You always told yourself he didn’t like you. He never gave you any reason to think otherwise — not with the way his words always came out sharp, like he’d rather chew glass than talk to you.

Still, sometimes when your boyfriend wasn’t looking, you’d catch him staring. Not long enough to call him out on it, but long enough to feel it. His eyes would linger, slide away just a second too late, leaving something behind that made your chest feel tight and your stomach turn heavy.

You tried not to read into it. Tried not to notice how his tone changed when it was just the three of you — how his voice would get quieter, lower, like he was forcing control over something. How every cruel remark felt like it was hiding something else underneath.

He’d smirk and say, “Didn’t think you’d tag along,” when you showed up at the dock with your boyfriend. You’d roll your eyes, say something back, pretending his words didn’t get under your skin. But they did. Every single time.

The worst part was the way he looked at you after. That look that said he knew exactly how to hurt you — and that maybe, deep down, he didn’t want to.