Page 51 of Hate That Blooms
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, the emotional exhaustion of the last few hours threatening to pull me under. He’s still calling me, texting me, not doing the one thing I told him to do.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to face him. But the pounding continues, each hit against the door feeling like it’s hammering into my chest.
Fuck it.
I yank the door open before he can knock again, and there he is, standing on the other side of the threshold, looking like a mess. His curly hair is disheveled, his black shirt wrinkled, and his eyes bloodshot like he’s been drinking himself stupid. He’s got that same damn look on his face—the one that makes me want to both kiss him and punch him all at once. But right now, all I feel is rage bubbling under the surface.
“Joaquin,” I bite out, my voice strained and sharp. “What the hell do you want?”
He stands there, not saying a word at first. He’s just staring at me, looking almost lost, like he doesn’t know how to begin. I can’t stand it.How dare he show up here after what he did to me?I fold my arms over my chest, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“I came to talk,” he finally says, his words coming out low, almost hesitant. “I know I messed up in the beginning. I should have never taken what our parents did out on you. I know I?—”
“Stop,” I cut him off, shaking my head. My voice cracks as the frustration seeps in. “You think you can just show up here after everything you’ve done to talk? Like that’s supposed to make me forget what you did to me in the driveway? Like that’s supposed to make everything okay?”
I want to shut the door in his face. I really do. But he steps forward, just enough to stop it from closing, and the look on his face makes me hesitate. His eyes are pleading, desperate. And God help me—I still care.
I shouldn’t, but I fucking do.
“The fuck are you talking about?” He says, his voice soft now, almost pleading. “I’ve been sitting at the beach for hours, fucking going over every moment—to fix what I’ve done. This is the first time I’ve been to your house tonight.”
I scoff, taking a step back—the door still cracked open. “You’re telling me you didn’t follow me home, drag me out of my car and fuck me in the driveway?” I shake my head again, feeling my anger simmering, but there’s something else there too—something deeper. “I gave you everything, and you just took more from me. You didn’t just hurt me, Quín. You fucking destroyed me. You played me once as the hurt bad boy who, if I didn’t want you so fucking much, would have raped me in that lecture hall. Then, after I told you we couldn’t be together until you fixed yourself, you raped me in my driveway. Fuck you, Joaquín.”
He winces, as if my words cut him deep, but I don’t care. I want him to feel it. He should feel every ounce of the pain he’s caused me. Every moment of doubt and heartbreak.
“That wasn’t me. Why the fuck would I do that? I just had you—consensually, I wouldn’t rape you, Gabriela. For fuck’s sake, how could you ever think that? Your sister could have seen and I would never do anything to hurt her, and something like that would have scarred her for life. I swear to God it wasn’t me.” Joaquin says quietly, almost like he’s trying to explain himself, but his voice is shaking. “You have to believe me. Look,” pulling his pants down, he still has my blood on his shaft and up his lower abdomen. “That wouldn’t still be on me if I had fucked you again.”
The sincerity in his words hits me harder than I expected. The proof is right in front of me. I want to believe him. I want to believe that he wasn’t the one who hurt me, but then that would mean someone else did, and that scares me even more. But my heart, battered and bruised from everything we’ve been through, doesn’t know how to differentiate between his truth and lies anymore. I’m tired of the games. I’m tired of the uncertainty. And I’m tired ofwaitingfor him to choose me.
“I need you to leave,” I finally say, voice low, breaking just a little. “I need you to work through your shit. That’s what I need.”
I turn away, walking back into the hallway, not wanting him to see the cracks in my armor, but he follows me inside. He’s still not giving up, and damn it, part of me wants to give in.
“Please,” he whispers from behind me, and it’s like everything I’ve been holding back breaks all over again. “I need you, Gabriela. I know I hurt you, but I want to work through it. Together.”
I stop in my tracks, my back to him, fighting the urge to turn around and face him.
God, I hate that I still want him.
But I can’t. Not yet. Not when I’m still so fucking lost in the aftermath of everything he put me through.
I exhale sharply, trying to steady myself. “I can’t be the one to fix you, Joaquin. You have to fix yourself first. I can’t keep being the scapegoat for your emotions. You don’t do that to someone you care about.”
I turn then, finally looking him in the eyes. There’s a flicker of hope in them, but there’s also pain. But it’s not enough. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice hoarse, his shoulders sagging as if the apology is all he can offer. He takes a step back, but not before giving me one last look that feels like a plea. “I just want a chance to prove I can do better.”
I close my eyes, trying to hold it together. “You’re going to have to do a lot more than that, Joaquin.” I place my hand on his chest and push him out the door. I shut the door, the finality of the click echoing in my ears. My chest aches with the weight of it, but I know it’s the right thing. It has to be.
If he loves me, he will do what needs to be done.
“I’m going to find who hurt you,Reina.” He says through the door. I press my body against the door, imagining that he is doing the same. “And then I’m going to kill him. For touching what’s mine and making you think I would ever hurt you like that. ”
I push off the door and walk back down the hall, my feet dragging with the exhaustion I can’t escape. As I reach the bedroom, I sit on the edge of the bed and glance at the clock. The day is just starting, but for the first time in a while, I feel like I’ve made the right decision.
But the truth is, I don’t know if he’ll ever truly change. I don’t know if I can ever fully trust him again.
And that hurts more than anything.
