Hate Me

After a shocking experience in his past, sixteen year old Christian Rothschild is left with twin babies: Clarice and Jacob - their mother Amber long out of the picture. Twenty-six year old art teacher Alex Archer is a divorcee left alone with his four year old Elijah. His life has long since been happy.
What happens when these two meet at a single parent's club? And even more, what happens with Christian goes home with Alex?
Can Alex get over his homophobia, and keep afloat with all he's got on his plate? And can Christian keep their relationship secret, when he is on the rise to fame?

4Likes
1Comments
1240Views
AA

16. Christian

I lay back in Alex’s bed as he sat up, and hooked his legs over the edge of the bed. He picked up his shirt. I looked at him. “Alex?” I mumbled, and he looked away, pulling his shirt on. I sat up. and leaned on my knees. “Does your back hurt? It tends to after-”

“Get out.” He said firmly. I clenched my knees.

“W-what?” I stammered.

“Put your clothes on, and get out of my house.” He repeated. I reached out of bed and retrieved my underwear off the floor. “Alex – what’s wrong?” My voice cracked a bit. He quickly turned around, and glared at me. He stood up, picking up his trousers. “What’s wrong?” He hissed, and I jumped a bit. “You’re a man – not even a man, a kid. It’s wrong – it’s disgusting, and it never happened.” He told me. I stood up from his bed and pulled my trousers on. I was fuming as he stormed out of the room. He’d fucked me and left me – just like that. I couldn’t find my shirt in the room – I remembered losing it in the living room. Reluctantly, I wandered out of the bedroom. There was a child’s room at the end of the hall: Elijah’s room. Curiosity got the better of me, and I poked my head through the open door. It was blue themed. Story books and dinosaur toys lined the shelves, and a painting hung on the wall – painted by Alex, presumably. The room felt…lonely. For how young Elijah was, the room had no happy feel to it. It was clean and practical.

I went back down the stairs, and found Alex sitting on the sofa drinking coffee. He looked up at me, his eyes drawn to my chest. “You have a lot of scars.” He commented.  I rolled my eyes.

“That tends to happen when you’re kept in an underground prison for four years of your life and tortured. People don’t really abduct someone and keep them like that because they want friends.” I snapped. He paused, scraping his fingers along his coffee mug. “Do you mind talking about it?” he asked. I shrugged, “I’ve gone through it enough times. I think I’ve detached myself from it all.” I explained, because I had.  It didn’t bother me talking about it to someone else. “Most of it, anyway.” I added. He cleared his throat, “your shirts…there,” he said, and I scooped it up, sliding it on as quickly as possible. “And your coat’s in the kitchen.” He sounded sullen. I went to get it, doing up the buttons on my pea coat as quickly as I could, shoving my hands in my pockets. I passed him in the lounge. “Stop.” He said. And I did. “Aren’t you angry?” Alex asked me. I sighed, letting my shoulders drop. “Because you fucked me and then left me? Oh, of course I am.” He flinched when I mentioned our sexual encounter. I squared my jaw. “Are you upset that we did it?” I asked him, leaning closer to him. He sighed, and looked away. “It was wrong. What happened – what we did – it wasn’t right. Two men aren’t supposed to…” I laughed in disbelief.

“You wanker. You absolute prick.” I murmured. “Fine. Whatever. You weren’t that great, anyway.” I spat, and he flinched; I regretted it immediately. But I just turned on my heals, and stormed towards his front door, slamming it behind me.

I wandered down the streets, hungry, cold, and hurt. Yeah, it hurt. After everything he said to me earlier. After letting me do that….

It was evening, and I was tired. But I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to talk to someone about it. The one person I could trust. Cathleen. It was a fifteen minute walk from Alex’s house. I walked up her drive and up her front steps to knock on the door. She opened it a few moments later, her long hair in braids. She wore a collared floral dress, tights and a cardigan. Behind her, Ruan stood, his curly hair tied back in a ponytail, a biro pen dangling loosely from his lips. My eyes widened. “Oh…I didn’t realise…I’ll just go.” I murmured, and Cathy’s slender hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

“No. You walked all the way here. I hope you weren’t going to leave on account of Dobby.” She asked. I looked at her. She had concern in her face. I sighed, and stepped inside her home.

I took off my coat and shoes, leaving them behind in the hall. I sat down on the settee, noting the large amount of paper on the floor. “What were you guys doing?” I asked absently. Ruan took a seat on the floor, sitting cross-legged, drumming on his leg with the pen. He wore a loose Lord of the Rings shirt and jeans. He just wore whatever, and I liked that about Ruan. His complete lack of care for his appearance was comforting. “We were being creative. You know how us art students are.” He explained, smiling. Cathy frowned, and came to sit next to me. “Your hair’s a mess.” She commented, brushing a hand through my hair. I looked down at my lap.

My lip quivered, and my eyes stung with tears. I didn’t know why I was crying. I guess I really did love him – which was why it hurt so much.  “Chris…what’s wrong?” She asked. I began fiddling with my hands on my lap. “Is your mum in?” I asked. Cathy shook her head.

“She’s with Freya at ballet.” She told me, “why?” I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. I remembered feeling Alex’s hands in my hair. “Because I don’t want your mum hearing what I’m going to tell you.” I explained. I looked from her to Ruan. I watched him for a long time, considering whether I could trust him. He seemed to read my mind. “I can leave if you want.” He offered, and I shrugged. “You choose. But if you hear it, you have to promise not to repeat anything I say to anyone else.” I warned him, and Ruan nodded.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He confirmed. I looked down.

“I’m sorry. I’m so. So. Sorry.” I began, and they both stared at me.

“What for?” Ruan asked. I looked at him.

“Well firstly for being a bitch to you at school.” I smiled, but it only lasted a moment. “But I guess…mostly because…um…I just had sex with your art teacher.”

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...