I Refuse To Like You

I'm runningbarefoot, breathless, and already aware that this entire situation is unnecessarily dramatic, even by my standards. The road stretches endlessly ahead of me, swallowed in darkness, empty in the way horror movies always warn you about, and yet here I am anyway, sprinting straight into it like I have absolutely no survival instincts. Typical.

My heart pounds violently against my ribs as I risk a glance over my shoulder, and there they arefive men, because apparently my subconscious doesn't believe in moderation. Not one, not two, but a full, coordinated squad like this is some kind of lowbudget crime scene staged purely for my inconvenience. I barely have time to process it before they catch up, rough hands grabbing at me, dragging me down until my back hits the cold pavement with a force that knocks the breath straight out of me.

Panic spikes up immediately but instead of doing anything usefullike fighting back or screaming for help in a productive wayI find myself stuck in that frustrating, sluggish dreamstate where nothing quite works the way it should. One of them, clearly the leader by the way he carries himself with misplaced confidence, leans over me and grabs at my top, tearing into it with all the subtlety of someone auditioning for a terrible crime film.

"Oh, absolutely not" I start, more offended than afraid at this point, but dreamme, unfortunately, is useless, because my body doesn't follow through with anything remotely effective.

He reaches for me again

And then suddenly, he's gone.

Not vanished. Not magically erased. Just... yanked away with abrupt, violent force.

A hand grips the back of his collar and drags him off me before a punch lands square across his face with a sickening crack. I blink, momentarily stunned, as another punch follows, and then another, each one clean, precise, and entirely too effective for whatever situation this is supposed to be.

The other four rush forward at once, and somehowbecause dreams have no respect for logic or realismthe stranger handles them like he's been waiting his whole life for this exact moment. Movements sharp, controlled, extremely effortless. Within seconds, the chaos collapses in on itself, and the men scatter, retreating into the darkness as quickly as they appeared.

Silence settles.

I push myself up slightly, still catching my breath, my mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened. My mysterious savior stands a few feet away, shoulders rising and falling as he exhales, calm in a way that feels entirely undeserved.

My knight.

My rescuer.

My

He turns.

And I see his face.

The scream tears out of me before I can stop it.

"Kieran?!"

Of course it's him. Of course my own subconscious decides that if I'm going to be rescued, it has to be by the one person I would never willingly accept help from.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, scrambling to my feet and clutching at my torn top, more outraged than relieved. "How dare you save me?!"

He pauses midstep, clearly thrown off by the complete lack of gratitude, his expression tightening in a way that suggests he's questioning every decision that led him here.

"I thought you were" I gesture vaguely, frustration spilling over as I search for the right word and settle on the most insulting one. "someone useful. Someone decent. A prince, maybe. But no. It's you. That's somehow worse."

"Kara"

"No. No, absolutely not." I shake my head, taking a step back like he's the actual problem here. "This has to be a dream. There's no universe where I'd willingly be rescued by you. I reject this entire situation."

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, and somehow manages to look irritated, like I'm the one being unreasonable.

"Kara, let me help you."

"Over my dead body," I snap instantly. "What are you even doing in my dream? Get out."

"It doesn't work like that"

"I don't care how it works," I cut in sharply. "Leave."

"Kara"

I narrow my eyes, decision settling in with perfect clarity. "You know what? I'm waking up."

"That's not how"

I drive my knee straight into him.

Hard.

The impact folds him slightly, a sharp breath leaving him as he clearly did not anticipate violenceagain, in my dream.

"That," I say coldly, brushing imaginary dust off myself, "is for unauthorized entry. The next time you show up in my subconscious, I won't be this nice."

And then I start screaming.

Not the kind of scream people do for attention. Not the dramatic, cinematic kind meant to look good on screen. This is loud, chaotic, completely unhinged, the kind of scream that exists for one purpose onlyto wake me up and end this nonsense immediately.

And just like that, everything snaps.

I bolt upright in bed, the scream still tearing out of my throat as reality crashes back into place around me, my chest heaving as if I've actually been running, lungs burning, heart slamming violently against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

For a second, I don't move.

I just sit there, frozen, fingers gripping the sheets, my body caught halfway between panic and awareness as my surroundings slowly begin to piece themselves together. The darkness of the road fades, replaced by the bright green walls of my bedroom, staring back at me like they've personally witnessed my embarrassment. The black accents spread across the room in sharp contrast that suddenly feels way too calm for what I just experienced.

Posters line the wallshot anime and manhwa men posed like they know exactly what they're doing, a few male celebrities who actually deserve the attention, Beyoncé in all her untouchable glory, and, most importantly, the only magical girl that mattersSerene Bloomstaring down at me like she's silently judging my life choices.

My breathing is still uneven, my pulse refusing to settle as I drag a hand down my face, trying to physically wipe away the image that's still burned into my mind.

Kieran.

In my dream.

Saving me.

Absolutely not.

I glance down at myself quickly, fingers brushing over my top in a sudden check, halfexpecting damage that isn't there. Everything's intact. The lingering panic loosens just slightly, replaced immediately by irritation.

No. Not irritation.

Offense.

Deep, personal offense.

I swing my legs off the bed, the cold floor grounding me instantly, and for a brief moment, I just sit there, elbows on my knees, trying to process the sheer audacity of my own subconscious. Out of everyoneeveryoneit chooses him?

Unacceptable.

Completely unacceptable.

That's it.

I slide off the bed and drop to my knees without hesitation, the shift from disbelief to purpose immediate, hands clasping together as my eyes shut tightly, my breathing still uneven but my focus sharp and absolute.

"Heavenly Father," I begin, voice firm despite the lingering adrenaline, "thank You for delivering me from that nightmare."

My fingers tighten slightly as I continue.

"Any spirit of Kieran in my life, I bind and destroy it in the name of Jesus. I forbid any appearance of his face in my dreams ever again."

I take a steady breath, doubling down with conviction.

"And Lord, if he dares to returnburn him. Thoroughly. No mercy. Strike him with lightning if necessary. Repeatedly."

A brief pause follows, not out of hesitation, but consideration for what to add.

"Also, please deal with his friends. Especially Shadehe looks suspiciously calm, and I don't trust that. And that other one who keeps wearing the same shirt like it's a personality trait. You know who I mean."

Another breath, slower this time.

"And while You're at it, protect my family, bless us abundantly, and keep me far away from unnecessary irritation. Amen."

I open my eyes.

When I open my eyes, I see Kerah standing in my doorway, arms loosely at her sides, staring at me like she's trying to decide whether to call for help or just leave me to whatever is clearly wrong with me. Her expression doesn't even shiftjust that flat, unimpressed look she's perfected over the years.

"...Seriously, Kara?"

I blink up at her from where I'm still kneeling, my hands slowly unclasping as if I haven't just finished delivering the most aggressive prayer of my life. "What are you doing in my room?" I ask, frowning.

"I heard screaming," she replies, completely deadpan. "I thought you were being murdered." A pause, her gaze dragging over me in clear judgment. "Turns out you're just being a lunatic again."

"You're trespassing," I shoot back without missing a beat, pushing myself up to my feet. "Get out."

She folds her arms, unimpressed. "You were literally asking God to fry someone's brain."

"Because it's necessary."

"You're insane."

"You're annoying."

"May God punish you for that."

"May lightning humble you," I fire back, already steering her toward the door with a look alone. "Now leave before I make it worse."

She snorts, shaking her head as she turns away, muttering something under her breath that sounds a lot like a personal attack. "You're unbelievable."

"Unfortunate creature!" I call after her, loud enough to make sure it lands.

"Kara!" Mom's warning voice immediately cuts sharply through the house.

"Sorry!" I yell back just as quickly, because survival instincts do existI just reserve them for the right situations.

The door swings shut behind Kerah, and just like that, the house settles again, though the silence never really lasts long with us.

Kerah is thirteen, which explains a lot and absolutely nothing at the same time. We fight like it's part of our daily routinelike brushing our teeth or eating breakfast. It's automatic, effortless, and completely unavoidable. The thing is, it doesn't actually mean anything. There's no real damage behind it. We just... function like that, constantly clashing in ways that somehow never break anything important.

She's the kind of person people instantly likekind, thoughtful, patient, the type who remembers birthdays and actually means it when she asks how you're doing. She's smart too, annoyingly so, and emotionally stable in a way that feels unnatural in this household. Honestly, it's suspicious. No one should be that balanced at thirteen without hiding something.

But her biggest flawthe one thing I cannot overlook, the one thing that ruins her credibility entirelyis simple.

She likes Kieran.

Not casually. Not in a "he's tolerable" kind of way. No. She actually likes him, which immediately disqualifies her from having any valid opinions about anything that matters.

I hate birthdays.

Not because of the getting older partplease, I handle that flawlesslybut because of what comes with it. Every single year, without fail, I'm forced into the same situation.

Sharing it.

With him.

Same date. Different year. Same problem.

It's not a coincidence. It's an inconvenience. A carefully designed irritation built into my life for reasons I have yet to understand.

It's an invasion.

And one day, I'll end it.

The thought lingers a second longer than it should, settling in the quiet of my room. For a brief moment, I just stand there, staring ahead, letting the irritation simmer.

Then I exhale slowly, because standing here thinking about Kieran any longer than necessary already feels like a loss, and I refuse to start my day on the wrong side of anythingespecially not because of him.

I turn around in one smooth motion and walk back to my bed, reaching for my speaker without hesitation, and the second the music hits, it floods the room completely, drowning out the silence, loud enough to push everything else out with it.

Better.

Getting ready is less of a routine and more of a process of reconstruction. Piece by piece, I put myself back together into something presentable. By the time I'm done, there's nothing left of the girl kneeling on the floor a few minutes ago, threatening divine punishment over a dream. That version of me stays upstairs. The one walking out of this room is composed, for now.

By the time I head downstairs, I'm fully dressed and settled into that role. Red palazzo pants that move just enough to draw attention without trying too hard, a fitted black turtleneck that keeps everything clean and sharp, sneakers because comfort matters more than unnecessary suffering, and a matching bag slung over my shoulder like an afterthought. Effortless, but intentional. It always is.

Books are optional.

Presence isn't.

"Good morning, family!" I announce as I step into the dining room, my voice bright.

Mom looks up first, her expression softening immediately. "Morning, love."

Dad follows, his entire face lighting up like I've personally improved his day just by existing. "There she is! Come heregive me five."

I don't even hesitate. I cross over, and we fall into our handshake without missing a beatovercomplicated, unnecessary, and absolutely perfect in execution. It ends the same way it always does, with both of us laughing like it's the best thing in the world.

"Cray Crays," Kerah mutters from her seat.

"Jealous worm," Dad and I say at the exact same time, not even looking at each other.

I slide into the chair beside him, shooting her a sweet, satisfied smile that she immediately rejects with a dramatic eye roll.

"Mom," she starts, and I can hear the shift in her voice instantlythat carefully constructed sweetness she uses when she wants something, "can I get a puppy?"

"No." Mom says flatly.

Kerah blinks, clearly hoping for negotiation. "But why?"

"Because," I cut in smoothly, reaching for the jar of cream, "the number of pets you've accidentally loved to death is starting to look like a pattern."

She turns to glare at me, her expression sharp. "Nobody asked you, Cow."

"Didn't need to be asked, Ironing Board," I reply lightly, not even bothering to look up as I stir my drink.

"Dad, please," she tries again, shifting tactics as she turns to him with exaggerated desperation.

He raises both hands immediately, backing out of the situation like a professional. "I'm not getting involved. Your mother runs this house. I wanted to buy a new car last week and got shut down."

"You were wasting money," Mom says calmly, without even glancing up.

"You were wasting money," Kerah and I echo in perfect sync.

He looks between us, visibly offended. "Betrayal. In my own home."

We laugh, because it's deserved.

"So... the puppy?" Kerah pushes, refusing to give up.

Mom finally looks directly at her, her expression calm but blank. "No."

That's it. End of discussion.

Kerah slumps back into her chair, defeated, and I take a quiet moment to enjoy it.

Victory.

But then she looks at me.

And smiles.

Not a normal smile. Not a harmless one. The kind of smile that means she's already recovered and is now planning retaliation.

That's never a good sign.

"Hasn't it been a while since we saw... certain people?" she asks, her voice light, almost innocent.

My stomach drops instantly.

Dad pauses midbite, considering it. "...That's true."

No.

No, no, no

I don't even need him to finish the thought. I can already see it forming, the idea building behind his eyes, gaining momentum in the worst possible direction.

And then his face lights up.

"Oh! I've got it. Family golfing this Saturday."

Everything in me goes still.

"No."

"Kara," Mom says sharply, that warning tone already in place.

"No," I repeat, more firmly this time, the horror settling in fully. "Absolutely not."

Because family golfing doesn't mean what it sounds like.

It doesn't mean a quiet day, fresh air, or whatever peaceful nonsense people associate with it.

It means one thing.

Kieran.

And his entire circus of equally irritating, equally unnecessary friends.

"Don't start," Mom warns, cutting off whatever argument I'm about to make before it even begins.

I turn my head slowly toward Kerah.

She's already looking at me. And she has the audacity to smile and wink.

Bitch.

"Serves you right," she mouths silently, satisfaction written all over her face.

I narrow my eyes, matching her energy perfectly.

"Go to hell," I mouth back.

And just like that, my week is ruinedand I haven't even made it to school yet.

I pull into the school parking lot with music blasting through my speakers, loud enough to announce my arrival before I even step out of the car. Ever Best High greets me exactly as expectedcrowded, alive, buzzing with that particular mix of excitement and dread that always comes with the first day of a new term. Cars slide into spaces, students gather in clusters, laughter cuts through the morning air, and somewhere in the distance, someone is already running late.

Final semester.

The last stretch before high school is officially over.p

Good.

I scan the lot out of habit, my gaze landing immediately on my usual parking spotand it's empty.

Perfect.

Which means one thing.

Kieran isn't here yet.

That alone improves my mood.

Just ahead, I spot Lydia and Robert waiting outside the building like they always do. Lydia stands with her weight shifted to one side, already animated, already midargument, while Robert faces her with the kind of calm patience that suggests he regrets getting involved but refuses to walk away.

Typical.

Lydia Paige doesn't do quiet. She's loud, blunt, and unapologetically bold, the kind of person who says exactly what she's thinking whether you're ready to hear it or not. Her light brown hair falls loosely around her shoulders, and she barely bothers to fix it, because confidence carries her better than effort ever could.

RobertRobin, as I insist on calling himis the opposite. Calm, composed, and annoyingly reasonable. Dark hair, steady eyes, the kind of presence that makes him the default peacekeeper whether he wants the role or not. Which is ironic, considering he's best friends with Kieran.

Our friendship? Complicated but functional.

I step out of my car and make my way toward them, lifting a hand in greeting, already smilinguntil they both wave me off without even looking at me.

Excuse me?

I slow down, watching them more closely now.

"You're exaggerating," Robert is saying, clearly tryingand failingto keep the conversation grounded.

"I am not exaggerating," Lydia snaps, clearly offended. "I'm just saying people should have boundaries."

"That's not a boundary, that's a preference."

"That's exactly what a boundary is!"

I stop a few feet away, blinking.

This is what they're ignoring me for?

This early in the morning?

I raise both hands. "Okay, I'm clearly missing context"

"Kara, back me up," Lydia cuts in immediately, turning to me like I've been summoned for judgment.

I stare at her. "Absolutely not. I just got here."

She narrows her eyes.

I shrug. "How would I even know? I don't participate in whatever conversation this is supposed to be."

Robert snorts.

Lydia groans, dragging a hand down her face in frustration before shooting Robert one last glare. "You're impossible."

"And you're dramatic."

She scoffs and storms off without another word.

I watch her go, then turn to Robert, raising an eyebrow. "What was that about?"

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "No idea. I said something, she disagreed, and now I'm the problem."

"Sounds about right."

He grins.

I study him for a second, then narrow my eyes slightly. "Robiiiiin."

He sighs immediately. "Don't start."

"You started something."

"It wasn't even that serious."

"What did you say?"

He hesitates just long enough to confirm that it was serious.

"...I mentioned someone I hooked up with over the break," he admits.

I click my tongue.

Of course.

Lydia isn't mad about the topic. She's mad about him.

Not my problem.

"So," he says quickly, clearly changing the subject, "how was your holiday?"

I don't answer immediately.

Because I already know where this is going.

"With Kieran?" he adds, grinning now.

There it is.

I look at him slowly. "Say that again and I will personally demonstrate what a punching bag goes through."

He laughs. Loudly.

I hate him.

"It wasn't that bad," he teases.

"It was that bad," I snap. "Being stuck at his stupidly perfect beach house because of our parents is not a vacation. It's psychological warfare."

"Sounds relaxing."

"Keep talking."

He raises his hands in surrender, still smiling. "Fine. I'll stop."

"Good."

We start toward the building together, the noise of the hallway already spilling out through the open doors, and for a moment, things almost feel normal.

Almost.

Until I reach my locker.

I don't even think about it. I just open it.

And instantly regret every decision that led me here.

Something thick and sticky explodes outward, splattering across my clothes, my hair, my face, followed immediately by a shower of glitter that sticks to everything like it's personally invested in my humiliation.

The hallway erupts into laughter, followed almost immediately by the sharp flash of a camera. I go still for one dangerous second, goo sliding down the side of my face while glitter sticks stubbornly to everything it touches. Then, very slowly, I wipe my face with the back of my hand and turn around.

Kieran Lockwood stands a few feet away, completely at ease, like he didn't just declare war before first period. His dark hair falls slightly into his eyes, his expression calm, almost bored, but there's something sharp behind itan emotion that makes my blood boil. His friends linger behind him, already laughing.

"Welcome back," he says smoothly.

I stare at him.

This is how he wants to start?

Fine.

Game on.

Before anyone can stop me, I step forward and throw my arms tightly around Robert.

"Karawhat are you doing?" he chokes out immediately, trying to pull away, but it's far too late for dignity or survival.

"Sharing," I say sweetly.

Lydia chooses that exact moment to reappear, and the second she realizes what's happening, her entire face lights up with delight. "Oh, that's perfect."

Robert gags dramatically.

I finally let him go and step back, completely satisfied with myself as he stumbles away in horror.

Balance restored.

For now.

My gaze shifts back to Kieran, meeting his skyblue eyes directly across the hallway. The amusement on his face hasn't disappeared, but his eyes stay fixed on me now, more focused than before, like he's reassessing me in real time.

This isn't over.

Not even close.

And judging by the way he's looking at me, he knows it too.