When The Bad Boy Hates You

Chapter 19

I was beginning to think that I was an English cockroach. Blake didn't want me anywhere near him and he seemed genuinely annoyed at my existence. He hasn't spoken to me for four weeks. Not a word, not even a hello or a can you stop eating my chocolates when I ate his chocolates and it was scaring me. He was scaring me. Ever since the night of the party when Cameron attacked me Blake had closed off. I was worried about him.

After Blake rode off on his motorbike the night of the party he only arrived home again that following night. My mother and I were calling him frantically all day trying to figure out where he was, I was sick with worry. Especially after seeing his broken face following what he did to Cameron. When he arrived back home again that following night I was so blind with worry that hugged him, embracing him tightly. 

But my heart broke when he didn't hug me back and pushed me away like I was disgusting to him, like a clingy cockroach. The hurt that washed through me in that moment was like nothing I had felt before, rejection. I could see the regret in his eyes, he was disgusted by me and regretted kissing me. I refused to speak to him after that or start a conversation and he hasn't said a word to me.

Blake had pushed me away again and he hurt me so badly that I didn't try to make amends to our relationship due to the fact that I scared. I was scared he would push me away again, he had the ability to hurt me more than anyone else.

In the month that had passed everything had changed dramatically. After Blake had returned home that night after a day of being missing my mother had placed a curfew onto Blake's schedule which meant he had to be home by eight each night. 

My mother had even started checking into our rooms at eight to make sure he hadn't snuck out and locked the window. Which also meant that Blake and I were spending a lot of time in close quarters together. With only a small sheet to separate our rooms I pretty much knew Blake's whole schedule like he would know mine. 

As the weeks went on and my worry for Blake increased I began watching him from a distance. I watched him as he walked through my room to enter his and each day I saw how the bags under his eyes became darker and darker. I noticed that he was on his computer watching television hours into the night and knew he wasn't sleeping.

I also noticed that he went missing every Sunday night and returned at nine o'clock which was well after his curfew hours, so I realised that he must have struck a deal with my mother if he was allowed to return at that time. When I ambushed my mother about this she gave me a brushed off answer. 

I also noticed that he loved wearing long sleeved shirts even with the weather warming up. There was one time at the dinner table when he was picking at his food as he hasn't been eating he pulled his sleeves up marginally without thinking and what I saw there made my heart crush and bleed, new cut marks.

He saw me staring and panic entered his eyes and he ripped his shirt down. That was the day that I placed my bible back onto the dresser next to his bed and left a note telling him all the versus I wanted him to read, the ones I picked out especially for him, those in which I thought would help him. I did notice that a few days later the bible had moved from one side of his dresser to the other which meant that he was reading it. That helped my broken chest and helped me breathe easier, maybe I could do something to help.

He still sat next to me in all our classes together and warded off anyone who tried to hurt me or bully me.

So, I easily noticed when he started looking out of the windows in class and would get in trouble often from the teachers from not doing his homework. And the thing that killed me the most was that I couldn't do anything about it. He wouldn't let me.

The worry that has been eating me alive for the last month was now biting at my heart as I watched Blake with Dean and Liam smoking out the back of the school in the orphanage gardens. His clothes hung off him where he used to have muscle. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with bruises which made me think what he was smoking was not cigarettes. I wrung my hands into my school shirt as I watched him with my eyebrows pinched together from behind the cafeteria wall.