Page 520 of Hate Mates

I don’t want to fight with anyone else today. Maybe even never again.

But it makes me angry and sad to know that my room isn’t my own anymore since I found someone inside of it. Eventhough I don’t know what he was doing in there, or who he was, I have to make sure that no one can ever go in there again.

Not without my permission.

Not without me being in there.

Not before I have a chance to hide the things that I shouldn’t even have.

I usemy fork to mash my waffles, not feeling very hungry today. Once they’re nothing more than a pile of mush, I begin to push them around the plate. I never really did like waffles, though I’ve never complained about it either.

Having to make a different meal for just one of us isn’t something that I think is very fair, so I’ve always eaten them and kept my mouth quiet.

Today, though, I refuse to pretend.

Enya would have traded me for whatever she had on her plate for the extra waffles,I think sadly. Reaching for one of the small syrup cups, I peel back the plastic cover, then begin to pour it all over the pile on my plate. I reach for another one and do the same thing, over and over, until I’ve managed to saturate the mess in syrup, then push my plate away and lean back in my seat.

“Hey.”

I close my eyes tightly for a moment, my hands gripping the sides of my seat. My hands hurt, and I know that my knuckles must be white from the strain. I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from reacting the way I want and choose to pretend instead.

Just this once.

“Hi, Harlan.”

“Can I sit with you?”

Opening my eyes, I look up into his, and I’m almost startled.

He doesn’t have the usual smug look on his face. His eyes show no signs of tease to them. He looks stoic, uncomfortable, and a little uneasy.

I nod as I reach for my plate and push it to the side so he can lay out his spread.

“Thanks,” he says quietly as he sits, then reaches for his plastic cup of orange juice.

We sit in silence for a few moments as he sips his juice. I push a strand of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear before I cross my arms loosely over my chest.

“Are you okay?” I ask him quietly.

Harlan looks at me over the rim of his cup, his eyes becoming stern in their gaze. He sets it down and picks up a fork, tapping it against his plate.

“No one’s ever asked me that before,” he finally admits in a stoic tone.

“What?” I ask him curiously.

“If I’m okay.”

I blanche, suddenly feeling like the same busybody that was in my room earlier, and do my best to keep a plain look on my face.

“Oh.”

He chuckles as he tears his eyes away from mine, glances around the room, then blows out his breath as he begins to break off a piece of his waffle.

“I’ll be alright.”

Liar.

Chapter Six

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