When Hate Feels Like Love

Chapter Ten: The Past is Prologue

Oliver Clarke's POV

I knew it was a lie. A blatant one at that.

Willow Harrison has always been a terrible liar. She bites her lower lip whenever she does it, and she doesn’t even notice it. Sometimes she talks faster too, or she talks with a higher pitch.

But it wasn’t the lie that bothered me. Not really.

I stood there for a second longer than I should’ve, leaning at the wall outside. Long enough to memorize the curve of her smirk, the fake confidence in her voice, and the way her fingers curled into her palms, like she didn’t quite believe herself either.

I didn’t say anything. Because if I did, I’d say something I couldn’t take back.

And she would only laugh. Or worse—she’d believe me.

I left and changed into my raccoon costume and headed back to the auditorium to begin the event just as the first guests began to arrive. The lights were dimmed, the music was low, and everything looked exactly how we planned it. Maybe even better.

As soon as I spotted Willow in the crowd, I exhaled. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until then.

I stepped up to the mic, adjusted it slightly, and began. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you for being here tonight. This event isn’t just about juniors and seniors getting to know each other—it’s more than that. All proceeds from tonight’s ticket sales will go directly to the children’s center.”

There was a pause. Then I added, “And in a few moments, the kids will be joining us onstage to perform. So please, give them a warm welcome.”

I motioned to the side of the stage.

The curtains parted, and the children dressed in costumes as colorful and mismatched as you'd expect, ran out toward the lights. Some waved excitedly. A few tripped on their tails. One kid dressed as a penguin waddled like he trained for it.

I caught the flicker in Willow’s eyes when she saw them, something tender and bright. Then came that smile. The one she doesn’t even realize she’s doing. The real one.

I didn’t mean to, but I smiled too.

It was worth it. Weeks of planning, coordinating, and making it happen were all worth it if I got to see Willow smile like that.

Soon after, I called over the student council, and we took the stage for our opening dance number along with the kids.

By the time we slipped offstage and into the wings, Willow was already tugging off part of her costume, cheeks flushed and eyes still wide with leftover adrenaline. She looked at me breathlessly but beamed with joy. “Why didn’t you tell me it was for the kids? I wouldn't have protested about it that much."

I leaned casually against the wall, wiping fake glitter off my sleeve. “Yeah, I could have told you, but then I wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing your annoyed face during practice, loathing every minute you spend at a 'stupid acquaintance party'.”

She scoffed, tossing a piece of her costume at me. “You are the worst.”

Then, with a smug tilt of my head, I added, “Not bad for an arrogant, selfish, and narcissistic playboy, huh?”

Willow didn’t even blink. “You forgot ‘annoying jerk.’ And technically, selfish and narcissistic are synonyms, so points are deducted for redundancy.”

I laughed under my breath. “Ah, that is so like you, Willow Harrison.”

“Someone has to maintain standards.”

I leaned in just enough to test the line. “Why are you still here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be off with... Emily or Shian? Or whatever his name is?”

Shian was the new guy I heard who's currently obsessed with Willow, but Willow's just as oblivious as always. Her brow arched. “Unfortunately, ignoring you doesn’t make you disappear.”

I grinned. “You’ve tried?”

“Daily,” she replied flatly, turning away, though I didn’t miss the flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. She could pretend all she wanted, but she never walked away fast enough. Then she cleared her throat. Her back still turned away from me.

“Clarke…” she started, then paused. “Oliver. Sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

Oliver.

That was the first time she mentioned my first name.

Not in a mock-annoyed tone. Not to scold me or tease me. Just… said it. Softly.

"I know." I teased, "You're apologizing; does this mean you hate me less now?"

“That's debatable,” she said, lips twitching. “Come Monday, I’ll still wipe the floor with your tears after I beat you in the prelims.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Spoken like someone who’s nervous they’ll finally lose.”

“In your dreams, Clarke.”

"Every night, Harrison."

The music thumped faintly from the stage, muffled by the thick curtains. Somewhere beyond the lights, the kids screamed with laughter as the event continued, with Kyle and Matt bantering their way through the next part of the program as emcees.

Then Willow’s phone rang.

She fumbled for it in her pocket, the screen lighting up briefly. It was quick, barely a few seconds, but I saw her face shift, but before I could even ask, she left abruptly. Just before I could follow her, Jaime appeared in front of me like a figment of my worst dream. I froze.

Jaime smiled, "Hey, Ollie. I was wondering if we could talk?"

"We have nothing else left to talk about. Remember?" I said coldly, "That’s what you said when you broke up with me and followed Cameron to Brown. You failed the semester, and now you’re back here? Back to me?” I shook my head, jaw tight as I continued, “I’m not someone you can run to when you've run out of options, Jaime.”

Jaime’s smile faltered, the shine in her eyes dulling with it. She tilted her head, her voice laced with something halfway between a dare and desperation.

“So the rumors are true,” she said. “You’ve gone cold, huh? Oliver Clarke, the Casanova. Running around breaking hearts like it’s some sport.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

She took a step closer, lowering her voice like she was letting me in on some secret. “Were you really that heartbroken over me? Is that why you’ve changed so much? Come on, Oliver. You could have everyone else fooled but not me. We had our thing. We could have it again… just for fun.”

She reached out, fingers brushing my sleeve like it meant something. Like she still could. I stared at her, suddenly tired. Tired of this game. Tired of the past clinging like smoke.

"You're using me to move on from Cameron." I scoffed, "He never loved you, Jaime; he never will. You just love that I loved you. You never loved me either."

Her lips curled, but it wasn’t quite a smile. It was too bitter for that. “You can say that,” she said, stepping in, closer than I wanted. “But we both know what happens when I’m this close.”

Before I could pull away, she leaned in and brushed her lips against the side of my neck. Cold. Mechanical. Like a dare.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” she whispered. “No attachments. No pretending.”

I stood there, jaw clenched. Not because I felt something—but because I didn’t.

Literature taught us that the past is a prologue.

But no one warned us what it feels like when the next act finally begins, and you’re not in love anymore. Or maybe you're still in love... but with someone else. Which is worse.