Hate is a Four-Letter Word

by Adam Lock

Gail moves to one side, giving Craig room to sit beside her on the stairs.

‘Been a while,’ she says.

Craig arranges his jeans so they fall over his trainers. ‘Two years.’ He hands her his bottle of beer, pushes his glasses up on his nose.

She stares at the bottle, biting her bottom lip, before taking it.

He looks into the living room at the strobing light. ‘Always hated house parties. Can’t hear a word anyone’s saying.’

She follows his line of sight. ‘How do you know Jake?’

‘Jake? I don’t, I’m here with someone.’ He straightens his back.

‘It’s ok,’ she says. ‘Don’t look so scared. Like I said, it’s been a while.’

He takes the beer from her and drinks.

‘I saw her anyway,’ she says, looking the opposite way. ‘She’s pretty.’ She looks back at him and smiles, before rearranging her top so it covers her shoulders.

He shakes his head, returns her half-smile, raises an eyebrow.

‘What?’ she says. ‘Really. She’s pretty. Slim, dark eyes. Real pretty.’ She tucks her hair behind her ear.

Turning their heads at the same time, they look into the living room.

‘Have any on you?’ he asks, an invisible cigarette between his fingers, held to his lips.

She shakes her head. ‘Gave up.’

‘Me too,’ he says.

‘Didn’t see her as your type though.’

‘I have a type?’

She wipes one of her eyes, then the other, before edging off the step, ready to stand.

‘Wait,’ he says.

She leans back, looks at his hand offering her the beer.

He motions for her to stay. ‘Look. I think we both know, me and you…’ He waves a finger between the two of them.

She nods, closes her eyes, lifts her head to the ceiling. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I was over you in a week.’

He smiles. ‘I was over you in two days.’

She takes the bottle from him and drinks. ‘I’m here with someone too. She nods toward the living room.’

‘You are?’

‘Yeah.’

They listen to the music coming from the living room.

He says, ‘The way I left, with you in tears. It was wrong. Shouldn’t have. It’s just, I didn’t know how to…’

She shrugs, grimaces as she swallows the beer. ‘What else could you do? Like you said, it wasn’t working.’

‘We were good together most of the time.’

‘Now and then,’ she says, picking at the label on the bottle. ‘Most of the time.’

‘Sometimes,’ he says, pausing. ‘Sometimes, two people are right for each other, but something doesn’t work. This, me and you, we’ll never get it right. You know that, don’t you?’

‘You think you’re so smart,’ she says, ripping the label from the bottle. ‘You think you know everything.’

He rubs the back of his head, straightening his back.

She finishes the bottle of beer. ‘Look. I know. It’s ok. Really.’

The music changes to a faster beat and there are cheers from the living room. Then the sound of glass smashing, followed by shouts and applause.

A man and woman, arm in arm, laughing, stagger through the doorway into the hall. ‘Hey,’ the man says to Craig, reaching for the woman so she doesn’t fall. ‘Jen was looking for you. She said to tell you to meet her at The Bell.’

‘Thanks,’ Craig says, raising the palm of his hand.

‘No problem,’ the man says, before stumbling into the kitchen with his arm wrapped around the woman’s shoulder.

Gail stands and Craig follows. ‘You’d better go after her,’ she says. ‘She’ll be looking for you.’

‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘She does it all the time. She’s with friends.’

They move so they’re facing each other.

‘You broke me you know,’ she says, looking at the space on the floor between them.

He touches her arm. ‘I know.’

A cloud of dry ice wafts through the door from the living room.

She looks down at the hand that’s now holding her forearm. ‘She do it for you? The slim, pretty girl, she get you off?’

He looks her in the eye. ‘You’re not here with anyone are you?’

She shakes her head, looks over his shoulder into the living room. ‘Pretty girl like that know how you work?’ She presses the palm of her hand against his chest.

‘It’s a bad idea,’ he says.

‘I’m not doing it again,’ she says. ‘Hurts too much.’

‘No, can’t do it again.’

‘I fucking hate you,’ she says, staring at her hand still pressed against his chest. ‘You know that?’

‘Fucking hate you too,’ he says, leaning over her, kissing the top of her head.