Hate So Sweet: A High School Bully Romance

  Hate So Sweet

  A High School Bully Romance

  Nina Lincoln

  Copyright © 2021 Nina Lincoln

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by: Rebecacovers

  Printed in the United States of America

  For every woman who thought she couldn't be free, but found her wings anyway.

  Foreword

  Hello, my reader friends! Just a quick note about this story - this contains Ramie's journey, and at times her revelations are painful and violent - please be aware there may be triggers. But also know that this is a story of survival, and Ramie is a 'strong ass b*tch' in the end.

  Also, there is a free short story about Ramie and Hayden from a few years before the current events for anyone who has not read it - you can sign up to receive it at my website below.

  Note - you can read this without the short story, but it's more fun if you do. :)

  As always, thank you for loving my stories as much as I do. ~Nina

  Free Short Story: HERE

  About Nina Lincoln

  Hi! I’m Nina. I love to read. Obsessively. No joke. Just ask my husband. I was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. Pursued a graduate degree in Forensic Psychology in the great NYC and settled in Phoenix.

  I’m an avid Elvis Presley fan, a Tudor history aficionado (or at least I like to think so), and a zombie/end of the world junkie, who happens to also be a sucker for a happy ending! Yes, I see the contradiction.

  On those rare occasions when I am not engrossed in a good book, or writing my own, I can be found cuddled up to my furry companions (the dogs not my husband) and relaxing with my best friend (my husband not the dogs).

  I love books across all genres and can’t seem to keep myself in a single lane when I create my own stories, so if it seems as though I can’t make up my mind, it’s because I can’t. Heh.

  ~Nina

  Follow Nina:

  Amazon: Nina Lincoln

  IG: NinaLincoln Author

  Goodreads: Nina Lincoln

  Website: www.NinaLincoln.com

  Prologue

  My grandmother once told me I have the sight - a gift passed down through a long line of my ancestors, gypsies who traveled across Europe telling fortunes and swindling customers of their hard-earned pennies.

  And if she's to be believed, the gift is given to those with blood so thick only the strongest can carry it on.

  The first time I learned of this, at least from someone else, I was ten years old and thrilled by the prospect because surely this made me special.

  I had sensed the world around me in a different set of tones since I could remember, and while it became evident after a time, I was indeed different, it wasn't until my grandmother confirmed it that I could say it out loud.

  Different. The word tumbled around in my mouth like a sweet candy melting on my tongue until it turned sour.

  And over those painful years of self-discovery, I recognized that difference which supposedly made me special in the razor-sharp tingles across my skin when something terrible was going to happen, or in the itchy feeling at the base of my skull, and even in the pull of my blood that convinced me at the tender age of ten years old that I already knew my soulmate.

  What my grandmother never said in all this, but what was most important of all is that sometimes knowing what's coming doesn't change the outcome. And it only makes the knowledge unbearable when it's barreling down on you, and you can only stare into its sights and hope you survive the impact.

  Once upon a time, I thought I was special...

  But now I know I'm no more special than the next sad broken girl, only now I have the scars to show for it.

  Chapter One

  Ramie

  Pulling my old clunker of a car up to the beach, I turn the engine off and stare at the rolling waves. The deep blue hue crosses the horizon in an endless swath of color that dazzles the eye. So much so, it's almost impossible to believe there's life somewhere past the line in the distance where only those who are brave enough will ever go.

  But for all its beauty, it's deadly, with waves of never-ending curdled seafoam pushing against the shore, fading into the sea over and over - a brutal reminder that life goes on whether we want it to or not.

  It also brings to mind memories best left alone, but even so, I can't stop the image from forming. Once upon a time, I stared at the same visage in a picture, although flat and lifeless, an insult to the obvious power before me, pretending my life as I knew it hadn't changed forever.

  And just as I did then, I clench my teeth against the pain that even now leaves a bitter taste of grief on my tongue, resolving never to be vulnerable again because exposing yourself only leads to one thing - pain. I should know. I've experienced my fair share.

  With a sigh, I push thoughts of Hayden fucking Franks away and pull the mirror down, gazing at my reflection. I've lost weight, pounds that have transformed me from a curvy girl into a semi skeletal waif, and to add insult to injury, there are dark circles beneath my green eyes, now cold and jaded from the wounds no amount of time can mend.

  And although the last few weeks of rest have healed the wounds turned scars on my body, they couldn't erase the other effects clear to see for those who bother to look.

  I'm empty, my soul shriveled and cold. I may have survived, but I left vital pieces of who I am, or who I was at least, behind in the forest, where my darkness fought for supremacy and lost.

  Beyond that, even the superficial appearance I clung to was altered, another insult to add to my injuries. My once lustrous hair hangs in choppy waves around my shoulders, and I mourn the loss of what I considered my prettiest asset before turning my thoughts away.

  In the weeks of seclusion, the soul-deep rage has faded to an ember that can spark and flare if I'm not careful, and if I allow myself to dwell, my efforts will all have been for nothing.

  But because I'm stupid and vain, I couldn't resist the effort to spice up my dull looks, and just yesterday, I bought a bottle of hair dye and watched grimly as I bleached the ends of my dark hair for the first time in my life.

  After which, I dyed the tips in various colors creating a rainbow that slides around my face when I move my head.

  It's pretty but just another reminder of what was brutally stolen from me, and even if it grows back, the reminder will remain in the marks upon my body that can never be erased.

  I'm forever branded by Ben, and nothing I do is going to change that because what I can't change, not with pretty colored dyes nor time, is the deadness behind my eyes.

  And where once a lovely soul stared back at me, now a cold, lifeless version does, and I fear the former me is gone.

  How could she not be? When everything else about me has changed?

  But it's for the best because that girl walked into a shit storm and couldn't find her way free. She was weak, where I am strong. I will be strong.

  Sliding a pair of aviators over my eyes, the pretty pink lenses a barrier to the world that I'll cling to, at least for today, I grab my bag, and pull my aching body from the vehicle, heading grimly down the sand dune toward my friends.

  It's painful to see them in the distance, laughing and horsing around. From here, I don't know who, but someone lifts a girl into their arms, swinging her around, and her screams of delight fill the air as her bare legs flail behind her.

  And suppressing a grimace, I try to envision letting a guy do that to me and come up empty because not only have I lost whatever playful persona I may have had, but I don't trust anyone to get that close.

  None of them understand the real evil in the world, and I can't suppress the tide of resentment it brings because they're lucky, and I'm a painful mass of writhing ugly jealousy as a result.

  Stretching my muscles, I wince cautiously, taking stock of the aches and pains. I'm not fully recovered, and I'm told they may never go away, particularly during the colder months when my ruined bones will remind me of the past I cannot escape.

  I haven't seen my friends since…since, and it's with both dread and eagerness that I march toward them with a grim smile.

  I refuse to curl up and die even if it's those thoughts I go to sleep with every night and wake to when the inevitable nightmares featuring his angry face looming over mine appear.

  "Ramie!" Finn calls with a soft smile, and in that smile, I recognize a fellow survivor because we may have had different battles and overcome our own evils, but we both know with our shared look of loss what it does to our psyche.

  Finn was lucky, though, because her physical injuries, for the most part, have healed over time, while mine line my body like war wounds.

  And unfortunately, my instinct is to shy away from the specter of people seeing them, my shame, their knowledge, something I can't battle but only accept as another piece of me is torn away that I can never get back.

  However, even with this, the warrior in me pushes back against those insecurities, reveling in the knowledge that they mark me as a survivor, for there's a savage lurking below the su
rface, and she'll do whatever it takes to survive.

  And it's this I convince myself of as I approach the love birds, taking a deep breath for strength.

  Once upon a time, I treated Finn like shit, an accomplice in Colt's efforts to bully her so severely she'd leave our school and never look back, rather unsuccessfully, I might add.

  By the time she rolled through our doors, senior year, my soul was already lost to the darkness, and although I wasn't proud of my actions, I also didn't stand up for what I knew to be right, not that I wouldn't have been punished for my efforts if I had.

  Further, her arrival brought a feeling of dread so painful I would take to my bed for days at a time and writhe in the misery of knowing something's coming.

  I'm not immune to these foreshadowings of doom – after all, I knew Ben would be my destiny, and this only after a showdown that ended in a splintering of our schools and a feud that lasted for years.

  Finn was tougher than we gave her credit, though, and stayed the course. She's also found it in her heart to forgive me despite my cruelty and even that of my brother, who's currently locked away in a mental hospital after stalking and attempting to kill her.

  Still, I should have seen past the fear back then to the soul that shone beneath because her arrival may have kicked off the inevitable end, but her story would be as interwoven and painful as mine, and if I had been a better person, the guilt I feel now would be that much easier to bear.

  Despite his extreme cruelty, she's also forgiven Colt, and I suppose their relationship is a message of hope, but I'm too fucking jaded to see it. There is no happily ever after for me, just this never-ending sense of nothingness I can't let loose.

  Colt turns with a friendly grin, and I marvel at the change to his countenance because before her, he was a broody cruel asshole who thrived on violence and mayhem, but Finn's presence has tamed him, and the happiness he exudes looks good on him.

  Dropping my stuff in the sand at my feet, I look around uncomfortably because knowing I refuse to back down and give up doesn't mean facing everyone isn't fraught with awkward tension.

  "Hey," I murmur, ignoring my husky, barely-there voice, one of the many scars I cannot hide.

  I sound like a chain smoker with a pack-a-day habit, but whatever, maybe I can get into the phone sex operator business? Bright side, eh?

  "Hey, I'm so glad you could make it. I love your hair," Finn says, touching her own as she admires mine.

  "Thanks," I rasp, biting back the bitter response on the tip of my tongue, for I had no choice with the new style, after all, it was cut painfully from my head with a dull knife while my ex-boyfriend held me down with his body and raged at me like a lunatic.

  Colt steps forward and pulls me into a hug, and it's perfectly awkward for a minute until I relax into his embrace, emotion pricking at my lids.

  Physical touch without threat is anathema to me, and I'm simultaneously repulsed and grateful for Colt's attempt at intimacy.

  "Hey douche, let loose the ho and help me set up the volleyball net," a gravelly voice calls behind us.

  And closing my eyes against the inevitable, I screw my mouth into the proximity of a casual smile, and thank god I don't have to worry about my eyes ensconced safely behind my glasses.

  Here goes nothing.

  Turning away from Colt, I face the boy turned man who was the object of my obsession since before I knew what a girl in lust with a boy meant. And in my more tragic moments, I thought he was my soulmate, pulled toward him by an inexplicable need that could only mean that and more, but I was wrong, so very wrong.

  In the end, he was only the guy who took my virginity and left me breathless in a strange room with a fucking picture of the ocean on the wall.

  Hayden Franks is my kryptonite, and I know this, for I've guarded against it since forever and left the feeling behind when I was trapped. Except now, after everything that's gone down, inexplicably, my heart picks right up where it left off, pulsing painfully in my chest at the sight of him.

  He's tall and strong, with a broad chest and wiry muscles encased in beautiful tattoos that flow over his torso in a symphony of brutal images.

  And his lush mouth, wicked with sin, fades from his customary smirk when he sees me, his obsidian eyes glaring at me out of a face world-weary and tired.

  He's always been rough around the edges, as though he's seen things I can't imagine, but then again, so have I.

  Running my eyes avidly over his body, I ignore the pulse in my core and cross my arms over my chest to hide the evidence of my desire because I will die before I ever let Hayden know the power he has over me again.

  Hayden's brow dips over his eyes before he pulls his expression back into bored nonchalance. I suspect he didn't recognize me, not with my new hairdo, slimmer physique, and extended absence, but now he knows, and there's no hiding.

  He ignores me, as he always has, except for the one night where we came together two years ago, well that and the last night of the fatal fucking camping trip, an encounter I refuse to analyze.

  Instead, I allow a moment to acknowledge the night he fucked me, hoping if I do, it will no longer hold any power over me.

  It was amazing and real, raw and visceral, and over before it started. It was also the precursor of the bad decisions to come, and it's hard to separate that stupid choice from the ones I made shortly after.

  A path that brought me here broken but not bent, a reminder that I have to acknowledge my sins and forgive myself.

  Hayden is bad news, but then again, so am I.

  Grunting, Colt says, "I’m coming, dick. What about you, princess?”

  Finn gives him a beatific smile, her face lighting up with her love, and I have to turn my head away from the sight, the beauty so painful it physically hurts my chest.

  “I’ll be down in a while,” she says, giving him a peck on the lips, which turns to a squeak when he grabs her in a hug and slides his tongue down her throat.

  Sighing, Hayden rolls his eyes and turns away, stalking down the beach, and I watch his ass for half a minute, admiring the taut buns flex before I, too, turn away and grab my bag, depositing it next to the fire we’ll have later this evening.

  Finn finally breaks away from Colt and comes to sit next to me, where I've dropped to the sand and made myself comfortable or as comfortable as I can be these days.

  “How are you?” she asks softly.

  Here we go. I’m not ready for this, and frankly, I wish I never have to have these types of conversations because nothing I say will ever compare to what’s rolling around in my head anyway.

  “How are you?” I return brusquely.

  “I’m, I don't know. It's day by day.”

  “Same,” I mutter, rolling my toes through the gritty sand as she stares at me quietly.

  And when I can’t stand the look or the painful feeling it evokes in my chest any longer, I say tiredly, “Look, I don't - I’m here because I don't want to think about it, okay?”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I get it.”

  “Okay, thanks. Sorry,” I mutter, shame heating my cheeks, because I’m spurning genuine concern like a bitch, and it doesn’t look good on me.

  I know that she does understand in some ways, but the aching gap in my chest is far preferable to the pain, and I’m tired of the pain.

  “Don’t be,” she says, dusting off her ass as she stands. “C’mon, wanna go in the water? I’ve been dying to since we got here, but the guys have been insisting on setting everything up before it gets dark.”

  “Sure,” I say, pushing aside the kernel of guilt and acknowledging I’m nowhere near ready to be here with my friends, but it’s too late to back out now.

  Clearly, if I can't have a conversation with Finn about this, whose experience is much like mine, then I’ve got a lot more soul searching to do.

  Fuck.