Take Me Away | ✔️

12. HATE

THE TENSION WAS THICK between us. We were still sat on the swings, my hands playing with the chains on the swing, and he was just staring at me, his eyes observing me.

"Stop looking at me," I tell him.

He shook his head. "Say something, then."

"I just did."

Rolling his eyes, he stood up, walking in front of me. "I want you to say something directly at what I said which was—I like you, Sammy."

I couldn't help but laugh at the situation. After all this time and the torture that I was put through for being his girlfriend and him just acting like he hated me. Travis Mason liked me. It wasn't a joke anymore.

Yet, I found it like that. A joke.

"Just because you apologized to everything you did and said you weren't sorry on certain things means that everything is okay, Mason," I spat. Now, I'm angry. Now, the hate I felt inside for him was bubbling. "You tortured me since we were little up to the point in my life where everything went to shit. So, no, I don't like you. I hate you and I don't even care anymore and after this, I don't even care anymore if you're blackmailing me because a person who would like some would never—"

"I never had anything against you," he cut me off. What? "I just said that because you weren't boring and wanted to get to know you better."

"So this thing with your sister—?"

He smiled a little. "I made it up. The Christi part is true, though. I mean, I think the proof is the part wherein you got beaten up because of me."

This time, I stood up.

So, he lied to me about his sister berating him about having a girlfriend, and he lied about having pictures with my secret exposed. All he did was lie and bully me while forcing me to be in a relationship with him even if it was fake. The only true thing he did was telling me that Christi having people beat me up was his fault because it was.

We were inches away; and I decided to do something to him that he deserved since the very first time we met.

I kissed him.

To tell you the truth, even I didn't know what happened.

All I remember was grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pulling his lips to mine, his back arched towards me as I tip-toed a little to reach his height. His hands were in my waist, anchoring me steadily. I couldn't even focus—his lips tasted like mints and strawberries (possibly what he ate before meeting up with me), his scent smelled of his intoxicating cologne, and then, his hands moved up to my hair, to my jaw, to the nape of my neck, pulling me closer to his lips.

It was hot, too hot.

What the hell are you doing, Sam?

I snapped out of it, pulling myself away from him—practically jumping away. His icy gray eyes observing me, wide and alert.

I remembered saying that it was a mistake, and he tried to convince me that it wasn't.

So I punched him in the cheek with my unharmed hand. It was hard enough to make him double over to the ground, giving me time to escape.

Now, I sat at the couch of the house, holding a cup of coffee as I stared at the blank space.

"You alright?" Mom sat down beside me, pulling the coffee away from my hand. "You don't like coffee. You only drink it when you're in a bad place. What's up, honey?"