Hate Is An Evil Type Of Love

2. Regret

"I'm sorry for everything. All of it. And I'm not kidding, I'm being serious right now. For gods sake, could you please just move away from the cliff now?!" Peter exclaimed, holding a hand out desperately.

"Why? So you don't feel bad because you know it's your fault I jumped?!?" I yelled, stepping to the edge.
Now I'm only one misstep away from the end. I'm debating whether I should just cut this conversation short and let gravity do it's thing.

Peter takes a step forward, extending his hand out towards me.
"No, Luke, you know that's not what I meant! I was only doing it because...I like you ok? I just never knew how to say anything, and I know that's a terrible excuse, and you probably don't even want to hear it, but I at least want to give you an explanation!"

Peter pleaded, desperately trying to find the right words. I rolled my eyes.
"You liked me, and you didn't know how to tell me? That is so cliché, and such a bad lie! What are you, in fifth grade?! You fucking asshole!"

"I-I know it's bad, but...look, I'm trying ok? My...m-my mum just...I-I mean...can I explain when you're not standing over the edge please?!?" He's pleading, begging me to step away from the edge, and there are tears running down his pale face.

"Why should I trust you? After everything you did to me, why should I trust you?" I whispered softly, closing my eyes.
"Because...I'm trying to help you. Because...I'm trying to fix this...to fix me...and...to make up for what I did to you." He said softly, in between tear strained words.

Keeping my eyes closed, I stepped forward, letting his words convince me, even if he is only manipulating me, to walk away from the cliff.
I opened my eyes, keeping my head down and my eyes trained to the ground as I allowed Peter Jenkins, of all people, to talk me down.

He softly, and slowly, took my left hand into his.
"Do you want to get out of here?" He asked softly, and cautiously. Keeping my gaze glued to the grass, I agreed, slowly nodding my head. He lead me to my car, still softly gripping my hand.

"What about your bike?" I said, referring to the motorcycle he uses to get to school every day. "It's not as important right now." He said simply, opening the passenger's side door for me.
I climbed in, let go of his hand, and buckled the seat belt.

I quickly glanced in his direction, and he smiled at me.
He shut my door for me and got into the driver's seat.
"Could I have your keys?" He asked, sticking a hand out for them.

I don't answer, instead I just reach in my pocket for the small metal key ring and set it into his hand.
"Thank you."
I'm honestly surprised at how polite and gentle he's being, as opposed to how he treated me several minutes ago in school.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, keeping my eyes out the right side door window.
"My place. I've heard people talking about your...legal guardians...and I'm not taking you back there. Besides, you're eighteen right? I think it's time you left them and went somewhere safer."

"Why do you care so much? For real this time? Did a teacher bribe you to run after me?" I ask, not looking at him.
"I ditched school too. I followed you because...when I saw your scars it...reminded me of someone. Someone close to me. And I couldn't let you end up the same way he did. So...no. I'm here on my own terms." He softly explained, driving out of the parking lot and away from the cliff.

"Why?" I whisper, my voice braking a bit.
He sighed and said, "I had a very close friend, back in middle school. His name was Justin Letterman, I don't know if you've heard of him. We were close, we'd been friends since we were basically babies.
I used to make fun of him and...I treated him the same way I've been treating you...I always thought he knew I never meant it but then..."

There was a long pause, he was struggling to keep it together at this point.

"I guess...he took it too personally because he started to self harm, like you've been doing.
It got worse, but I never found out until it was already too late.
His parents found him, strung up on his ceiling fan, a few days before tenth grade started. And it was my fault."

A couple tears spilled onto his cheeks as he talked.
"I guess...when I saw you in the halls, I thought of him. I don't know why I let myself get this bad again, but I promise, it won't happen again.
That's why I ran after you. I wish I could've been there for him, too."

I knew that wasn't a good reason, but I couldn't help the pity I felt for him. I slowly glance at him, studying the look on his face as he pulled into a strange driveway.
"Is this your place?" I asked, it was a stupid question. Of course this is his place!

He chuckled a bit, "Yeah. Don't worry, everyone should be gone for at least a couple more hours." I nodded, undoing the seat belt, and opening the door.
I hesitated once we were standing at the front door. Peter noticed this, and gave me a soft look, like he was telling me it was going to be ok.

I followed him inside, still a bit cautious of who I'm with.
"My room is down the hall, last door on the left, if you want to head back there. I'm going to make a sandwich, did you want anything?" He offered.

"Sure." I agreed, not wanting to be rude.
I wasn't hungry, I knew I wouldn't be able to eat, but he was really trying to help, and I couldn't turn him down when he wore that worried expression.
I walked to the room he said was his, looking around a bit.

I never would have thought in a million years that I'd be in my bully's room, by his terms. There were several posters on the wall, crude pictures of horror anime covers, or bloody album covers of what I'm guessing are heavy metal bands.

The walls are painted crimson red, like the color of a dying rose, or drying blood on pale skin. There are a lot of books on the shelves opposite to the bed.
Books of poetry, anime, classic literature, and others I've never heard of.
The most surprising set of books I see in his miniature library are The Lord of the Rings series.

I hum in amusement at the familiar leather set, sitting unimaginably on my bully's bookshelf. "I haven't read any of them yet." Peter's voice says from behind me.
"My father bought them for me a while back, and I can't bring myself to read them."