate vicinity. That last one was probably improbable but he could hope the bastard wished the fucking same.

Author's Note

Thank you all who took their precious time to read my book! I appreciate all of you!

I suffer from never getting to the point syndrome when I want to get to the point but alas, It may be long but I'll get there!