Dare You to Hate Me B. Celeste (best motivational books TXT) 📖

My blood boils from the thought alone, and simmers when she quickly says, “Jesus, Aiden. Never. They just always fought and said…things. Some people are better off not being parents, that’s all.”

Nostrils flaring, I give her a few short nods before rolling my shoulders back. “Needed to be sure.”

She’s quiet, refusing to look at me.

I quietly add, “I’m glad the assholes decided to be parents, even if they sucked at it.”

She doesn’t get a response in before I’m walking back up the stairs. Instead of returning the key to its spot, I slide it into my coat pocket and notice a few girls in the kitchen watching me from where they’re pulling food from the fridge.

Turning to the taller one, I ask, “Where is the head of the house at?”

The brunette from earlier smirks like she knows something nobody else does and points toward the door behind me. “You’re in luck. Sydney’s alone and I’m sure she’d love seeing you again after last time.”

I say nothing and knock on the door.

When it opens, I slip in wordlessly until the door clicks shut behind me.

Chapter Ten

Ivy

A week of an all-liquid diet and as much sleep as possible left me fifteen pounds lighter. I barely left my room until the cold meds a football player left me helped fight off the virus.

In and out of my fever dreams, I vaguely recall Raine and Caleb checking on me. But it was Aiden who I’d wake up to sitting in a chair someone brought down for him, reading a textbook, jotting down something in a notebook, or sometimes forcing water and medicine down my throat despite my protests. Sometimes, I’d feel his eyes on me and refuse to acknowledge his presence, choosing to sleep off the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach every time he was around. It never stopped him from sitting me up, making me eat and drink, or washing off my sweaty skin with a cold washcloth until the fever broke.

And when I finally came to and found myself alone, in clean, dry clothes that were too big to be mine, I found a note beside my table with scratchy handwriting I know is Aiden’s that simply said Raine helped change you so don’t think I copped a feel. Unblocked my number in your phone. Text me when you’re awake.

I could block his number again and ignore his request, but as I push myself out of the lumpy bed that’s been my prison for the past week and examine the Dragons football sweatshirt twice the size of me and pair of rolled up gray sweatpants on my body, I know I have to be better. Not for me, but for the person who’s clearly never given up on me when he should have a long time ago.

I want to be your friend.

Aiden didn’t have to spend his spare time taking care of someone like me, but he’ll always be the little boy who took me by the shoulders after my mother said something hurtful and told me, “Out of your head, Underwood.” The first time I heard those words, I stared at him with glassy eyes until he’d added, “This is where you say, ‘head in the game.’”

To this day, he doesn’t want me being trapped alone in my thoughts, replaying old fights or moments that would lead me twisted in his spare blankets or bedding instead of the ugly pink ones I grew out of when I was twelve. Because now I don’t have that escape—I won’t let myself.

Pulling up his name he clearly programmed into my phone while I was out of commission, I type out a quick message before forcing myself up the stairs with clothes that actually fit and head for the shower.

When I’m done drying off and combing my hair, I notice the blinking light in the corner of my phone when I glance down at the counter it rests on.

Aiden: You’re welcome

The whispers at the house get worse each time I find myself coming and going. Some of the girls who would barely pay me a second look now stare a little too hard like they’re trying to figure something out, and the itchy feeling under my skin builds from the unwanted attention.

Sydney has been even worse to me since I recovered because of Remi’s wandering gaze and Aiden’s daily cameos to make sure I’m still alive. Her glares are more obvious after the tight end leaves, and her comments are like whips against my skin whenever Remi tries making conversation with me.

They may only be words, nothing that can do any permanent damage, but even cat scratches hurt like a bitch for a few days before they fade.

Their words wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t overheard Sydney talking to a few girls when I was dragging myself to the kitchen for juice that Aiden bought for me. Normally I tune out their gossip, but as soon as the tight end’s name was mentioned I couldn’t help but eavesdrop from behind the basement door. When I heard Paris Hilton 2.0 mention her candid history with my childhood friend, something heavy dipped in the pit of my stomach. But that feeling spread to my chest and vice gripped my heart when I heard the other girls asking what happened when Aiden slipped into Sydney’s room the other day.

I have no reason to be jealous over what, or who, he chooses to do. I’ve been far from celibate over the years, taking what I want since moving in because I can and not because I’m obligated to, so there’s no reason for me to feel betrayed that Aiden gets some too. Even if it’s from the girl whose done everything to beat me down with her lackluster opinions and dirty looks.

Swallowing down the little green monster, I grip my bag a little tighter as I walk through campus. The brisk air is exactly what I