Hate You, Love You. - Chapter 120

Jason

Mel is lying to me.

And I caught her in that lie.

It hurts that she’s not being one hundred with me when all I’ve been is one hundred with her. I’ve had my suspicions for a while but I thought I was paranoid. Now, I realize that trusting my gut is more beneficial. It is never wrong.

I know what it feels like to be abandoned by someone you love.

That was what she told me back when we were on that twelfth grade retreat. When I cruelly teased her last year about her dad leaving, I never really had concrete evidence. I was basing my taunts on rumours spread throughout the school. Judging by her reaction, the rumours were true.

She further corroborated this in one of our conversations by saying that her dad left when she was seven. (Now, I see the fucked up reason why). Mum shed more light and said it was around that time that she broke up with him and that he ”disappeared” without a trace.

If he disappeared without a trace, who the fuck is he?

Who the fuck is Theo? Why is he always hanging around her like a damn leech when they’re not even related? I found it odd that he came to school in the middle of the year without so much as an explanation as to why. Adelaide isn’t fond of admitting students once the session has begun.

She claims he’s her stepbrother but that’s bullshit and we both know it. Mel’s mum didn’t remarry and she hasn’t spoken to her dad in years.

I never really liked Theo from the get go mainly because he was hostile to me the moment we met. I only knew him for like two seconds and he looked like he wanted to drill a borehole in my head.

I see the way he looks at her. I observe him-observe their interactions and it’s clear as day that he likes her. I’m a guy, so I would know. Mel is oblivious to it and thinks that they’re ”siblings” but I know better. He has done a fantastic job at hiding it but I can see right through it. He doesn’t look at her like how a brother should; he’s extremely overprotective, he never lets her out of his sight for two seconds and he’s a pain in my proverbial behind because I feel like we’re competing for her affection.

But she chose me over him and that makes my heart fucking glad.

Why is she lying to everyone about his identity?

Have to give it to them though, they’ve managed to fool everyone but I’m perceptive. It comes with the territory.

Since he’s not her stepbrother, something fishy is going on. Mel wouldn’t do anything without a reason. I give her enough credit and I know that if she’s lying, it has to be because something is wrong, but she hasn’t shared that with me.

Yet, I still asked her to be my girlfriend.

I like her, dare I say, I even love her. Even though we’ve been hit with a lot of curve balls, I’d still drop everything and risk everything for her. I wasn’t lying when I said I cared about her a lot more than I thought I ever would.

Is this what it feels like to be in love?

….

”Patricia, did you take my sweatshirt again?” I ask to no one in particular because her room is empty. Patricia has a knack for stealing my sweatshirts. I don’t know why girls are obsessed with male sweatshirts but they are and I’ve had it up to here.

She might as well open a store with all the clothes she has stolen from me over the years.

I’m looking for a grey Harvard one, it’s my favourite, and now I have no idea where she kept it. Dean gave it to me as a sort of peace offering when I got here. I was very wary of strangers and very protective of my mum given all that we had gone through but he gave it to me as a sign that he wasn’t the bad guy. He went to Harvard and he said it was his favourite. He always wanted a son and so he passed it down to me because it’s a piece of him and he hoped that one day I’d follow in his footsteps.

I haven’t so much as thought about where I want to go to for college. I’ve had talent scouts from colleges talk to coach about recruiting me and they have come to watch me play, but I haven’t made a concrete decision yet and time is running out.

I scan the room: makeup, clothing items strewn everywhere, her walk in closet is opened and it looks like hell went through her room and never came back out.

The fuck is she looking for that everywhere has to be a mess?

Moving in fully, I try to mentally picture where my sweatshirt could be. It’s most likely in her closet but I don’t want to search it. It feels like invasion privacy.

”She must be somewhere in this house,” I mutter. Her car is still in the driveway and her car keys are on the table.

”I guess I’m waiting for her then.”

Seeing that the bed is the only place that doesn’t look like a war zone, I plop on it and wait for her to arrive. Yes, the sweatshirt is that important and I would wait because if I don’t get it back now, then it’ll never be in my custody again.

My hands pad her bed till I come across a medium sized box hidden underneath her purple covers. I bring it out and examine the wooden material. It’s a little heavy and I’m a whole lot of curious.

After a one minute battle with my senses, I set the top aside and my brow is raised to my hairline.

”What the fuck is all this?”

Embedded in it is a knife, a gun-a revolver to be precise-and what looks like a bottle of arsenic?

”What the hell?” I whisper yell.

That’s not the only thing that’s shocking.

As I dig deeper, I see a bunch of very disturbing pictures. One is of a man who looks like he has been shot, execution style. He’s wearing a white shirt soaked in blood, his hands and legs have been bound with a rope and he was probably shot from close range judging by how he’s faced down. From the side frame, you could tell that he was tortured before he was killed. He has lacerations on his face and arms.

The other pictures are pretty much the same, just different angles from the murder scene-an area with a lot of vegetation.

The pictures are gory to say the least and I’m wondering what the fuck she’s doing with all this.

Why does she have pictures of a dead man?

As I flip the picture to the back, my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

Daniel Stone

The person who was shot is none other Daniel Stone.

”Holy shit!” I exclaim. I don’t care if anyone walks in-I don’t care if she walks in. She has to explain herself.

Vladmir Gustaf went by many aliases, one of them being Daniel Stone. I’m not sure what his real name was. He was the head of the Siddenno’s so with that came a lot of secrecy. What I do know is the person we know as Bob Stewart is the man in this picture.

He’s dead. He’s dead.

”Shit.”

When Mel was crying last month about someone being dead, did she know it was him? He was her boyfriend for a period time and he suddenly went missing the night of the Lakedale shootout, never to be heard from again. The media covered the story heavily but the case seemingly died the minute authorities stopped updating us about it. His arrest warrant was out but they never found him.

This means…

”Patricia killed him,” I conclude. There’s no one that has it out for him more than my sister. She’s thirsty for revenge, I could see it in her eyes the day that we talked. The Siddenno’s have many enemies but hell hath no fury but a woman scorned.

But is she really capable of murder? Yes, she may want revenge, but would she really kill a man?

Setting the pictures aside, I dig deeper into the ”box of wonders” and I discover other pictures.

”Melody?” It’s unmistakable. I know that afro and wide smile anywhere. It’s her.

Why does Patricia have a picture of her?

It’s not just her alright, Patricia also has a picture of her family-her mum, sister and a picture of her old Prius, the one she used to drive before the tyres got slashed.

”Wait a second.”

I peer closely into the picture of the Prius and lo and behold, I see slash marks on all four tyres, reminiscent of the one I saw when I was over at her house.

Why would Patricia have pictures of Mel, her family and the Prius? I don’t want to think about the possibility, but the evidence is literally slapping me in the face.

Patricia was the one who slashed her tyres.

But why? What has Melody ever done to her? How does she even know her house address?

As I take all this in and look at all the ”how’s” and ”why’s” my blood boils and my hands dig into my palm angrily.

”This is so fucked up.”