The morning air was crisp, but I could barely notice it. My mind kept replaying yesterday, every glance, every brush of Adrian's shoulder, every smirk. I hated him, yes, but… the truth was, I couldn't stop noticing him, and that thought made my chest tighten with a mix of anger and something else I refused to name.
As I walked into Riverview Academy, I noticed him almost immediately. Adrian was leaning casually by the school gate, dark-skinned, perfectly dressed, his smirk already in place. Around him, a group of girls giggled and whispered, all eyes on him. Of course. Why wouldn't they? He was Adrian arrogant, handsome, untouchable.
And my stomach turned.
I tried to tell myself: Ignore him. Just ignore him. Focus on your classes.
But as I passed, his eyes flicked to mine for a split second, and that smirk… oh, that smug, cocky smirk… it made my blood boil.
First period was history, and he was in the row behind me. I could feel his presence even before he leaned back in his chair, smirking, letting his gaze linger on me just a little too long.
And then… I saw her.
One of the popular girls from my class, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, a flirtatious smile plastered on her face. Adrian turned slightly, just enough so she could catch his gaze, and he grinned at her. Whispered something. I didn't hear the words, but I saw the laugh the way she leaned closer, hanging on his every gesture.
My heart thudded.
I gripped my pen so hard my knuckles whitened. My stomach twisted. My brain screamed: Why does it feel like my chest is on fire? Why do I care?
Adrian, of course, noticed. I could feel it. He always noticed. He turned his head subtly, eyes scanning the room until they locked on me. And there it was again that teasing smirk, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
During break, I watched from a distance as he walked beside her, one hand brushing hers accidentally on purpose. His laugh was low and confident, and my chest twisted with a mixture of rage and something else I wouldn't admit even to myself.
I hate him.
I repeated it over and over in my head. But even as I said it, I couldn't stop glancing at them.
Why does he get to do this? Why does it hurt so much?
Adrian noticed my gaze, of course. He caught my eyes for a brief moment, tilting his head ever so slightly, letting that smirk linger. He leaned back slightly, eyes glinting.
Perfect, he thought. She's watching. She's jealous. And she won't admit it. Yet.
By the afternoon, I tried to escape to focus on homework, to bury myself in books, anything to stop thinking about him. But fate, or Adrian, had other plans.
He appeared at my side in the library, leaning casually against the shelf. "Lost in thought, Chelsea?" he murmured, voice soft but teasing.
I glared. "No. I'm… studying."
"Studying," he repeated, eyes glinting, "or watching me?"
I flushed. I refused to answer.
"You know," he whispered, leaning slightly closer under the pretense of picking up a book, "you can try all you want, but I know you notice everything. My laugh, my gestures… even the way I smile at other girls."
I stiffened, my hands gripping the book so tightly I could feel the edges digging into my palms.
"I do not notice you," I snapped, though my voice cracked slightly, betraying me.
"Sure," he said softly, voice low, almost a purr. "Keep telling yourself that. It's cute when you're mad."
I hate him.
On the way home, my mind was a storm. Every step felt heavier. Every corner of the street seemed to echo with his presence, even when he wasn't near.
And then, I saw him at the gate of my house, talking to my stepdad. My heart stuttered. He had come here. Here. To my home.
I froze, pretending not to notice, my body taut with tension. Adrian didn't move immediately. Instead, he let me linger in that moment let me simmer in my jealousy, frustration, and confusion.
Then, as if sensing I couldn't resist, he turned his gaze toward me. And for a split second, just a flicker, it wasn't teasing. It was… something else. A spark, a challenge, a promise.
I wanted to look away. I wanted to tell myself I hated him. But I couldn't.
And as I stepped into the house, keeping my head high, my mind was a battlefield:
Hate him.
Hate that he affects me.
Hate that he flirts with other girls.
Hate that… part of me is thinking about him.
That night, as I lay on my bed, notebook pressed to my chest, I realized something terrifying:
Adrian had me. Not physically not yet but mentally. Emotionally. Every smirk, every glance, every teasing word had invaded my thoughts.
And I hated myself for it.
But more importantly… I hated that I didn't hate him enough.