The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Ella’s POV:

Jason.

The nerve of this idiot.

Now, I had to decide: open the door and unleash a murderous tirade on him or just ignore it and go back to bed.

The rage was bubbling up inside me. Part of me wanted to just pretend I wasn’t home and slink back into my room. But another part of me—the smarter part of me—knew that if I opened that door, there would be murder.

And I wasn’t about to be the dead body in this scenario.

I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. But before I could turn it, I stopped myself. This wasn’t the mood for playing nice, for explaining that I had cramps, that I was in no shape to deal with any drama or conversation. No. I wasn’t going to be the polite, kind-hearted Ella who let people walk all over her.

Instead, I glared at the door and muttered, "You better turn around and walk away, Jason, or so help me god..."

As I opened the door, I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I had enough of this. My patience was at its breaking point.

"I would turn around now if I were you," I said coldly, my voice sharp as a razor. The words were barely out of my mouth when a sudden, sharp pain ripped through my abdomen, and I doubled over, cursing womanhood with every ounce of venom in me.

Of course, in typical Jason fashion, he didn’t listen to a single word I said. He was right there, quick as lightning, his hands suddenly on me, lifting me effortlessly off my feet.

"Dammit, Jason!" I protested weakly, pushing at his chest, but it was no use. He wasn’t letting go.

"No arguing. You’re not staying on the floor," he muttered, and before I could do anything else, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me like I was a damn baby.

Great. Just great. Now, I was stuck with Jason—the last person I wanted to deal with—playing the role of the knight in shining armor.

"I’m fine," I said, biting out the words as he carefully laid me on the couch. "I don’t need your help."

But the truth was, I was in no condition to fight him. My cramps were still stabbing me like daggers, and the last thing I wanted was to be handled like this. Jason didn’t seem to care.

He stood over me, arms crossed, looking down at me with that irritating mix of concern and determination. "You clearly do. You’re in no state to argue right now."

I wanted to snap at him, tell him to get lost, but the pain was making it hard to think straight. So, instead, I glared at him from the couch, hoping my eyes could communicate just how much I didn’t appreciate his "charming" ways.

"Just... go away, Jason," I muttered, sinking deeper into the cushions.

But of course, he didn’t. He didn’t listen to me, not even when I begged him to leave. Instead, he stayed there, hovering like some sort of annoying, well-meaning ghost.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was enjoying making me squirm.

He then went back to the door, and at first, I thought—thank God, he’s finally leaving. But no, of course not. He came back, this time with a shopping bag in his hand, and my brain immediately switched gears.

What now?

I watched, utterly confused, as he started pulling things from the bag with a level of care that made me want to punch something.

"I got you some chocolate," he said, his voice almost casual, but the damn chocolate he pulled out was massive—ridiculously huge. Not just one bar, either. Like he was planning to feed an army.

Oh great, this was just what I needed right now—chocolate, it’s like the universe was having mercy on me finally. Was he trying to be sweet, or was this some kind of cruel joke? But then the thought hit me before I could shove it away:

Why the hell was I starting to like this?

No, no. This was my stupid hormones talking. Nothing more.

"And your favorite biscuits," he added with a grin, like he was proud of himself for this grocery store charm offensive.

I blinked. What the hell was happening? Was I seriously about to melt over some chocolate and biscuits? Fuck me.

He wasn’t finished. Then, as if to further derail my brain, he pulled out a tub of ice cream. "And... some ice cream," he said smiling sweetly.

Okay, that one almost made me smile, but then reality hit. The last thing I wanted was something cold when my cramps were at their peak. Ice cream would only make things worse. I needed heat, something to soothe the agony twisting in my lower stomach. Maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to appreciate it after this nightmare was over.

No, no, no. Ella, this isn’t happening. I tried to push the ridiculous thoughts out of my head. Hormones were clearly taking the wheel. I couldn’t be falling for this, right?

But as if the universe had decided to throw in an extra level of torture, I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. What the hell was happening? My body was betraying me in the worst way possible. Hormones were turning me into an emotional wreck, and here I was, crying in front of Jason.

I didn’t even know why I was crying. The pain. The damn chocolate. The absurdity of the situation. All of it just cracked me open.

I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want him to see me like this, but there I was, a mess of emotions and hormones, trying to control the floodgates.

This wasn’t me.

"Hey... hey, shh," Jason’s voice softened, laced with that annoying concern he always wore like armor. "What do you need? Huh?"

That was it. That stupid, sweet voice of his cracked whatever was left of my composure. I cried harder, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet.

Why the hell am I crying over this?

It was just cramps. It was just a stupid day. It was just Jason being Jason.

The sincerity in his voice only made the tears come harder. I wanted to shove him away, tell him to stop being so goddamn kind and just leave me alone. But instead, I just let it out. The anger, the frustration, the physical pain—it all poured out in the form of hot, embarrassing tears.

Oh fuck, this was not how I wanted to act right now.

I was spiraling. Not only was I trapped in a whirlwind of unbearable cramps, but now I was letting Jason see me like this—vulnerable, emotional, completely out of control. And for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself.

I wanted him to leave. Hell, I wanted everyone to leave me alone. But his presence was like a goddamn magnet, pulling me deeper into this stupid, emotional mess. I could hear the softness in his voice, feel the way he was trying to comfort me. And damn it, I hated it. I hated how it made me feel.

It wasn’t just that, was it? Because, somewhere beneath the frustration and pain, a tiny, stupid part of me was actually touched by his efforts. Fuck my life.

I hated this. I hated that I could feel myself softening around him, and I hated that I couldn’t seem to control the chaos of my emotions anymore.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not like this.