Chapter 2: Mine to Hate

Zay – Age 8

I never meant to hurt her—not really. At least not in the way she thought I did.

But I couldn't help myself. Every time Violet Rivers walked into a room with those oversized sweaters and too-big glasses, looking like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole, something inside me... twisted. Not with anger. Not even with hate. It was need. And back then, I didn’t know how to handle that.

So I pushed her. Teased her. Pulled her hair. I wanted her attention like oxygen, and the only way I knew how to get it was to piss her off. It was childish, cruel, and yeah—fucked up. But I was eight, and emotions didn’t come with a manual.

I remember that day—the puddle, the socks, the mud.

I noticed her before she noticed me. She was standing at the edge of the stairs, hugging her backpack like it was her best friend. Her purple socks were stupid. Soft and fuzzy with little white cats. So, of course, I did the thing boys like me do when something makes them feel too much—I stomped right in the puddle and splashed her.

It was the first time I ever said it out loud.

“Ugly Vee.”

Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t cry. She just turned and walked away, like she didn’t care. That made it worse. I wanted a reaction—any reaction. Instead, she iced me out like I was nothing.

But I wasn’t nothing. I wasn't.

She was mine to hate. Mine to bully. Mine to protect. Even then, I knew I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her.

So yeah, I shoved that little shit Caleb into the fence when he called her bug-eyed. I told the principal it was “an accident.” I threw a rock near Lily Marcus when she cut Vee in line for the swings, just to scare her off.

People said I had anger problems. My mom made me talk to a counselor once. He asked me why I picked on Vee so much.

I didn’t have an answer back then. But if I had to go back, I’d tell him the truth:

Because she made me feel.

And I wasn’t ready to feel anything—not for her. Not for anyone.

By middle school, it got worse. She got prettier. Not like the other girls who wore lip gloss and tried too hard. Vee didn’t know she was beautiful. That made it harder. Every time I saw her reading alone or drawing in her sketchbook during lunch, it made me want to ruin her peace just so she’d look at me.

I hated her silence more than anything. Her quietness felt like rejection. And I didn’t even know what I wanted from her—just that I didn’t want anyone else to have her first.

So I watched. I waited. I pretended not to care when she walked past me in the hallway.

But the truth is… I never stopped watching her.

Not even when we graduated. Not even when she moved away for college.

She thought she could escape me.

She was wrong.