I Hated Him First

I Tried Not To Feel It

I started counting the days between weekends.

Gurll 😮‍💨That’s when I knew I was screwed.

During the week, I tried to act normal. I threw myself into lectures and clinical shifts until my body ached. I laughed with my classmates. I forced food down. I told myself the house on the hill and the man who lived there didn’t exist.

But every Thursday night, something restless started crawling under my skin.

By Friday afternoon, it was worse.

I hated that I checked the time before leaving campus. I hated that my heart started beating faster the second I turned onto that private road. I hated that my eyes automatically searched for his black Range Rover before I even reached the gate.

And the worst part?

He noticed things too.

I could feel it.

One Friday, I arrived later than usual because of a delayed shift. The house was quiet. Mom had left a note saying she’d gone to bed early with a headache. The only light came from the living room.

David was there.

He sat in the armchair by the window, a glass of something dark in his hand, city lights glowing behind him. When he looked up and saw me, something heavy shifted in his expression.

“You’re late,” he said.

His voice was low. Rough.

“Traffic,” I lied.

He studied me for a long second, then stood up slowly. The movement was calm, but it made the air feel tighter around us.

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I met his eyes. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

Finally, I looked away. “I’ll just make something quick.”

He didn’t stop me. But he didn’t leave either. He followed me into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while I pulled leftovers from the fridge. I could feel his eyes on my back the entire time. It made my hands unsteady.

When I turned around, he was closer than I expected.

Not touching me. Just close enough that I had to tilt my head to look at him.

“You look tired,” he said quietly.

“I’m always tired. Nursing school.”

His eyes moved over my face, lingering on the dark circles under my eyes. For a second, I thought he was going to say something else. Instead, he reached past me for a plate. His arm brushed my shoulder.

The contact was brief.

It still sent a ripple straight through me.

I stepped back too quickly. He noticed. Of course he did. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

We didn’t speak while the food heated. The only sounds were the microwave and the low hum of the fridge. When it was ready, I sat at the island and forced myself to eat. David stayed standing, watching me with that same intense look.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” The words came out before I could stop them.

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure something out.”

A slow breath left him. He set his glass down on the counter.

“Maybe I am.”

The honesty in his voice made my stomach tighten hard.

I stood up, needing space. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t make this weird.”

His eyes 👀 darkened. “Is that what I’m doing?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because the truth was worse than I wanted to admit. Part of me had started looking back.

I left the kitchen without another word and went upstairs. Even behind my closed door, I could still feel the weight of that conversation 🤦‍♀️ sitting heavy on my chest.

That night, I dreamed about him.

I hated myself for it when I woke up.

The rest of the weekend passed in fragile, dangerous tension. Mom remained completely unaware, smiling and talking like everything was normal. David and I circled each other carefully, 🙊both pretending nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Every time our eyes met, something unspoken passed between us.

Every time we stood too close, my pulse betrayed me.

And every time I told myself I still hated him, the words felt weaker.

By the time I drove back to campus on Sunday night, one terrifying thought had settled deep in my mind:

Hate was no longer protecting me.

And I was terrified of what would happen when it finally disappeared.