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Thirty-nine
publish date:
2026-08-31 16:20:51
FaytonIt’s almost over!
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Hate Me, Love Me |GxG| Thirty-nine
Remington and her father’s team had left the house over an hour ago, carving a path through the outskirts toward the abandoned industrial area. While they were in transit, Ferdinand’s plan was already in motion. Several miles from the facility, Blake’s security team intercepted a transport vehicle belonging to Felix’s organization. The occupants were subdued before they could raise an alarm, and Ferdinand’s men quickly took control of the vehicle. They changed into the guards’ jackets, concealed their weapons beneath the stolen uniforms, and climbed inside. Ferdinand took the passenger seat while one of Blake’s men settled behind the wheel. Remington remained in the vehicle they had arrived in, following several car lengths behind with Jack at the wheel. “How long before they realize something’s wrong?” Remington asked, speaking into her earpiece. Ferdinand’s voice came through a moment later. “Hopefully not until we’re through the gate.” Remington glanced toward the facilit
Hate Me, Love Me |GxG| Thirty-eight
M: The metal door shrieked, jolting me out of my thoughts. A hand shoved me hard enough to pull me out of the shallow depths of sleep I'd been clinging to. My head snapped back in alert, the dull thud against the wall sending a spark of pain through my skull. I didn't want to wake up. In sleep, I was back in Remington's car, the smell of her leather seats and the sound of her laughter acting as a shield. In reality, I was in a concrete box. "Eat up. You'll be expecting a guest soon," the invader mumbled. He was one of Felix's muscle, a man whose face I'd never seen clearly, but whose heavy breathing I'd memorized. He dropped a tray of food onto my lap. The plastic rattled against my thighs, which were already bruised from a week of discipline. I stared at the tray with disoriented irritation. Who could be coming to see me? If it were Felix, he wouldn't send a herald. He'd just barge in, his presence sucking the life out of the room like a vacuum. I eyed the mystery meat and
Hate Me, Love Me |GxG| Thirty-seven
At first, I had tried to play it cool. I told myself she was just busy, or that the Dubois household was strict, but I couldn't act like everything was okay anymore. Margaux hadn't been in school for a week, and the silence from her end was deafening. Heather had paid her a visit a few days ago, but she returned with more questions than answers. The house had been locked tight, every door, every window. This came as a genuine shock to Heather. She told me that in all the years she'd been Margaux's friend, the doors to that house were never locked during the day. Margaux was also a creature of habit, if she was going to be MIA, she always texted Heather first. Always. I was on edge, my mind in an endless loop of horror. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw different scenes of her being harmed by the monster who lived under her roof, the man I now suspected was responsible for my mother's death. Heather had bombarded me with questions the moment she saw the look on my face
Hate Me, Love Me |GxG| Thirty-six
I had been awake for about ten minutes now, just staring at the ivory-colored ceiling of my bedroom. My mind was a chaotic storm, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. The silence of the house felt different today, heavy with anticipation rather than the usual loneliness. Today was Saturday, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, my dad was home. We'd seen each other briefly yesterday after he touched down, but between his jet lag and my own mounting stress over Margaux, we hadn't done much more than share a tired hug before collapsing into our respective rooms. But today was different. Today was for us, and for the friends who had become my surrogate family while he was away. I'd asked him last night if he was up for a group hangout, and he'd given me the green light with that signature, tired smile of his. I stretched my limbs and neck, the joints popping in the quiet room, to take a peek at the clock. 8:45am. I decided to grant myself a f
Hate Me, Love Me |GxG| Thirty-five
To say I wasn't upset would be the understatement of the century. I was simmering. I could still hear that man's voice in my head, the way he winced, the muffled sound that followed when I called Margaux a few nights ago. I knew it wasn't Martha. I knew someone else was there, and every instinct I had was screaming that something was off. But I had said nothing. I wanted Margaux to trust me. I wanted her to come clean on her own, but as the days ticked by, it became painfully clear that 'on her own' wasn't happening anytime soon. We hadn't spoken or hung out since that night. Our first real date was supposed to be tomorrow, but the closer it got, the more the hollow pit in my stomach grew. I didn't even want to go anymore. Margaux had been avoiding my eyes in the hallways, ducking into classrooms or pivoting on her heel whenever I made a move to approach her. She was ignoring my texts and letting my calls go to voicemail. I felt like absolute shit. Was this because I'
Hate Me, Love Me |GxG| Thirty-four
M: I still feel a hot flush of embarrassment crawl up my neck whenever I remember what almost happened with Remington on her couch. We'd been so close to another moment of pure connection, right before I broke down. I wanted her. I wanted to be with her in every sense of the word, to feel her weight and her warmth, but the ghost of that man's hands on my skin acted like a physical barrier. Every time I try to move forward, the trauma drags me back into the dark. It has been exactly one month since that first night in his office, and while things with Remington have stabilized into a beautiful, fragile rhythm, the rest of my life is a wreckage. Whenever I have to pull into that driveway and step back into the lion's den, everything comes crashing down in flames. He hasn't stopped. He continues to touch me, to treat my body like a prize he's earned through some twisted logic of 'compensation.' I fought back in the beginning—screaming, clawing, biting—but I eventually learn
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