Chapter 6 Not So Easy To Hate

CHAPTER SIX

SERAPHINA'S POV

They were going to release him? They were actually going to let that monster out in two months. That's all it took for the world to decide a man like him deserved a second chance.

They don't care. He wasn't supposed to be out until twelve years!

I can't feel my legs anymore. I don't even notice how tight I'm gripping the sheets until my knuckles turn white and I feel my nails dig into my palms. My whole body trembles and I feel like crying but the tears don't come.

'Hey!' Jonathan's voice cuts through the noise ringing in my ears and I blink, not realizing he's still there,watching me from the corner of the room like some bored spectator. His face is unreadable, but his eyes have shifted, but it isn't a look of mockery or that usual sharp edge of cruelty. It is different. His gaze is cold and quiet.

'You look like you've seen a ghost,' he mutters, leaning back in the chair like this is any other day and not the moment my entire world tipped off its axis.

I want to tell him to shut up, but the words die in my throat.

I force myself to release the sheets. I see my hands tremble as I pull the blanket higher, hiding my body and my fingers from sight. I don't want him to see me like this. Broken and weak. These are the things I promised myself I'd never be especially in front of him.

He doesn't press for answers. Not really his style, I guess.

We both sit in silence for a while. I don't speak and he also doesn't add his eyes are glued to his phone.

'You don't have to sit here, you know,' I finally say, staring past him at the window.

'I'm sure you've got somewhere better to be. Go ruin someone else's day. Please leave.'

Jonathan huffs out a dry laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. 'I told you. My father told me to stay right here. Trust me, I'd rather be anywhere but here.'

Of course. He always makes sure I remember that. He hates me, and even if our parents wanted to get married to each other, it wouldn't change that. It would never change it.

But he doesn't move. He stays planted in that chair, his legs sprawled, head tilted over the headrest of the chair like he owns the damn hospital room. Typical Jonathan Hill. He was cold, he could damn well be a human frostbite.

I swallow hard and shift under the blanket, adjusting the oxygen mask that's starting to itch at my face. I can feel his eyes on me, even though he's pretending not to look.

I can't breathe.

'Do you know that man?' He asks, tilting his head towards the television and I refuse to look at it, not wanting to his his face.

A sharp breath gets stuck in my chest. He knows I acted weird. Of course, he knows. Jonathan's too observant for his own good or for mine in this case.

'No,' I lie, voice flat, staring at the blank TV screen like if I just keep looking long enough, the truth will disappear.

He hums and I am pretty sure he is not convinced. 'Right. Sure.'

Not like it matters anyway.

His voice is like sandpaper. It's dry, but there is something different about it this time like he's testing the weight of his own words.

Minutes tick by. Nurses come and go. The sky outside darkens. I feel my stomach knot, and my mind refuses to settle even with the lights dimmed, the room feels too bright and I feel too exposed. It feels so real i sniffle and try to curl myself on the bed, before i remember i am attached to IVs

'You scared the hell out of me and everyone, you know,' Jonathan suddenly says, cutting through my chaotic mind.

I blink, confused. 'What?'

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fixing his gaze on the floor now. 'When you passed out earlier. You were... screaming like someone was trying to kill you.'

I look away. The memory flashing in my mind and i shudder, my body trembling as I try not to relive in that moment in my head.

'It was nothing,' I lie, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

Jonathan chuckles bitterly, shaking his head. 'eah. Sure. Nothing.'

For the first time, I wish he'd just go back to being the insufferable bastard I've always known. This,whatever this is feels worse. Like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

'You've always been a shit liar, Seraphina,' he adds, standing up and stretching his arms like this conversation never happened.

'You've always been a shit person, Jonathan,' I shoot back without thinking.

He grins and it's that infuriating, lazy grin that always makes me want to throw something at his head.

'Glad to know the accident didn't knock all the fight out of you.'

I almost smile, but I stop myself. I won't give him the satisfaction.

The room slips back into quiet, only this time it's less suffocating. Or maybe I've just grown numb to it.

When the nurse comes in to check the IV, Jonathan steps out of the room. I watch him leave, expecting him not to come back.

But he does.

Night falls, and the soft glow of the hallway light bleeds into the room. My body aches, my mind more so. I keep staring at the ceiling, replaying that news headline over and over until it carves itself into my bones.

I don't know how long I stay like that, but at some point, I hear the soft scrape of the chair again. Jonathan, back in his usual spot, phone in hand.

'Don't you have a life?' I murmur, not looking at him.

'Unfortunately,' he replies without missing a beat.

The silence sits between us again, but this time it feels... different. Like neither of us knows what to say, but we're both waiting for the other to break first.

'Why did you hit Alistair today?' I ask quietly, turning my head to look at him.

Jonathan doesn't answer right away. His jaw ticks, sharp and tense, before he finally glances at me.

'Because he was pissing me off,' he says flatly, looking away.

I don't say anything. I only lie there in silence.

I don't know what to make of this version of him. He's still cold. Still sharp around the edges. But somewhere beneath all that, I catch glimpses of something I don't recognize. Something human. And that terrifies me more than any insult he's ever thrown my way.

I close my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me, but my thoughts refuse to settle. The world feels like it's moving off balance, and I can't seem to find steady ground.

Just as sleep starts to pull me under, I hear him say something so soft I almost think I imagined it.

'You're not as easy to hate as you used to be.'

The words hit harder than any of his punches ever could.

When I wake up the next morning, the chair is empty. No Jonathan. No signs he was even here, except for the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

But taped to the side of my nightstand, where my phone usually rests, is a folded piece of paper.

'You don't deserve to live.'

I stare at it in confusion for a long time before finally reaching for it.

My stomach knots, equal parts rage and something else I can't name.

What was that? Who couldn't sent it? My heart thumps heavily in my chest.

But before I can even process it, my phone vibrates on the table.

A number I don't recognize flashes on the screen.

I answer.

The voice on the other end makes my blood run cold.

"Little, little rat. Be ready, because I'm coming to get you."