Dare You to Hate Me by B. Celeste (classic fiction .txt) 📕

Ivy. And that’s all you are.’ And that wasn’t the first time she’d indicated I was the chaos in her life. She’d said it when I was little and would do something stupid like draw on the walls or accidently knock something over when I was playing. She’d be upset with Dad and say things to me that I remember to this day.”

When she sees my face, she frowns but manages to reason with me. “The thing is, I sort of get it. When our emotions run high, we say things we don’t mean. I like to be by myself when I’m upset because I’ve seen firsthand what our emotions can do to us if we’re not careful.

“Either way, it started feeling like I was the chaos she said I was, even if all I wanted was for everyone to get along. I stopped remembering what it felt like to hear them talking instead of fighting. I wasn’t able to remember when Dad would come home. Sometimes he’d just be there, and the only reason I’d know is because they’d find something to argue about. He avoided her when she’d suggest selling the store, she’d get upset when he ignored her, I’d fail at making it better, and it’d start all over another day. It’s why I don’t like being called Chaos. I tried making a joke out of it, like I could embrace what I was, but it stopped being funny when I realized Mom might be right.”

Even though I shake my head in disagreement, there aren’t words to tell her that isn’t true. She’ll always believe her version of things, and nobody will convince her otherwise.

I remember Mom and Dad coming back home after I told them Ivy ran away. Mom’s eyes were red, but she tried hiding them from me, and Dad patted my back and shook his head when Mom disappeared into their room as if to tell me to leave her alone. When he went in after her, I heard them talking, Mom’s wavering voice asking Dad, “How can they just send her away, John? She has a life and friends here and they act like they don’t care.”

I never understood what they meant. Ivy told me she was getting on a bus and finding something better for herself.

Come with me.

Three words that haunt me still.

But not as much as the two I replied with.

I can’t.

“I’m always going to be screwed up because of the decisions I made, Aiden. There’s no getting rid of what I’ve done. There’s no forgetting the nightmares I wake up from, or the memories I get trapped in. The feelings deep inside me are engraved in my soul. I’ll never fully be better. This is…it’s a lifetime of battles ahead of me, and I don’t want to make anyone suffer by watching me figure out if I want to live or die when it all becomes too much. Even if I never want to remember my choices, I don’t necessarily regret them because I wouldn’t be who I am today if I didn’t experience what I did. Does that mean I’m proud of succumbing to my weakness? To my thoughts? No. But I have to remind myself that I want to live more than I want to die—that I have reasons to now when I didn’t before.”

Clicking my tongue, I rub the back of my neck and heft out a sigh. “Damn, Ivy. That’s… You make it hard to be pissed at you.”

When I glance back at her, she’s trying not to grin, and I’m glad the thick tension has dissipated slightly. “You used to tell me that all the time.”

I grumble, “Some shit never changes.”

Unwinding her legs, she stretches them out beside mine. “About the game this weekend… If I wanted to attend, who do I need to blow to get a ride?”

My face shadows over. “Not funny.”

She cracks a grin. “I think so.” Before I counter her, she’s moving forward and tracing the elastic waistband of my basketball shorts with one of her fingers. “I find myself free and interested in seeing how bad these Raiders are compared to the Dragons now that we have you. I’m sure they’ll be kicking themselves for letting you go.”

All it takes is her pulling down my shorts and blowing on the tip of my engorged cock for me to groan, “I’ll drive us.”

And the only response I get back is her lips wrapping around me until words no longer matter.

The cloud of flour comes out of nowhere as I’m stirring the dough, pausing to blink at the mess covering me. “Did you just…?”

I look over at Aiden—who’s sporting the I love to rub my meat apron that DJ got him after he, Caleb, and Justin all saw their tight end helping me cook dinner—and see an unconvincing look of innocence on his face.

When he asked where I was going earlier, I told him I wanted to make some cookies. It was a way to procrastinate from doing homework, which still sits untouched in my backpack on the couch downstairs. I didn’t think he’d follow, much less tie the apron around himself, but he’s been letting me guide him through the recipe like his mom used to do for me.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” I tell him, fighting a smile when I put the bowl down and wipe off the flour remnants from my shirt. It’s impossible to look clean considering it’s pure black with a mostly faded logo on it from some old soda corporation. It was a cheap thrift store find, already broken in with holes, so I guess a little flour won’t kill it.

“We’ll make DJ do it.”

From the other room where said boy is studying with a few of the guys for some sports class they take together, we hear, “No, you won’t, Betty Crocker.”

I laugh and return back to the thick dough, pulling some out with the spoon and grinning at Aiden. “Remember when we