The hate between us

Chapter 7: Crossing the Line

Ella paced around her room, heart still pounding from the charged moment with Caleb in the livingroom. The anger, the frustration, the attraction—it was all swirling in her head, tangled into a knot she couldn't untie. She ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at the strands, trying to shake the feeling that clung to her skin.

Why was Caleb still here? He never stayed.

Five years ago, he had left the second he turned eighteen, and every visit since had been fleeting, as if he couldn't wait to get away from her—from all of this. But tonight, something was different. He hadn't left right after the funeral. He hadn't tried to avoid her. He'd stayed—pushed, teased, and infuriated her in a way that felt more intense than anything they had ever shared.

The question gnawed at her. *Why hasn't he left?*

Without thinking, she found herself walking down the hall, stopping in front of his room. The door was cracked slightly, just enough for her to see a dim light spilling out. Her hand hovered over the knob for a moment, indecision twisting in her chest. But before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed the door open.

Caleb was standing near the bed, pulling his shirt over his head. His back was to her, muscles shifting under his skin as he moved. The sight of him like that—so casual, so at ease—made her breath catch in her throat. He didn't notice her at first, but when he turned slightly, his eyes met hers in the reflection of the mirror, and he paused, shirt still in hand.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

"Why are you still here?" she demanded, ignoring the way her heart sped up as she stepped into the room. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

Caleb tossed the shirt onto the bed and turned fully to face her, his expression unreadable. "I'm staying."

"You never stay," she snapped, the frustration bubbling up again, mixing with the confusion and the heat that wouldn't go away. "You always leave, Caleb. So why now?"

His eyes darkened, but he didn't flinch. "Because I will now."

His words hung in the air, heavy and loaded with meaning she couldn't quite grasp. There was something in his voice that sent a shiver down her spine, something final. For a moment, the silence between them stretched thin, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

Before she could think, before she could process what was happening, Caleb stepped closer, closing the distance between them in two strides. Her back hit the wall with a soft thud as he punched his hand against the doorframe beside her, boxing her in. His other hand hovered just inches from her face, his eyes locking onto something she hadn't even realized was there.

His expression shifted as he studied her face, his brow furrowing. "Ella," he said, his voice quieter now, rough with concern, "what happened?"

She blinked, confusion flickering in her mind. "What do you mean?"

Caleb didn't answer. Instead, his hand reached out, gently turning her face to the side, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. She felt the warmth of his touch and flinched, but not from pain—from the unfamiliar tenderness behind it. His thumb traced lightly over a scratch she hadn't noticed before, and that's when she felt it—the sting. A faint, bleeding scratch.

"Were those from when I shoved you?" he asked, his voice low, controlled, but there was something behind it—something that sounded almost angry.

Ella pulled back, stepping out of his grip, and turned to the mirror on the opposite wall. When she looked at her reflection, she saw it—light scratches across her cheek, barely bleeding but enough to make her wince. They must've been from earlier, from when she'd shoved through the bushes in the maze. She hadn't even noticed.

"Maybe," she muttered, touching the spot herself, her fingers brushing against the tiny cuts. "It doesn't matter."

But Caleb didn't move away. He stayed close, his eyes still locked on her face, the concern there now unmistakable. "It does matter, Ella."

She turned back to him, frustration bubbling up again, mixing with the confusion and the tension that had been building between them all night. "No, it doesn't," she snapped, her voice tight. "What matters is why you're still here. You never stay. You always leave."

Her words came out sharper than she intended, but she couldn't help it. His presence was unraveling her, pulling at the threads of everything she thought she understood about him—about them.

Caleb's jaw tightened, his expression hardening for a moment. But then he stepped even closer, his voice low and serious. "Maybe I'm tired of leaving."

His words cut through her, deeper than any insult or taunt ever could. She stared at him, searching his eyes for something—some sign of the Caleb she knew, the one who was always distant, always running. But what she saw there was something different. It was real, raw, and it terrified her.

"What do you want from me, Caleb?" she whispered, her voice shaking with the weight of everything that was suddenly crashing down between them.

He didn't answer right away. His hand slid from the doorframe, and he lifted it to her face again, gently wiping away a stray drop of blood from one of the scratches. His touch was soft, careful, and for the first time, she felt the full force of the shift between them—how the line they had drawn in the sand all those years ago was blurring.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice rough, almost vulnerable. "But I'm not running anymore."

For the first time, Ella didn't have a sharp retort, no sarcastic comment or angry comeback. She just stood there, her heart racing, the air between them thick with everything they hadn't said.

And for the first time, she realized, she didn't want him to run either.