Page 50 of What If I Hate You
“Go away Barrett.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
I don’t answer, but I hear the door shift and I know he’s moved inside. I can feel his presence.
“What do you want?” I try to hide my sniffles but I fail miserably. “If you’re just here to rub my face in my own shit, you can kindly fuck all the way off.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” he says, his voice calm and soft. “Can you please come out here?”
A second later, I open the door and step out.
He looks at me like I’m fragile. Like he doesn’t recognize me.
Which makes sense. This version of me—the red eyes, the ruined makeup, the wrinkled clothes, the girl who feels small—this version doesn’t show up in press rooms or interviews.
This version is private.
Off limits.
His expression changes. Something flickers in his eyes, guilt or regret or something heavier. I straighten on instinct and try to wear my proverbial armor.
“What are you doing here, Barrett?”
“Looking for you.”
“For what, did you come to twist the knife a little more?”
“Jesus, no.” He lifts his hands slowly, voice soft. “I watched the interview from the locker room. Eli was a dick and I…I saw your face. I just had a feeling…”
“A feeling.”
He nods. “Yeah. You looked like you wanted to shiv the guy but also hide under a fucking rock and that’s not like you.”
I turn to the sink, yank out a paper towel, and dab at my eyes. “Go back to your teammates, Barrett. I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“You’re not,” he says, and something about the gentleness in it almost breaks me all over again. “You’re not fine, Blakely. And I’m not either.”
I freeze. Eyes on the mirror. I don’t look at him.
I can’t.
“He was a dick,” Barrett says. “No excuses. What he said? That wasn’t banter. That was him being a coward. I know because I was that guy to you in the not too distant past.”
I laugh, bitter and flat. “Right. Not too distant past. Like it wasn’t just a week or two ago.”
“Yeah.” He digs his foot into the ground. “I deserve that.”
I know I’m about to show my vulnerability in front of him, but today has been a shit day, and I’m not sure how much longer I can really stay in control, so I spill my emotions, throwing caution to the wind.
“I’m so fucking tired, Barrett.” I pound the bathroom sink. “I’m tired of every jackass in my profession making a joke at my expense. And not only that but doing it in a room full of men who already don’t think I belong there. Do you even realize how many times I’ve had to eat shit and smile through it?” My throat burns. “How many times I’ve been made to feel small in front of everyone?”
He doesn’t speak. The silence stretches between us like a fragile thread.
And then I feel him move closer. Step by step.
I tense, but he doesn’t touch me. He reaches out and gently takes the damp paper towel from my hand and tosses it in the trash. Then he just stands there. Beside me. Quiet and steady and still.
“What are you doing?” I ask him sniffling.
