Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 34

Caleb’s POV

Four-thirty AM. The digital clock on my nightstand glows like an accusation. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours, watching shadows shift across the textured surface as cars pass by outside.

My mind won’t shut down, won’t stop replaying every word of that conversation with Serena, won’t stop analyzing where it all went wrong.

Maybe I overreacted.

The memory of her saying those words makes my jaw clench so hard my teeth ache.

Lucas has managed to do what I thought was impossible—he’s made Serena doubt her own experience of being assaulted. Made her question the evidence of her own senses.

I roll out of bed and drop to the floor, starting another set of push-ups. My arms already burn from the previous hundred, but the physical pain gives me something to focus on besides the sick fury churning in my gut.

Twenty-five. Fifty. Seventy-five. My form goes sloppy around ninety, but I push through to a hundred anyway.

Still not tired enough to sleep.

I switch to sit-ups, then back to push-ups, then a contrast shower so hot it leaves my skin red before I crank it to freezing. The shock of cold water does nothing to quiet my racing thoughts.

At some point around five AM, I find myself standing at the bathroom door that connects to Serena’s room. My hand hovers over the handle, trembling slightly from exhaustion and adrenaline.

I could turn it. Could walk through and attempt to undo the damage from tonight. Could try to explain why I reacted the way I did, why the thought of her defending Lucas makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

Instead, I listen.

Her room is completely silent. No crying, no pacing, no restless tossing and turning. Just silence that feels worse than screaming would. At least screaming would mean she’s still fighting.

I don’t turn the handle, but I don’t leave either. I just stand there, too much of a coward to finally make a decision

***

Morning arrives without relief. I skip breakfast, staying in my room while I hear my mother and William moving around downstairs.

Their voices drift up through the vents, happy and oblivious, discussing weekend plans and work schedules. Normal family conversations that feel like they’re happening in a different universe.

How can I face Serena across the breakfast table and pretend everything is fine?

How can I sit there making small talk while she’s probably upstairs convincing herself that Lucas Bennett is a misunderstood victim instead of a predator?

Every time I replay our conversation, fresh anger surges through my chest. I lose control completely, sweeping my arm across the shelf above my desk.

Books crash to the floor along with picture frames and the trophy from junior year lacrosse. The sound echoes through the house like a gunshot.

I drag both hands through my hair and exhale hard, trying to regain some semblance of control. Getting angry won’t fix this. Won’t undo the damage Lucas has already done.

A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts.

Before I can respond, my mother opens the door and steps inside. Her eyes take in the mess of fallen objects, my rumpled appearance, the obvious signs of a sleepless night. But she doesn’t comment on any of it.

I scramble to collect the scattered items, forcing my expression into something neutral. “Sorry about the noise. I knocked some things over by accident.”

Mom kneels beside me without a word, helping gather books and straighten picture frames.

Her movements are gentle, careful, the way she used to collect broken pieces when I was younger and prone to violent outbursts.

When everything is back in its proper place, she guides me to sit on the edge of the bed and takes my hands in hers.

Her touch is gentle and familiar, carrying the scent of the lavender lotion she’s used for as long as I can remember.

“I can see you’re not yourself this morning,” she says softly, brushing the hair back from my forehead the way she used to when I had nightmares. “Want to talk about what’s troubling you?”

I shake my head, enough, Mom, but she misreads the gesture entirely.

“I know this is probably difficult for you. William and I have been so pleased watching you grow so protective of Serena over the past few months.”

The words land like poison in my bloodstream. Sister. I fight to keep my expression neutral while my stomach turns over.

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