The hate between us

Chapter 10: Caleb's Point of View

I walked out of the kitchen last night, but it didn't feel like an escape. If anything, leaving her there, wiping those tears away, only left me more restless. I couldn't get the sight of her out of my head—Ella, standing there, so vulnerable and raw, the sharp edges of our rivalry blurred by something else. Something neither of us knew how to handle.

It stirred something deep inside me, something that made me want to hurt whatever—or whoever—made her cry. But the frustration sat heavy in my chest because there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could fix.

And that's what made it worse.

I tossed and turned in bed that night, haunted by the image of her eyes, the way they glistened with unshed tears, and the softness of her skin under my fingertips. I hated seeing her like that, but more than anything, I hated the way it made me feel—like something inside me was shifting, changing in ways I couldn't control.

Morning came too quickly, and I still hadn't figured out how to shake the frustration, the anger that gnawed at me. I got out of bed, planning to head downstairs for breakfast, but as I passed by the bathroom, something caught my attention.

The door was slightly ajar, a habit of hers since we were kids. She never closed the door entirely. I used to find it weird, but over the years, it just became another one of those things about her that annoyed me. Something she did to prove she didn't care who saw her or what they thought. She was always like that—brazen, unbothered, and defiant.

But now, standing just outside the door, I could see her reflection in the mirror as she moved around the bathroom, getting ready for her shower. She had already peeled off her shirt and was stepping out of her shorts, completely unaware that I was there, watching.

My breath caught in my throat.

*What the hell am I doing?* I should've left. I should've turned away the moment I realized what I was seeing, but I couldn't. I was rooted to the spot, my eyes tracing the smooth lines of her body as she undressed, her skin glowing in the soft morning light.

I hadn't realized how much she had changed over the years—how lean and strong her body had become. Every part of her was beautiful, delicate, and yet powerful in a way I hadn't noticed before. And God, it did something to me, something I wasn't prepared for.

Before she could turn around, before she could catch me standing there like an idiot, I slipped away, my heart pounding, a wave of guilt washing over me as I headed downstairs.

But even as I sat at the kitchen table with our parents, I couldn't shake the image of her from my mind. The sound of her footsteps moving around upstairs, the distant hum of the shower turning on—it was all too much. Every drop of water hitting the tile was like a reminder of what I'd seen, of the way my body had reacted to her.

I tried to focus on breakfast, on the mundane chatter between my mom and her dad, but I could still hear the shower running. It was driving me crazy.

I picked up my fork and pushed the food around on my plate, my appetite suddenly gone. I knew exactly what was going on upstairs, could imagine her standing under the stream of water, her hair wet and clinging to her shoulders, her skin slick and glistening.

My grip on the fork tightened. *Damn it, Caleb.*

I took a slow breath, trying to calm myself, but it didn't work. The image of her in the shower—completely unaware, vulnerable—was burned into my mind, and no amount of breakfast chatter or small talk could shake it.

I stared down at my plate, my jaw clenched, willing the thoughts.