He Hates Me In Real Life

chapter 4

The evening air felt heavier than usual after a day spent brooding in my room. I had barely touched the half-eaten bag of chips Iris had thrown at me the night before. My body felt tired in a way that sleep hadn’t fixed. I pulled on a pair of dark jeans that hugged my hips and a simple black crop top that showed a thin strip of skin above the waistband. Over it I threw a light denim jacket. My long hair was shoved under a plain black face cap pulled low enough to hide most of my expression. The permanent scowl I had been wearing since last night sat comfortably underneath the brim. Emotional support, I told myself. The hat was for emotional support.

I stood in the bright lobby of the local multiplex, arms crossed, waiting for Iris. The smell of popcorn and melted butter filled the air. People streamed past me in clusters—couples, groups of friends, families with sticky-fingered kids. I kept my eyes on the entrance.

Iris appeared a few minutes later carrying two takeout boxes stacked in her hands. She took one look at me and her blue eyes narrowed.

“Stop brooding,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“You are. Just had a bad day?”

“A bad day which requires you carrying a permanent scowl on your face hidden under a face cap?”

“It’s for emotional support.”

“Emotional support doesn’t need hats, Quinn.”

I remained silent. She sighed and shifted the boxes to one arm.

Then she started asking questions about my brother. How was Aiden doing. Had he mentioned anything about the new semester. Was he still living with that roommate.

I cut her off with a look of absolute menace.

“Are you sick? Crushing on a lunatic like my brother?”

She made a sound like a wounded mosquito. “Who said I was crushing on him, huh? Can’t I ask questions about a schoolmate?”

“Ask about anyone else but that i***t. He’s not your type.”

I clicked my tongue for emphasis.

Iris lifted her chin. “Who says he’s not my type? And besides, who wouldn’t fall for a face like that. Sometimes I wonder what part of the genes you inherited.”

I stared at her in bewilderment before a short laugh escaped me. Before I could say another word she was already sprinting toward the sidewalk, takeout boxes balanced precariously.

“Wipe that scowl off your face and be home early!” she yelled over her shoulder.

I smiled in spite of myself. That was Iris.

I turned back toward the concession stand to buy my own ticket and popcorn, still half-smiling—

And then I saw him.

Dorian stood near the counter holding a massive tub of popcorn. A beautiful brunette stood close beside him. She wore a soft cream dress and carried a designer purse that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Dorian held the purse carefully in his free hand like it was something precious. He looked attentive. Polite. Perfect. His tall, lean figure carried that same mask of absolute royalty he always wore in public.

But he was with another girl.

I saw red again.

Why was he everywhere all of a sudden?

I ducked slightly behind a pillar, heart slamming against my ribs. The brunette laughed at something he said. He tilted his head to listen, expression soft in a way I had only ever seen through a glowing screen at 1 a.m. A minute later she excused herself toward the restrooms. Dorian nodded and moved to stand dutifully near the corridor, still holding her purse and the popcorn, waiting like a loyal guard.

My eyes burned. Hot tears threatened to spill over. I had never experienced this version of him. I only ever got him through a phone—words and empty promises in the dark. Seeing him like this, solid and real and attentive for someone else, made my stomach twist. I suddenly wanted to call my brother to come pick me up because the sight of Dorian standing there made me nauseous.

Just as I was about to reach for my phone, he turned around.

He spotted me.

His brow instantly furrowed. The polite expression he had worn for the brunette morphed into pure, unadulterated disgust.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low and sharp. “Are you following me?”

I flinched at the harshness of his tone, but I refused to let him get to me. I sniffled once, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.

“Do you own this theatre? Am I not allowed to buy a ticket?”

He smirked. A cruel, mocking smirk twisted his perfect mouth. For one insane second I wanted to kiss him just to wipe that look off his face.

“Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, taking a step closer. His voice dropped even lower. “How long have you been standing there creeping on me?”

My throat closed up. I couldn’t find a single word to defend myself. How could he be so arrogant and rude? I just glared at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.

My silence only made him more arrogant.

“Struck a nerve, didn’t I? I’ve dealt with desperate, obsessive girls like you before.” He looked at me like I was something scraped off the bottom of his shoe. “I’m already taken, so do yourself a favour and drop the pathetic fantasy. Out of respect for your brother I won’t cause a scene. Now leave before I change my mind and say something more horrible to you.”

Oh my God.

The audacity of this man.

It was the second time he had called me desperate and obsessive. My entire body trembled with rage and hurt. His mouth was so incredibly venomous. I opened my mouth to tear him a new one—

Before I could make a sound, the shrill, deafening shriek of the fire alarm tore through the lobby.

Panic erupted instantly.

The crowd surged, morphing into a chaotic stampede. People shoved and shouted. Someone slammed hard into my shoulder. I lost my footing and crashed onto the carpeted floor. On pure instinct I reached a hand toward Dorian to steady myself.

His gaze swept over me—clinical, precise—and didn’t linger for even a fraction of a second. It was as if I were nothing but a smudge of dirt on the floor.

I watched as he sprinted toward the women’s restroom. The strobe lights of the fire alarm flashed violently overhead, bathing the panicked faces of the crowd in harsh, strobing red. It painted Dorian’s retreating back in a cold, unforgiving hue.

I scrabbled to get my hands under me, but before I could stand another panicked moviegoer plowed into me. This time I went down hard. My temple slammed into the sharp edge of a display stand. My vision went black for a terrifying second.

The acrid chemical smell of smoke invaded my lungs. I started to cough violently, tears streaming down my face entirely out of my control. I couldn’t see anything. I was just moving forward on my knees and hands, the carpet rough under my palms.

Through the thickening smoke I saw Dorian emerge from the hallway. He held the brunette tightly against his chest, shielding her from the crush of the crowd with his own body. He walked right past me. His stride didn’t even break.

In that moment, for the very first time, I felt the physical sensation of a heart breaking.

All those books and movies that described heartbreak as a suffocating physical agony—they weren’t lying. The girl in his arms was the one he chose to protect. So what did that make me? Just the digital distraction for his lonely nights? Just one of the dozen girls he kept in his phone to feed his ego?

The bitter tang of burnt plastic and chemical foam coated the back of my throat. All I could see were flickering red lights and the blur of people running. My head throbbed where it had hit the stand. Smoke burned my eyes. Somewhere in the chaos I heard someone shout about an exit, but the words felt far away.

I kept crawling forward on my hands and knees because standing felt impossible. Every time I tried to push myself up, another body brushed past and knocked me off balance again. The carpet scraped my palms. My crop top had ridden up. The face cap was gone—lost somewhere in the scramble.

And through it all, the image of Dorian walking past me without a second glance burned behind my eyes brighter than the strobing alarms.

He hadn’t even slowed down.

Not for me.