Hate Me Like You Mean It

THE MONSTER AND THE SHADOW

When they arrived at the estate, the scene was exactly what Meredith had feared. A window was smashed. The front door hung off its hinges.

Meredith scrambled out of the car before it had even fully stopped, but Henry was faster. He was out of the driver's seat and up the stairs before she could even find her footing.

Inside the flat, the smell of stale beer and fear was overwhelming. Her father, a massive man with a face reddened by years of rage, was standing over her mother, his belt wrapped around his fist.

"You think you're better than me?" her father roared. "Sending money to that brat so she can play dress-up in London?"

"Stop!" Meredith screamed, rushing into the room.

Her father turned, a sickening grin spreading across his face. "Well, look who it is. The scholar. Come to save the day?"

He raised the belt, but he never got to swing it.

Henry stepped into the light. He looked wildly out of place in his tailored suit and Italian shoes, but his presence filled the room like a physical weight. He didn't look like a rich boy anymore. He looked like the heir to a kingdom built on ruthlessness.

"Touch them," Henry said, his voice dangerously low, "and I promise you, you will never see the sun again."

Meredith’s father laughed, a wet, ugly sound. "And who are you? Her boyfriend? You look like you've never had a speck of dirt on your hands in your life."

"My name is Henry McFord," Henry said, stepping closer, his eyes locked on the older man’s. "My father owns the police force in this district. He owns the judges. He owns the very ground you're standing on. If you ever—ever—lay a finger on these women again, I won't call the cops. I'll call my father's 'associates.' And they don't use belts. They use shovels."

The room went silent. The threat was so cold, so certain, that even Meredith’s father flinched. He looked at Henry, then at the expensive car idling outside, and finally, he dropped the belt.

"Get out," Henry whispered. "Now."

Meredith’s father scrambled past them, muttering curses, and disappeared into the night.

Meredith collapsed onto the frayed sofa next to her mother, pulling her into a tight embrace. They sat there for a long time, two broken women in a broken room.

Eventually, Meredith looked up. Henry was standing by the door, his back to them, staring out at the rain. He looked small. He looked tired.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

Henry didn't turn around. "Because I know what it's like to wait for a blow that never comes. And I know what it's like to wish someone would step in the way of it."

He finally turned, and for a split second, the "High School King" was gone. In his place was a boy who understood her better than anyone else in that elite, gold-plated university.

"Go back to school, Meredith," he said softly. "I'll have a security detail stationed at this door by morning. My father owes me a favor. This is how I’m cashing it in."

"Henry..."

"Don't," he snapped, the mask sliding back into place. "Don't thank me. I still hate you, Meredith. You’re loud, you’re stubborn, and you ruined my favorite blazer."

But as he walked out the door, he stopped. He didn't look back, but his voice was thick with something she couldn't identify.

"But I hate him more."