Page 4 of He Hate Me

“Never gonna happen, tickle dick,” I sneer. I try to pull back and not only does he tighten his grip on my hair, his other hand lands on the seat next to my hip, trapping me.

“You don’t seem appropriately scared.” He laughs. “Did Devin not tell you how I ended up here?”

“You’re too stupid to get into college off your grades, so you’re trying to get a soccer scholarship. Too bad B squad never gets recruited.”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Deja.” I feel his warm breath on my ear. He toys with the tie on the side of my bikini. “Moving in with Devin was a condition of my release.”

I try to stand up, but he still has a firm grip on my hair.

“So? Let me go!”

“Do you want to know what I was in for?”

“I don’t—“ My mouth is arid. I want desperately to know, but I need even more desperately to put some space between us.

“Keep prancing around here every day in that piece of floss you call a bathing suit, and you’ll find out. You never get in the pool. Do you even know how to swim?”

I’m pissed, but trust I’ve been dealing with microaggressions my whole life. I can handle that shit. I pretty much expected him to say something like that when I told him his dick was small. But what comes next is so across the line. His hand inches across the seat to press against the outside of my thigh. I can feel the fabric of his trunks against my other hip, though he’s only just brushing against me on that side.

“Do you know how many girls like you I’ve had over at Marshall,” he says into ear. “Ready to drop to their knees as soon as they see my big white cock. You know your mom must have been under Devin’s desk all day long to get him to marry her.”

I feel a rush of heat through my body like being doused in fire. My mother raised me on her own after my dad died and never dated ever until Devin. He was our friend for years, always kind, always reliable, until my mom broke down and gave him a chance. Yes, they worked together, but it was nothing like Brandon was saying. It was one thing for this entitled piece of trash to insult me, but my mother?

I’m not even aware of pulling my fist back, but I definitely feel the jolt up my arm when my fist makes contact with his throat. I was aiming for his ugly face, but he moved at the last second and I hit his neck instead. He reels back, choking and clawing at himself. I stand up to rush him with more blows, but instead of looking scared, he looks smug. The need to wipe that look off his face is so intense, I’m already closing the space between us when I see him angle himself to the right. He isn’t trying to get away; he’s trying to make sure the backyard security camera has an unobstructed view of me hitting him.

This fucking snake. This dirty lowlife cheat. I look into his face, and I can see the triumph lurking there, just under the surface. He scans my figure, his gaze so intense it’s almost like he was brushing his fingers over me. I’d always been proud of my body—my firm breasts, my flat belly, and toned legs, but he made me feel ashamed of being so bare in front of him. There is a combination of desire and contempt in that look, and they are equally unwanted. What right does he have to make me feel like this in my own backyard? I’m not sure how yet, but I’m going to make him pay for the things he’s said and the way he’s made me feel.

“Fuck you!” I say, climbing out of the hot tub. He spreads his arms and legs like he’s claiming the whole thing for himself, and I turn my back to him, going to grab my phone and towel. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to regret this.

Three

Brandon

It’s only 7:00 a.m., but already getting hot. I stretch, then cue up my workout playlist. I could run on the treadmill in the air-conditioned home gym, of course, but every second I’m in that house I feel like I’m suffocating. If I had a better choice I wouldn’t be living here. At least when I run the trails, I get to be away from Devin, his airhead wife, and her annoying daughter.

Neither of the women seems to know the real Devin. They think his nice guy facade is the real man. I see him watching me sometimes, probably trying to figure out how much I remember from living with him when my mother was his housekeeper. Much more than I let on, for sure. Does he think I’ll tell his wife about the debauchery of his single days, the things I saw that no kid should see? The first time I saw a naked stranger passed out in the living room I thought she was a mannequin, but when I touched her, she was warm. Devin laughed, throwing her unconscious body over his shoulder and taking her upstairs to his room. After I told my mother, she arranged for me to be out of the house or in our room on weekends. But I was a kid, so of course I snuck out whenever I could, and the things I saw Devin do are still seared in my brain.

When the Briarwood principal and coach requested that I live with Devin, he said it was his godly duty to take me in. You would hardly imagine this was the same man who did all those sick things. He technically didn’t have to accept me since I was about to turn eighteen, but he agreed to have the guardianship extended until I finish high school. He’s soaked up the praise for his generosity. I know he’s given at least one speech at one of those businessman clubs about how he rescued a juvenile delinquent from a life of despair because he had me sitting in the room like a prop.

But the first time he and I were alone he promised to “destroy” me if I sold drugs again because if I embarrassed him, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. At least he has his priorities straight, am I right?

A combination of fast-paced rock and aggressive hip-hop drives me forward, the uneven ground forcing me to focus on placing my feet as I run. The burn of exertion gradually transforms into the ecstasy and clarity of mind that only comes from a challenging workout. I feel the pressure lift away, my focus narrowing to the sensation of my feet on the path, the rush of air over my sweat-damp skin, and the rhythm of my controlled breathing. My mind shifts through images of the last few weeks—my mother’s face the last time I saw her, Devin sitting at his desk in his study droning on about his expectations, Deja standing by the pool in a yellow bikini that barely covers anything.

Shit! I don’t want to think about her, but my mind keeps circling back. Those long, lean legs that terminate in her lush, heart-shaped ass. Her flawless, smooth brown skin. Those dark eyes, at once innocent and knowing. From minute to minute I think she’s a virgin or a vixen—either the least or the most experienced girl in our senior class. I imagine her on her knees, those soft, full lips opening to accept my cock, hearing her gag as I force myself deep inside, watching her eyes bulge and leak, silently begging for mercy I won’t show.

Damnit. Now I’m getting hard. Thank god my running shorts have a compression liner, but there is no comfortable way to run with an erection. I try to think of something unsexy. Oatmeal. The smell of the locker room after soccer practice. Taking a math test.

Arriving at the chalk-marked tree does the trick. I’m limp as a noodle again as I dig through the leaves and dirt until I find the small metal case about the size of a cigarette lighter, but a little longer. It makes barely a lump in my pocket. I continue down the track, the brief pause making the next few hundred steps torture. It takes almost until I return to the back gate for my muscles to relax again.

When I enter the house, I’m also dripping with sweat. As much as I’d like to take a shower, I need to lift weights while my muscles are still warmed up. I hope all this effort is worth it. Coach will put me on A squad soon, and I have to be able to keep up with the other guys or people will suspect I don’t belong there. But working out is more than just for soccer. It’s the best method I’ve found for keeping my mind off the things I don’t want to think about.

Of course, when I step inside the gym, who do I see running on the treadmill but Deja, dressed in a sports bra and yet another pair of tiny shorts. The movement of her ass is hypnotic. My cock jerks against the stiff liner, and she spots me in the mirror just as I wince. A frown flits across her face, but then she makes her expression blank. She knows what she’s doing, dressing like that, even though she pretends not to. It would serve her right if I accepted the invitation and took what she was offering. I’m bigger and stronger and I like to make it hurt. What could she do?

We ignore each other for the next twenty minutes while I do my sets until she finally stops the treadmill and leaves. I know she’s avoiding me because she usually lifts as well, but not today. I’m just about done, too, but I get a sick pleasure in knowing I messed up her workout.

She’s generally impervious to my digs, so I get extra enjoyment when I’m able to get under her skin. That day in the hot tub was glorious. I got so close to getting her in big trouble. Maybe if she wasn’t such a stuck-up bitch it would be different, but people like her need to be put in their place. I imagine picking up one of the jump ropes hanging on the wall and lashing her with it, catching the tender skin where her thigh meets her ass, eliciting a pained cry… damn it! Again? I’m going to have to jerk off in the shower.

Deja