He Hates Me, He F*cks Me | 18+

Note:

The full book is already uploaded on stck.me—read all chapters there.

Stck.me ID: elarawhite.stck.me

Stck.me Link: https://elarawhite.stck.me/story/1806379/He-Hates-Me-He-F-cks-Me-18

Bellamy Pov.

“Bellamy, wake up.”

I startle awake and immediately groan. My neck feels like a drunk group of Irish tap dancers spent the night practicing on it. Massaging the back of my nape with one hand, and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with the other, I turn towards the person who woke me.

“We need to work on your bedside manner, Thayer. That was not it.” I groan again. “Why does my neck hurt so bad?”

“Probably because you’ve had it bent at a twenty degree angle for the past six hours. The minute they took the food trays away, your head dropped on my shoulder and stayed there. I’ve got to say you’re very cute when you sleep. I think it’s the drool.” She says teasingly.

“Shut up, I do not drool.”

“I may or may not have photographic evidence. Keep telling me how bad my bedside manner is, I’ll whip out my phone and show you.”

“Okay, okay. You win.”

“Gracias.” She sing-songs happily, proud of herself.

“Sorry I slept the entire flight. Did anything happen while I was asleep?”

“Apart from me ugly crying while watching If I Stay, you really didn’t miss much. I thought there’d be more action on a flight this long.”

It’s our first flight together and our first overseas trip. I’m a little bummed I slept through it and didn’t enjoy the uneventful trip with her. Which reminds me. “Why’d you wake me up anyway?”

Before she can answer, a voice comes in over the announcer system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be touching down at Geneva International Airport in just over 30 minutes. Please stow away your tray tables, make sure your seats are in an upright position and-”

I miss the rest of the announcement as I lift the shutter on the window and get my first look at Switzerland.

Land stretches out below us, a mixture of city structures, lush fields, and a beautiful lake. In the distance, snow covered mountains peak out from under the clouds.

Excitement bubbles up my throat and a small sound of joy escapes my mouth as I turn back towards Thayer.

“We made it.”

“We made it.” She confirms, grabbing my hand and giving it a tight squeeze.

“This feels surreal.”

“I think it’ll continue to feel that way for a while.”

“God, I hope so.” I say with an excited squeal, as we both turn back towards the window and take in the view as the plane prepares to land.

As I watch the plane getting closer to touching down in Geneva, I can’t help but think back on the journey that brought us here, together.

✽✽✽

We were never meant to leave the United States, Thayer and I. Both poor Chicago kids, neither one of us had ever set foot outside of the country before today, let alone moving halfway across the world for our senior year of high school.

Previous trips for me included a bus ride with my eighth grade class to Springfield, the capital of Illinois, and a weekend in Florida for my cousin’s eighteenth birthday. Apart from that, vacations were spent in Chicago working and going to the beach.

And now we’re about to call Aubonne, Switzerland home for the year. I’ve pinched myself enough times to know that this is real, no matter how hard it still is to believe even as I’m about to touch down in Geneva.

Aubonne is home to the Royal Crown Academy, a private British boarding school for the children of the rich and famous. The school is exclusive in the extreme, a certain amount of wealth and scholastic aptitude needing to be proven in order to even apply. From there follows a strict application process that includes an essay, a video portion and an in-person interview with a member of the board.

The website proudly boasts an impressive list of alumnus, from fashion designers and movie stars to ambassadors and heads of state.

Thayer and I don’t fit into the ‘rich and famous’ mold — ‘broke and barely getting by’ is more our style — but last year RCA initiated a scholarship program funded by the most powerful backing families of the school. The program would offer two scholarships in its inaugural year, one for academic acumen and the other for sports performance, the goal being that once the scholarship had been proven successful, they’d increase the number of recipients.

With the campus based in Switzerland and having a decidedly European student body, the grant was limited to Americans only, which had helped our odds.

It was a warm May day when we first heard about the scholarship. Thayer and I had been chilling at my house, a paused episode of a Netflix true crime docuseries before us as we debated who we thought the killer would turn out to be.

“I think the brother did it. He’s got twitchy eyes.”

“If twitchy eyes are indicators of a murderer, then we should switch out of chem next year. Mr. Friedman perpetually has one eye at half mast. I keep thinking he’s winking at me when I run into him in the hallway.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s because he’s in the lab huffing chemicals all day.”

I pondered her point as her brother Nolan bounded into the room, a pamphlet in his hand.

“Have you guys seen this?” He asked, slapping it onto the coffee table.

“No, what is it?” I picked up the pamphlet, the words Royal Crown Academy standing out on the front page above an image of a sprawling campus.

“They were handing them out at LP. Apparently some fancy school in Switzerland has a couple scholarship spots open and they’re looking for students to apply.”

‘LP’ referred to our high school, Lakeshore Public. A neighborhood school with a student population of over three thousand kids, LP had metal detectors, yellow, run down walls, and what I can only describe as prison-style bathrooms.

It wasn’t abnormal to have to try a few different stalls before finding one that locked.

Or had a door at all.

I tossed the pamphlet at Thayer who caught it with her left hand, quickly perusing the cover before unfolding it.

“Why are you asking us?” I asked Nolan. “We’re incoming seniors, we only have one year left. Scholarships are usually for freshmen.”

“The lady who handed it to me — who had a very cool accent by the way, that’s why I stopped originally,” I rolled my eyes at Nolan. He’s a typical 17 year old boy and he’ll flirt with anything with a pulse. “Anyway, all the classes are in English and apparently basically everyone in Switzerland speaks it too which is helpful because it’s an international school. She said culture shock would be minimal and that anyone can apply. And that actually since the program is new, they’re particularly open to sophomores and juniors, students that would only spend a couple years there max.”

“B, did you see this? In the list of accommodations it says there are suites. We could room together! Get a taste of our college life.” She kept flipping the pages. “Jeez, this also lists three olympic sized pools, a sauna/hammam, jacuzzis, tennis courts and a football field. What is this place?”

“Somewhere we don’t belong.” Was my clipped answer.

She lifted her head to look at me. “Says who?”

“Our tax bracket.” I said dryly.

She tutted at me. “That’s one way to look at it. Or we can see this as an opportunity to get a bunch of rich folks to fund an amazing year abroad.”

That thinking is exactly why I love and admire Thayer. In our friendship and in life, Thayer is the bold one. The brave one. She has big dreams and even bigger aspirations for herself, and she fuels herself with ‘what’s possible?’ thinking.

While my ambitions match hers, mine are rooted in realism. They need to be. I can’t afford to let myself get off course and distracted from my goals. The goals I set for myself are reasonable and reachable, not far reaching dreams like moving to Switzerland.

I’ll graduate as valedictorian of my class and I’ll go to UIC. I’ll study accounting, graduate with honors and get a job that pays well enough to allow me to buy a small house for my mom.

That’s my dream.

Anything else is unrealistic for a girl from the rough side of Chicago.

The reality is that in this world, your connections get you ahead. Sure, your skill and tenacity can help move you ahead incrementally, but it’s your connections that propel you forward and into opportunities.

And we have none.

We’re going to have to fight tooth and nail just to scrape our way out of poverty and into the lower middle class.

Our fun afternoons include a cold Miller Lite and an episode of Deadly Suspects, not sipping an espresso on a terrace in Switzerland.

I don’t want Thayer to get her hopes up that we’re going to be able to change our lives this way, only for both of us to be bitterly disappointed when we get passed over. I have to be both feet firmly planted on the ground at all times, laser focused on achievable goals.

So I don’t let myself even entertain it. Because I know from experience that hope is a bitter mistress.

“I’m late for work.”

Case in point, ‘work’ for me includes waiting on people and wiping down tables at my local cafe for five percent tips, if I’m lucky.

Thayer doesn’t say anything as I leave my house, just watches me depart with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

In retrospect, I should have known she was up to something. That’s the look she gets when she’s concocting an evil plan that we’ll both be roped into.

A couple months went by and I’d forgotten about our conversation and RCA. Or at least I’d told myself I had, but life had moved on anyway. Until one day, when a thick envelope arrived in the mail for me. Thayer was at my house — a regular occurrence for her as she tried to avoid her mother’s new boyfriend — and her eyes widened as she saw what I was holding in my hand.

“What?”

“No, nothing.” She’d said looking down quickly. But I knew my friend better than I knew myself, courtesy of meeting when we were in diapers.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Or potentially something, depending on what’s in the envelope you’re holding in your hand. And how disappointed you’ll be if it’s not good news.”

Flipping the envelope over in my hand, I tore open the glued flap and pulled out a thin pile of documents. On top was a single sheet of thick, expensive paper with a beautiful red crest at the top.

Something niggled at my memory as I ran my fingers over it. I felt like I’d seen it before.

“Dear Bellamy,” I read. “Congratulations! It is with great enthusiasm that I write to let you know you’ve made the shortlist of ten candidates we’re considering for the Royal Crown Academy academic scholarship.”

Before I can continue reading, Thayer lets out a shrill scream and wraps her arms around me.

“Oh my god, B! Congratulations!” She jumps up and down, clapping her hands together.

I stand there in disbelief, holding the letter in my hand.

“Did you…did you only submit an application for me?” I asked, overwhelmed.

“No, I applied for the both of us. And I’m shortlisted for the sports scholarship! Please don’t be mad, I just thought what was the harm in applying? We may never get another opportunity like this again.” She explained, looking at me expectantly.

“No, I’m just…” I said as I hugged her. “Overwhelmed, I think.”

“Overwhelmed is better than angry, I’ll take it.” She replied with levity. She looked at my surprised face, her eyes boring into mine knowingly. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

I don’t know how to process the emotion I’m feeling for the first time in a long time.

Hope.

“Well now that we’ve come this far, we need to see this through. I’m down to apply.”

I’m met with more cheering and dancing from Thayer.

“Now that you’ve gotten me into this, let’s do it right. We should strategize how we tackle the next stage of the application process.”

And strategize we did.

We quickly realized that our friendship was our differentiator, what would make us stand out amongst the other applicants. That we were strong as individuals, but we were stronger together. So we’d combined our applications into one, describing Thayer’s heroics on the soccer field and my leadership on the debate team. The 10k races Thayer organized to raise funds for immigrants who were petitioning for citizenship. The afternoons I’d spent volunteering at soup kitchens.

We finished our application with a video montage of our friendship, including clips where we’d argued that together we’d have a better chance of assimilating to a different school, country, and culture.

Finally, we each had our interviews with one of the board members, a man who ran a Fortune 500 company who’d quizzed us repeatedly about our backgrounds, our interests and why above everyone else should receive the scholarships.

And then we’d waited with bated breath until one day my phone had dinged while we were sitting at the Ledge.

“Thayer.” I said urgently, smacking her arm

She was laying on her back, shirt rolled up under her bra and sunglasses on as she worked on her tan.

“Hmm?”

“I have an email from RCA.”

“Shut up.” She replied, sitting up abruptly and ripping the sunglasses off her face. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know. Did you get one?”

She checked her phone, her shoulders drooping slightly as she shook her head. “Nope.”

“Maybe I should wait until you get yours to open mine.”

“Are you insane? Open that email up right now!” She exclaimed.

And like the other times, there was no warning before the wave of anxiety was upon me, suffocating me.

The physical symptoms began to swarm, the blurry vision almost blinding me as the anxiety tore through my body until the negative drowned out the positive ones. The what ifs swirled around my brain like a tornado.

What if neither of us got in?

What if I did, but I went to Switzerland and failed catastrophically?

What if this was it? What if there was nothing greater waiting for me and I spent the rest of my life cleaning up after other people?

My throat constricted and I couldn’t breathe.

The letter dropped to the floor.

“Hey.” Thayer’s soft voice broke through the wall of panic, and a gentle hand came to rest on my arm.

I opened my eyes, having not even realized I’d closed them to begin with, and met Thayer’s open gaze. She’d been concerned this would trigger another anxiety attack, and here it was.

She squeezed my arm, rubbing it up and down my forearm reassuringly.

“Breathe. It’s going to be okay. Focus on my hand.”

Having witnessed a few of my anxiety attacks, Thayer knew how to help.

Telling me to breathe. Having me focus on something real in the room.

And my least favorite, waiting for it to pass.

I turned my head so she couldn’t see the stricken look on my face as I tried to calm the racing beat of my heart.

“Hey, none of that.” She said, grabbing my shoulder and turning me back towards her. “There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.”

This was my fourth anxiety attack in the last six months and with each new one, fear wedged deeper into my brain and made a home for itself.

I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with me.

That this was an uncontrollable biological response to the stress of maintaining perfect grades and extracurricular activities so that my UIC application was perfect.

But the lack of control was terrifying and numbing all at once.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “That one wasn’t so bad.”

“You know, I think this year could help with the anxiety attacks. Maybe knowing we’d benefit from a better education and have access to more resources and connections in general would help ease your stress.”

“Better hope I’m accepted then.”

She crossed her fingers. “You can’t see them, but I’m crossing my toes as well.”

I shoved her playfully at that.

“It’s important to remember that there are no negative outcomes from this. Either that letter contains an acceptance or it doesn’t, but either way you’re brilliant, super kind, sometimes annoying—”

“Hey!”

“Funny, brave, beautiful. You’re the whole package, babe.” She said with a snap of her fingers. “Now, read the damn email. Out loud, please.”

I swiped up on my phone and clicked on the email notifications.

“Dear Bellamy, thank you for your continued interest in RCA. We’re pleased to inform you that you’ve been selected as the inaugural recipient-”

Before I could finish reading the email, Thayer tackled me to the ground with an ear piercing shriek.

“Bellamy,” She said, grabbing me by my shoulders and shaking me slightly, “Do you realize what this means? Your whole life is going to change!” She leaned back in to hug me, wrapping me in her strong embrace.

Elation rushed through my bloodstream like liquid fire, pushing out the remnants of anxiety. But as thrilled as I was about the opportunity, I wasn’t leaving my best friend behind.

“I’m not going if you’re not.”

“No, I won’t hear th-”

“No, you listen to me this time.” I said, interrupting her. “If the sports scholarship goes to somebody else, there’s no way I’m leaving you here. And before you get any ideas, even if you tie me up and ship me there, I’ll walk and swim back to Chicago, you hear me?”

“Yes, Boss B. I love it when you lay down the law.”

Just then, a phone dinged behind us and we both dove towards it.

Thayer’s phone with a notification.

She grabbed it, bringing it face down against her chest.

“Okay, breathe.” She said, speaking to herself. Clicking on the screen, she read out. “Dear Thayer, yadi yadi yada, unfortunately, I regret to inform you…”

“What?” I asked in disbelief, “That can’t be right. There’s no way they’ve found someone more qualified than you. You led our team to nationals last year for chrissakes! There’s got to be a way we can find out who got the scholarship.”

“B, it’s okay.”

“Maybe we can write back under the guise of wanting to understand what we could have done differently to have a successful application. And then ask them who received it? Let me draft something quickly.” I said as I started typing on my phone.

“Bellamy-”

“No! Why aren’t you more upset? I need to know who this fucking unicorn of a human they gave the scholarship to is, I refuse to believe they’re superior to you in any way.”

‘I’m not upset because I was joking.” She said. My gaze snapped to hers as she spoke. “I got it. I got the scholarship, B!”

“What is wrong with you? Are you trying to put me in an early grave?”

We fell into each other's arms, me cursing her for the prank, her laughing gleefully as she hugged me to her.

I pulled back to look into her eyes.

“We’re really doing this?”

“Looks like it.” I said with a smile.

“We’re moving to Switzerland, bitch!”

Everything moved quickly after that. Our official acceptances were out that day, the transfers confirmed and our passport paperwork filed.

When it came time to leave, we didn’t have much to pack, each of us bringing only one suitcase. The scholarship was incredibly comprehensive, covering the flights and tuition fully and providing a healthy monthly stipend for our discretionary use, so we’d be able to buy things once we got there.

We’d kissed our moms, hugged Thayer’s brother, and headed to the airport where we’d gotten on a flight to New York City, followed by our connecting flight to Geneva.