“Yeah, that’s what he does. He’s pathetic. He’s obsessed. Probably jerks off to pictures of me or some shit.”
My friends laughed.
And I’d fucking laughed with them.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Now Jamie won’t even look at me for more than a second.
He sets his jaw now as he faces me.
“I get it, Lex. We agreed. We keep up the act. We pretend we hate each other. Fine.”
“That wasn’t the act,” I say quietly.
“That was me being an asshole.”
His eyes flick up, and I can see the hurt there—raw, unfiltered, like he hasn’t slept since that day.
“I know,” he whispers.
“I didn’t mean it—”
“Stop.”
His voice cracks through the air, soft but lethal.
“You don’t get to say something like that and then pretend it wasn’t meant to hit me.”
I step closer.
“Jamie—”
He shakes his head once, sharply.
“You called me pathetic. In front of everyone. You said I was obsessed with you.”
He swallows. Hard.
“You said it like I was… disgusting.”
That word lands like a knife in my stomach.
His voice wavers, barely above a whisper now.
“Do you know how long I spent hating myself because of what I feel for you? Years. And then you said that. And the worst part?”
He finally looks up at me fully, eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I laughed it off in front of everyone because I knew you thought you had to say it. Because of me. Because of what we are. But it still—hurt.”
My throat closes.
That’s the moment I feel it—really feel it—the weight of what I did.
I didn’t just embarrass him.
I reopened every wound he thought had healed.
