Page 19 of Hate To Love You

“Alright. Let’s start with your view on the story, even though it’s probably wrong,” the red in her cheeks grows brighter at my comment. Her eyes narrow into tiny slits as she stares at me with annoyance.

“Fine. I believe it’s a haunting tale of love and loss, with themes of passion, and revenge. Catherine and Heathcliff embody a tragic love story that eclipsed time and the societal norms of the time period.”

I roll my eyes. “Figured.”

Her head tilts slightly and the look on her face tells me she’s not happy with my response.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, watching the way her shoulders rise and fall to the beat of her breathing.

“Just that I figured you’d see it like that,” I shrug.

“And how do you see it?” Gwen asks, crossing her tiny arms over chest, attempting to look intimidating.

“I think it’s a dark and twisted story with toxic relationships and destructive behavior. Heathcliff and Catherine’s actions throughout the novel were all driven by selfishness and cruelty. They show the worst parts of what it means to be human. It’s not romanticized. There is no real love. It’s pure manipulation. Plain and simple,” Gwen’s narrowed gaze never leaves mine.

“Well, I find the raw emotion and deep intensity of Heathcliff’s love compelling,” her arms move from her chest as she folds them in front of her on the table. “Their love defies the societal expectations of their time.”

“At what cost?” I ask. “Heathcliff’s obsession borders on possessiveness, and Catherine’s choices throughout prove to be selfish rather than genuine,” I challenge.

“You would see it that way. You’re such a pessimist. Were you not loved enough as a child? Did mommy and daddy not give you enough attention, so your outlook on love is tainted?” she questions.

I clench my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to lash out at her comment. She has no fucking clue what I’ve been through, no fucking idea what it was like for me growing up with a father who never thought I was good enough. Who never thought I was worthy of his love.

She probably grew up with a family that loved her. That supported her in everything she did. That loved her despite any mistakes she might have made. She knows nothing.

Taking a deep breath, I unclench my fists and lean in closer to Gwen’s face. She backs up slightly, likely not expecting me to get in her face. I can see her pupils dilate, and the small freckle on the tip of her nose. I can smell her, the flowery scent of her shampoo and perfume.

“You shouldn’t make assumptions about people’s lives, Gwen,” I say softly so only she can hear.

She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. She just stares at me.

I push my chair back and gather my things, shoving them into my bag and tossing it over my shoulder as Gwen watches me in surprise.

“We’re done here.”

I walk out of the library, the tension in my body palpable, leaving Gwen sitting alone.

Chapter 13

Guinevere

Well, that went about as well as I thought it would.

This arrangement is never going to work. Ryker is unbearable at best. I am never going to last. We’re surely going to kill each other. His views on the novel are so jaded, and I don’t foresee them changing. I mean, twisted? Toxic? Are you kidding me?

Clearly, he’s projecting his own personality into the story. Has he even actually read the book? If he had, he wouldn’t see this story as anything other than a classic romance.

Maybe I took it took far with my comment about his family. That probably was a bit unnecessary, but I couldn’t help it. It’s like I can’t control what comes out of my mouth when I’m around him.

He’s right. I don’t know him; I don’t know what his family is like or how he grew up. I just assumed because of his rich boy attitude and contemptuous outlook that he must have some deep, dark secret that’s made him the way he is.

The way his face twisted when I said what I did, the way his muscles tensed and his breathing changed, the way he got so close to my face and the threat in his voice when he told me not to make assumptions about his life. I clearly struck a nerve, even though I was only saying it to piss him off a bit.

I definitely didn’t think he would get up and leave. He didn’t leave the last time I accused him of being cynical. I didn’t mean to hurt him, even though I can’t stand him. I’m not a mean person. I never have been, and I don’t want to be. I care about people and their feelings. But I will not let people walk all over me, I refuse.

I decide to sit in the library a bit longer, rereading “Wuthering Heights”, trying to see things from Ryker’s perspective. Trying to see where he’s coming from. I read the book so long ago, maybe I’m seeing it wrong. Maybe my perspective is the one that’s jaded.

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