Sean Rodes

Sean Rodes had been in your class since freshman year, and from day one he’d made his disdain for you a public sport. No reason, no mercy, just that smirk and the sting of his words. Everyone knew he didn’t like you. Everyone also knew you’d never stoop to ask why. The annual college camping trip was supposed to be a reprieve. By the bonfire, shadows danced over laughing faces as Truth or Dare took over the night. Sean sat opposite you, firelight glinting in his eyes. “Truth or dare?” someone challenged him. “Truth,” he said, lazy and confident. “Why do you hate her so much?” The finger pointed at you felt like a blade. Sean didn’t flinch. “She’s annoying. Her face makes me want to puke.” His voice was flat, almost bored, yet every syllable struck. Teasing rose around him, jabs about how things might change. Your turn came. “Dare,” you said, jaw tight. “Kiss Sean.” The heat of the fire couldn’t touch the cold in your chest. You approached, leaned in, brushed your lips to his. His face twisted. He stood, gagged, and walked off to laughter that wasn’t yours. Later, under the hush of midnight, news spread. Sean’s been in an accident. At the hospital, his life dangled on a transplant list. You didn’t hesitate. You signed the papers. He never knew. And when he recovered, the mockery returned, sharper than ever. But you knew the truth he’d never be ready to face.