Chapter 8

• CHRIS’ POV
• “You think you’re so innocent,” I said, my voice low but sharp, cutting into me like a blade.
• Since she kept demanding an answer, her tear-filled eyes pleading for a reason I couldn’t disclose, I found myself cornered. I had to say something to deflect her relentless questioning, though the truth was far too complicated and raw to share.
• So, I chose the easiest path—a lie. Or at least, it felt like one. But was it really?
• In my mind, I rationalized it. She had disobeyed me. She had gone back to Jason, despite everything, despite the unspoken boundaries I thought we had established. That blatant disregard, that choice to stand beside someone I couldn’t stand, made her actions feel like a betrayal.
• In my anger, I labelled her choices as something more: shameless, disloyal, and yes—slutty.
• “You walk around like the world revolves around you,” I continued. The more hurt she was, the more peaceful I was.
• “What are you talking about?” Judy had asked, her voice rising in frustration. “I’ve never thought that! You know I haven’t!”
• “You wouldn’t get it. You’ve never been on the other side.”
• I whipped her once again and she shrieked.
• Looking at Judy’s pained expression, I faltered, my grip loosening slightly, but only for a moment. The hesitation was fleeting as I forced myself to continue, the belt raised again in trembling hands.
• My heart clenched at the sight of her tear-streaked face, her trembling form, and the silent plea in her eyes. I had always prided myself on being in control, but now, standing before her, I felt like I was unravelling.
• A storm of emotions churned within me, each wave more suffocating than the last. Anger burned fiercely at the surface, but beneath it lay layers of hesitation, regret, and a pain so deep it threatened to consume me.
• My silence thickened the air around us, the unspoken words building an impenetrable wall between us—a wall that neither of us could seem to break.
• I didn’t want to hurt her. That thought whispered through the chaos in my mind, a soft but persistent reminder of the person I used to be. And yet, the hatred coursing through my veins pushed me forward, drowning out the voice of reason.
• The feud between our families was like a poison, seeping into every corner of my life, corrupting every relationship, every ounce of joy. Her family had caused irreparable harm to mine, leaving scars that would never fully heal.
• This wasn’t about her, I told myself. This was about justice—revenge. However even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t entirely true. Judy wasn’t just collateral damage in this war; she was the one who had torn me apart without even knowing it.
• She had made me feel.
• That was the real betrayal, wasn’t it? She had made me lower my walls, let her in, and believe—if only for a moment—that I could have something more than anger and pain. I had been drawn to her despite everything.
• Her laugh, her stubbornness, the way her eyes lit up when she was passionate about something—all of it had captivated me.
• Nevertheless, those feelings, those fleeting moments of happiness, seemed insignificant now, swallowed whole by the shadow of the past. The hatred that had taken root in my heart had grown too strong, its vines choking out any semblance of tenderness.
• Still, her pain cut through me like a knife. Every sob, every tremble, was a reminder of the line I was crossing. The hesitation lingered in my chest, a gnawing doubt that refused to be silenced.
• What if I stopped now? What if I let this go? Would that make me weak?
• Or would it make me human again?
• I couldn’t afford to find out.
• "Chris," her voice broke through the silence, hoarse and trembling. She was pleading, her words laced with confusion and desperation. "Why? Why are you doing this?"
• Her question pierced through the haze of anger, and I froze again, my hand still clutching the belt. Her eyes, red and swollen, locked onto mine, searching for something—an answer, an explanation, anything that could make sense of the nightmare she was enduring.
• I couldn’t give her one.
• This wasn’t the right time and besides, it was none of her fucking business.
• Instead, I looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. “You wouldn’t understand,” I muttered, my voice barely audible.
• “Then help me understand,” she said, her tone rising with frustration. “Whatever this is—whatever I’ve done—I deserve to know.”
• Her words struck a nerve, and I clenched my jaw, my grip on the belt tightening. She didn’t deserve this, I knew that. But knowing it didn’t change anything. It didn’t erase the years of pain and betrayal that had led me to this moment.
• “You don’t deserve to know,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. “You don’t get to ask questions. Not after everything.”
• Her tears fell faster, but she didn’t look away. “After everything? Chris, I don’t even know what you’re talking about! You’re punishing me for something I didn’t even do!”
• Her words ignited something in me, a spark of fury that quickly grew into an inferno.
• “You want to know why?” I said, my voice sharp and laced with accusation. “It’s because you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Running back to Jason like that.”
• The words were harsh, cutting, and designed to wound. I saw her flinch as though each syllable struck her like a physical blow.
• Deep down, though, a part of me hated the words even as I said them. They didn’t reflect the full truth of my emotions, but I clung to them because they gave me power in this moment, a sense of control over the chaos she stirred within me.
• The alternative—to admit my own fears, my vulnerabilities, and the impossibility of our situation—was unthinkable.
• Her face crumpled, her tears flowing anew, and yet I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. If I gave her any glimpse of the truth, of the deep-rooted pain driving my actions, it would unravel everything.
• The walls I had built between us, the hatred I needed to justify my behaviour—it would all come crashing down. And I couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not when the scars of the past were still bleeding.
• The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I couldn’t stop them. They were my shield, my excuse for doing what I knew deep down was wrong.
• Her sobs grew quieter, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to hate me forever, aren’t you? No matter what I do.”
• I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.
• Because she was right.
• No matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn’t let go of the anger and resentment that had consumed me for so long. It was all I had left.
• But as I looked at her—broken, terrified, and still so heartbreakingly beautiful—I felt a pang of something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
• Regret.
• It was fleeting, quickly swallowed by the darkness, but it was there, a tiny flicker of the person I used to be.
• For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure if I could keep going.
• But I had to.
• Didn’t I?
• I turned away from her, my hands trembling as I loosened my grip on the belt. The silence between us was deafening, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me like a physical force.
• I wanted to say something—to explain, to apologize, to make her understand.
• But I couldn’t.
• Instead, I walked away, leaving her alone in the empty classroom.
• As I stepped into the hallway, my chest felt hollow, the anger that had driven me moments ago replaced by a crushing sense of emptiness.
• Perhaps I had won. Yet, it didn’t feel like victory.