Hate You Still by Lyssa Lemire

CHAPTER THREE

EMMA

It’s a beautiful day out as I walk to campus.

But instead of taking in the views of the trees fully laden with lush green leaves swaying in the late-summer breeze, or the dazzling rich blue sky, or the cute little birds fluttering from branch to branch and filling the calm air with their melody, much more sordid sights ceaselessly invade my mind.

Because with my eyes closed or open, I can hardly see anything other than the image of Knox Delton standing in front of me with his shirt off last night.

It’s not exactly how I thought our first meeting in four years would go.

Actually, I didn’t think we’d have another meeting after all these years. Or, at least I hoped we wouldn’t.

Or, at least … that’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself of since that day he stormed out of my life and left me with a broken heart.

I heard a lot of I-told-you-so’s in the days and weeks after he basically unceremoniously dumped me without a word of explanation. My parents, most of my teachers, my academic advisor, they all said from the get-go that he was no good for me.

That he was nothing but trouble.

I wanted to believe different.

After having led a mostly anonymous existence in the high school hierarchy up to that point, I was on cloud nine when the scorching-hot and uber-confident Knox Delton cast his eye on me. Me, rather than all the much more popular cheerleaders and prom queen candidates who vied for his attention.

Those months we spent together where exhilarating. He was unlike any other guy I’d ever met, unlike any other guy in the school, or in the town I grew up in.

Edgy. Sometimes – often times – reckless. Almost dangerous.

Even though he was seventeen at the time, he always had a pack of cigarettes on him. He’d even risk taking smoke breaks in the school bathrooms. He’d cut class whenever he wanted, even convincing me to go with him a couple times. We never got caught, but the relatively minor transgression was enough to feel like I was risking a premature heart attack every time.

He even had a tattoo on his shoulder, which he got at age sixteen thanks to a fake ID. A rose with a single, jagged thorn.

Yeah, he was the consummate bad boy alright. And the sheltered, goody-two-shoes girl that I was fell head over heels for him. Hard.

He was my first everything.

My first real date the evening he took me out and convinced me to sneak into a movie without paying. My first boyfriend. The first boy I ever kissed. But we never went further than that. Despite what his reputation led some to believe, he never tried to push me to go any further than I was comfortable with.

And the attraction was more than superficial.

Beyond his strikingly handsome face, with its sharp angles and hard features, his penetrating and dazzlingly green eyes, his thick hair with its romantic messiness, the kind of hairstyle that a team of stylists would work hours to create for the make-believe bad boy on a Netflix high school drama, but which he rolled out of bed with effortlessly … there was something deeper.

Something stormy beneath the surface. A turbulent past that explained his rough edges. I knew he lived with a foster family, and I knew that he had lived with many others over the past several years, never able to stay in one place for too long before being shipped off to the next temporary home.

He never went into much detail about his experiences, but I was able to gather that some of the places, some of the families, he’d had to stay with were worse than others. Some, much worse, especially when he was younger.

Beneath it all, there also lurked a kindness. More than once he stood up for kids at school who were bullied, despite giving the superficial impression to many who only judged books by their covers that he was a bully himself.

“Hey, watch it!” A guy in front of me snaps at me when I walk into him, nearly pushing him off the curb where he’s stopped to wait for a car to pass.

I apologize, realizing I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I’d tuned out my surroundings.

I should actually be thankful for the annoyed guy I bumped into, if he weren’t there I’d probably have just wandered mindlessly into the street, and then my jumble of conflicting feelings about Knox Delton would be the least of my worries.

I find a bench to sit down on to try and collect my thoughts.

We’re both starting our third year here at Alton University. It goes without saying, I knew he was here from the beginning.

Why would that go without saying? Because everyone on campus has known that Knox Delton is here, from day one.

He came in as one of the top high school tight end prospects for our football team, the Alton Eagles. He had just started getting into football back when we were dating during junior year of high school. He was an incredible talent. I don’t know much about the game, but I knew how the coaches and other players talked about him.

And I knew that once he started playing, we went from a pathetic excuse for a team to a string of victories against our toughest opponents, all on his back.

Apparently he’d only gotten better over the course of his senior year, because he was a highly sought-after prospect, the best college football programs in the country all vying for him.

And of all places, he ended up at Alton, without my knowing it until I got here and, after the first game during my freshman year, his name was the only thing I heard around campus the next day. Alton has some of the best college players in the country, first-round draft pick material, but people were saying that the rookie prospect Knox Delton was the most impressive with his sheer, raw physical talent.

I still remember how my heart stopped when I first heard the name, the name that I thought had long since sunk into the recesses of my past. It was the day after the first game of the season, while waiting in line for my morning coffee at the campus café.

And ever since then, his name on campus has only grown in notoriety. And not just because of his play on the field.

If anything, his off-field exploits are even more well-known. If he was a “bad boy” in high school, he’s practically a 1970’s rock star in college. A self-destructive party animal, a delinquent. He’s doing a lot more than taking cigarettes breaks in the bathroom or cutting class to sneak into a movie theater.

Just a short list of his more notable recent exploits includes streaking across campus in broad daylight, sneaking into the local zoo to make an Instagram post of himself next to a sleeping lion, breaking into the campus pool with a whole sorority to skinny-dip after hours.

I could go on. And on.

Oh, and, of course, having wild, non-stop parties that keep the entire block from getting any sleep every single night.

I guess I should have expected it would be him next door, just from the sheer scale of the debauchery. But I didn’t want to admit that possibility.

Because now that I know that none other than Knox Delton is living right next to me, and will be for the rest of the year, my entire world feels off-kilter.

If it were anyone else other than Knox responsible for such disruptions so regularly, I could hope for the Alton administration, or at least the local police, putting a stop to it. But, unfortunately for me, his skills as a player have only grown since he started last year.

He’s a phenom. The consensus best tight end in college football. If not the most technically sound, then surely the one with the most raw talent and physical intensity. Even though Alton is a highly ranked school for its academics, it’s infected with a bad case of football-mania. The Alton Eagles are like a religion on campus, and in the town as well.

If Knox Delton acts like his skills on the field make him untouchable, it’s because they do.

And with my student teaching assignment at the local middle school starting next week, I don’t know how I’m going to survive this semester if the insanity next door doesn’t abate.

Everyone says that your first student teaching assignment is stressful and exhausting, even in the easier schools. And, from what I’ve heard, the school I’ve been assigned to is very much not one of the easier schools.

My phone rumbles in my pocket. I see it’s my mom calling.

“Hi, Mom,” I answer.

“Hi, sweetie. How’s your semester going?”

Instead of taking the thirty minutes it would require to answer that question honestly – knowing that it’s already past time for me to hurry to my first class before I’m late – I fib and give her the biggest, most bullshit euphemism I’ve ever uttered as an answer, “Oh, not too bad.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” she answers, her voice trailing off as if she’s about to turn the conversation toward the subject she actually called to discuss. A subject I’m pretty sure I can guess at. “So, have you heard from your brother lately?”

I let out a silent sigh and my chest sinks with a familiar sadness. “No, I haven’t. Why? Have you?”

My brother, Kyle.

My older brother who I grew up looking up to, practically idolizing, has been battling addiction for the last two years. The change was gradual, then all at once. Now, we can go months without hearing from him. The last time I saw him was four months ago, when he begged me for money.

Even though I knew that giving him what he asked for wouldn’t help him, that in fact it would do the opposite, I gave in.

“I got a call from him early this morning, around one a.m. I didn’t see it until I woke up this morning, and he didn’t leave a voicemail, or send me a message. I tried calling and texting, but he hasn’t responded.”

I feel a pang of worry in my chest. All the bad things that could be happening, the things that I, my mom, and my dad worry about constantly, play through my head. I can’t help but feel guilty about the money I gave him every time I start thinking about those possibilities. I only made it easier for him to continue the lifestyle that only has one ending for him unless he’s able to overcome his addiction.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I lie to reassure her as I get up from the bench, realizing I need to speed-walk to make it to class in time.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. It’s just hard not to worry.”

“I know, Mom. You know it’s not your fault, right?” Something I always remind her or Dad of every time we talk about Kyle. Something that’s one-hundred-percent true – but, also, something I know both of them have a lot of trouble believing.

I have a lot of trouble believing it’s not partly my fault, too. Even though I know it isn’t. There’s no reason for any of us to feel any guilt. But it’s hard not to, when you can’t find a way to help someone you love no matter how hard or how often you try.

“I know, honey,” she answers, the same doubt in her voice that’s always there when she says it. “I’ll let you get to class. Love you.”

“Love you, too, mom,” I answer before ending the call.

My brother. Student teaching. And Knox Delton as my next-door neighbor. Is junior year of college really supposed to be this hard?