Page 77 of The One I Hate
“Yes,
I fucking do!”
“Are you sure? Because you’re not going to like what I have to say.”
“Try me.”
“Okay,” he says, pulling out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding evidence to prove my innocence,” he says. After a few more scrolls, he holds up a picture to me. “Is this her?”
It’s a blast from the past as I stare into the eyes of the woman who sent me into the lowest point of my life. But there she is. Older in this picture, but still just as beautiful. She’s standing next to Simon, but they aren’t alone. It’s her, Simon, two people who are old enough to be Simon’s parents, and three other women.
Oh shit…
“Was that the girl you saw?”
There’s a coldness to his voice. His gaze is hard. Then there’s the dread, shame, and growing embarrassment that’s running through me.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ve met my sister Maeve.”
My jaw drops a little as I do my best to remember that night. “Your sister?”
I watch as his jaw clenches and his face starts to flush.
“Yes,” he says, but not before letting out a frustrated breath. “She and her friends randomly came into town the day of the party.”
His words are clipped. My mind is racing, replaying everything from that day.
“She was wearing your shirt.”
“Because she forgot to pack something to sleep in.”
“She was dancing by you when I came in. I saw her.”
“Yes. On the end. Not by me. Now her friends? They were a different story. One had a big crush on me.” Simon’s voice is as loud as I’ve ever heard it. “If you remember that night, I didn’t touch any of them. I told you that. Point blank. Because there was only one girl I was interested in. And I thought after Ikissedherand told her as much, she’d have believed me. Apparently I was wrong.”
The crack in his voice at the end cuts through me.
“I—” I don’t have words as shame courses through me. “I’m sorry, Simon.”
He stands up, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t say anything. He just hangs his head as he starts slowly walking to the door.
“Simon!” I follow him to the door. “Please say something.”
He stops, but doesn’t make eye contact with me. “No.”
“No?”
He turns around and when he finally looks up, I see a tear well in his eye.
The tear I put there.
“If I stay here another minute, I’m going to say something I can’t take back.” His voice is low, and I can tell he’s doing his best to keep it steady. “I’m going to leave before I do or say something I’ll regret.”
