A Murderer's Guide to Fake Dating

12. do you hate me?

I believe the world is ending when Jack carefully spoon-feeds me medicine. It is an unbelievable sight and Jack catches my disbelieving stare. "What?" he snorts. "Do you think it's poisoned?" 

"Of course," I reply, avoiding his gaze. "You wouldn't pass up this opportunity." 

Jack smirks. "You know me so well, it's a bit scary." 

I am currently tucked under my blankets, trying to find reasons to hate Jack. He fed me grape-flavored medicine. I hate grapes. He averted his gaze when he saw me vomit into the sink. Is my vomit really that disgusting? 

I am grasping at straws. I need something stronger. "Jack, do you hate me?" I prod and Jack looks at me. 

"Is that what you think?" he replies, and I shrug. I feel tiny and vulnerable under my bed sheets, while Jack stands beside me. Another reason to hate Jack: he makes me feel small. "No, I don't hate you." 

"Then why are you always rude to me?" 

Jack shrugs back at me and I sigh, frustrated. "You're constantly infuriating me," I say. "You drive me crazy half the time." 

So much that I've even begun dreaming about you. 

"Likewise," Jack returns evenly, standing up. "You should get some sleep now." 

I stare at him, alarmed. "Are you leaving?" 

"No. I imagine it'll be hard to sleep if someone's watching you." Then he pauses. "Unless you want me to leave." 

I hesitate. Do I? I haven't found any hateful behavior on Jack's behalf and I want to speed up the process, but I can't just let a man stay over at my apartment. 

"I—" I frown and look away. "You should go. This is improper." 

"Improper?" Jack muses. "Interesting choice of words. It's improper to act the way we are at work, too." 

"You know what I mean," I say firmly. "If anyone saw you in my apartment, they would get the wrong idea." 

"Like what?" 

Jack is testing me, that little teasing smirk flitting across his lips. "You know," I say, exasperated. "Stop pretending like you're oblivious." 

"Oh, but I am." Jack is being openly obvious that he's taunting me, looking at me with exaggerated innocent eyes. "Pray tell, Isla." 

I sigh. "You know what I'm talking about." 

"Maybe," he says, mystified. "But I won't know unless you tell me. Currently, I have no idea what you're thinking of." 

He smiles widely and I scowl. "The thing," I say through gritted teeth, "that may happen between two people, behind closed doors." 

Jack cocks his head. "Homework?" he suggests. He studies my face. "I wager that's a no? Then, watching movies?" 

"Something less innocent," I mumble under my breath, but Jack hears. 

"Oh, I know," says Jack, and I nod, relieved. At this point, I want him to blurt out the answer and leave. "Getting robbed." 

I stare at him. "Robbed?" I echo, in disbelief. 

"Of course. Robbers break into people's apartments and there's a high possibility there are two people in that apartment." 

"Okay. Sure. Fine. Yes, that's the answer." 

"You don't sound very certain," Jack muses. "It's something else, isn't it?" 

I bite my tongue and only stop when I think I taste metallic. "It's that thing," I say, nearly shouting. 

Jack jolts back, surprised. Good, though I wish he accidentally tripped on the rug. Then his expression shifts back to his smug look, the one I always wish to smack off his face. "Okay," he says, faux bemused. "And what would that be?"