Hate by Laurel Curtis

wouldn’t that be disgusting.
    “Yeah, cute,” I pretended to agree. “That’s exactly what I’d call it.”
    “Whit,” he said simply.
    At first, I got excited. After the way he’d looked at me at the memorial. The way he’d smiled after Gram had hugged him, the way he’d really seemed to need me. Maybe he was finally going to let me back in. Maybe he was finally going to talk to me about everything he was facing, everything he’d already met head on. I wanted him to lean on me, and in turn, I wanted to feel him do it.
    I missed him. I missed his smile and his laughter, and I missed his friendship.
    “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m sorry I didn’t come home earlier—”
    “Don’t,” he cut me off.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean,” he started only to pause and take a deep breath. “I love you, Whit. You’ve been one of the best friends I’ve ever had, the first one I met here.”
    “You’re one of my best friends too,” I agreed, only to be interrupted.
    And gutted.
    “But, I think our timeline has expired. I look at you every day, and I hate what I’m doing to you.”
    “What you’re doing to me?” I questioned. “You’re not doing anything—”
    “Yes, I am,” he said harshly.
    “I’m cold and distant, and I know it. But it’s not going to change, and I want better for you.”
    “Blane, if this is about what I said the other day, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
    “It’s not,” he argued. “Well, it is, but only in the sense that you woke me up. I’m not giving you what I need to, and it’s not fair. I can’t give what you need. Especially, not now.”
    “I don’t need anything from you,” I said, a single tear trailing down my fake-freckled cheek and carving a cavern through the makeup.
    “You do. Whit, friendship is two-sided, and I’m giving you nothing.”
    “I don’t want anything, Blane. I was wrong. I just want you around,” I begged, desperation tinging every tiny facet of my voice.
    I stepped toward him, hoping that by some miracle, he’d step toward me.
    Instead, he retreated.
    “Whitney, stop. Please. It’s time to move on. You deserve better. You deserve to be happy. You deserve someone who’s willing to open up to you. Just move on, make new friends. There’s no way they won’t like you.”
    “Yeah, because I’m so likable,” I mocked through my now streaming tears. Seeming to spend more time wet than dry, my face was starting to adapt to the sensation.
    “You are! God, I promise that you are. Once you get past your abrasive exterior, you’re one of the best people on the planet.”
    “If I’m so great, stay! Don’t walk away like this! Don’t give up.”
    He rose easily from my steps, but the words he choked out weren’t easy to swallow.
    “Don’t you see? I already gave up on our friendship. And it’s because of that, because you’re so great—and you are —that you deserve better.”
    He turned and walked down the sidewalk, his powerful back looking more depressing than it ever had.
    “What am I supposed to do?” I shouted. “Just ignore you? Pretend like we’ve never met when we cross paths in the hall? Huh?”
    “No. We can still talk. We can still be civil to one another—”
    “Oh yeah?” I seethed, the anger actually rolling off of me in heavy, bitterness-laden waves and forcing away the tears. “We can , huh? You say it’s okay, so now it’s so.”
    “That’s not what I meant—”
    “What you say just goes?”
    “Whit—”
    “Don’t!” I screamed, leaning into my yell and clenching my fists at my sides.
    “If you want this friendship to be over so badly, you’re gonna have to avoid me! You know why? Because I’m not going anywhere!” The veins in my neck bulged. I could feel them there, pulling at the skin and flexing with every shout of anger.
    “Never in my life,” I whispered with a shaky finger, “has someone disrespected me so totally. Never have you disrespected me so totally. You