Beg For Me To Take You Back

I spent eight years groveling for Harlan Baxter's love.

Just when I finally woke up and decided to stop loving him, he started chasing after me.

When I loved him the most, Harlan poured a bottle of red wine over my head. The crimson liquid stained my world. He smirked coldly and said, "Claire Griffiths, you are just so shameless."

Later, Harlan cried and begged me to love him again. I didn't even spare him a glance. "Kneel and beg me. Then I might consider making you my backup."

1

Harlan had known me for a long time. He got close to me and dated me because he wanted to kill me and ruin everything I had. But he didn't expect to fall in love with me.

Everyone knew that Harlan had a loyal follower, a girl who acted like a servile doormat, never fighting back or talking back.

Unfortunately, it was me.

"Claire, Harlan is playing basketball. Aren't you going to watch him?" A classmate called out to me and seemed to be watching a good show.

I simply smiled gently and raised the bottle of water in my hand. "I'm going. Thanks."

"I told you she would surely go. She's so devoted."

"That's right. Honestly, what's wrong with Claire? She's such a nice girl."

I ignored the whisper around me. When I arrived, Harlan was taking a break. I handed the bottle of water to him.

He swatted the bottle out of my hand and sent it flying to the ground. Then he gave me a cold glance and a mocking smile. "I don't drink water from you. Can you stop wasting your time?"

Seeing his indifferent and disdainful smile, I frowned slightly and whispered, "Don't smile like that."

I crouched down and picked up the bottle. Then I unscrewed the cap and silently handed it to him again.

He took the bottle and threw it into the trash can. Then he looked back at me while raising his eyebrows. "You're just like this bottle of water, completely worthless to me."

I held back the tears welling up in my eyes. Harlan humiliated me, and I could see the hatred in his gaze.

Why did he hate me?

2

I met Harlan for the first time during a snowy winter. There was no heating in the classroom, and I curled up in my seat as it was freezing.

I put my head on the desk and felt like I had caught a cold. My head throbbed painfully, and my teeth chattered uncontrollably from the cold.

Then Harlan handed me a cup of warm water.

Through the rising steam, I looked up at him. He was tall, and his hair contrasted with his delicate skin. His lips were pale, which gave him an air of aloofness.

He was good-looking. His lowered eyes were cold. But they softened by the gentle allure of his long lashes. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly averted my gaze and said "Thank you" in a low voice.

I knew he was Harlan.

Like something straight out of a cliché romance novel, I ran into him again the next day when I stumbled along an icy path.

I was careful, but I still slipped and fell.

I was not used to the slippery road, so I held onto the nearby wall to steady myself. But before I could fully stand, I fell again.

I was frustrated and gave up, sitting on the ground directly.

When I was thinking angrily of quitting school, I heard a voice. "Isn't the ground cold? You still have a cold."

The voice was pleasant, tinged with a faint chill. I looked up and saw Harlan through the fog. He was crouching in front of me, and his clean, slender fingers were offered to me.

The fog was thick, but I could clearly see the gentle warmth in his eyes and the faint smile on his lips.

There was something deep in his gaze, but I couldn't quite figure it out. I chose to interpret it as tender affection.

He was like the moon. I once vowed that I wouldn't chase after the moon and that I wanted the moon to come to me.

But the truth was that the moonlight shone on me while I struggled in the mud, desperately seeking its glow. The moon remained indifferent.

Harlan took my hand before I could respond and slowly helped me up.

He was tall. Later, he told me that I had been so obedient back then that he felt like holding a kid's hand.

I had forgotten many details about what happened back then. Now I only remembered his dry, cool palm and the frantic beating of my heart.

I was young at that time.

Maybe because of the small warmth in an unfamiliar environment or Harlan's beautiful, gentle eyes, I fell for him in the tender years when I was a teenager with a crush.

That year, my parents divorced. My mother took me and left Brightmoor, the city where I had stayed since I was a little girl. We moved to Jadehaven.

I was spoiled and delicate. So it was hard for me to accept the sudden changes- transferring schools, the unfamiliar surroundings, and the unfamiliar accents.

Harlan was the only one who warmed me after I went there.

Because of that tiny bit of warmth, I loved him for eight years.

From seventeen to twenty-five, I poured all my love into him. He consumed my entire youth.

3

He patiently helped me with math problems that I cannot solve. He tapped my head and calls me a fool.

He bought me warm water in the winter, fills my hand warmer, and made sure my water bottle is never empty. He let me sit on the back of his bike. He rode along the riverbank in the evening breeze to take me home.

I always thought Harlan liked me, even just a little. But I forgot that I asked him about the math problems.

I ignored the impatience in his eyes. I filled his water bottle and charged his hand warmer. I said I was upset and asked him to take me to the riverbank for a ride.

He saw my love as a burden. He hated me, but I naively believed that he must like me, even just a little.

I thought he was kind-hearted. He was too kind to reject me, as he was afraid of embarrassing me. So he said yes when I confessed my love for him for the third time.

But I overlooked one thing: a normal guy wouldn't agree to date me if he didn't love me.

At that moment, I was ecstatic, like a gambler who had just won the lottery.

I shared the news with everyone that I had caught the moon. I had my moon alone.

Looking back now, I could only think I must have been out of my mind, or maybe he had some hold over me.

He once casually mentioned a small, family-run shop famous for its fresh doughnuts, saying their doughnuts were pretty good.

So, I started waking up an hour earlier every day and caught the first bus across town to the western part of the city to buy those doughnuts. Then, I squeezed onto the subway to bring them back and put them on his desk with joy.

I bought those doughnuts for two years. Later, I found out he never even ate them. He had either tossed them straight into the trash or handed them off to some guy nearby.

He brought up that doughnut shop on purpose. He threw the doughnuts away on purpose to make sure I saw him do that. He hated me. He was just tormenting me.

One memory stood out vividly. I had made a trendy little eggshell lamp I'd seen online. I cherished it like it was my most precious and carefully brought it to him. "Harlan, this is for you. I spent so long making it. You'll definitely..."

Before I could finish, he smashed the lamp against me. The eggshell shattered all over the floor, just like my heart.

"I don't need your stuff. Can you stop being so self-absorbed?" His voice was cold and merciless. I saw the malice and hatred in his eyes. It was so intense that it was suffocating.

I nodded weakly, and tears streamed down my face. It felt like an invisible hand had gripped my heart and crushed it.

It felt like my heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

I didn't want to accept that he didn't like me, no, that he despised me.

I lowered my head, and my badly burned fingers curled slightly. I didn't know what to say. That was the moment I finally understood that I wasn't special to him and that he wasn't my moon. The light that touched me was never moonlight.

Once, on a whim, I baked a cake and, despite everything, gave it to Harlan.

He smiled faintly and then handed it to the girl I had the most conflict with.

I wanted to ask him why he gave my cake to someone else. I wanted to lose my temper and tell him that I would never speak to him again.

But I didn't dare.

I knew that if I said that, Harlan would truly dump me. I thought of all the harsh words I could say, but in the end, I said nothing.

I was well aware that there was no relationship between Harlan and me. He didn't care about me at all. It was just me, desperately clinging to that one-sided connection.

He didn't love me. He hated me. But why?

I couldn't figure it out. I didn't want to believe it.

But I was young and foolish back then. I always thought he was not made of stone and always believed that one day he'd notice me and that he would spare me a little of his light and love.

Clinging to a sliver of hope, I cautiously kept this fragile, one-sided relationship alive. But I wouldn't change him, who had no feelings for love.

4

Harlan was exceptional. He was handsome, good-natured, and a skilled basketball player. In our senior year, he even won a gold medal in the national math competition and was recommended to the top university in our country. So many people liked him.

I was just a fleeting passerby in his long life. I knew that, but I didn't want to believe it. I was like a fool, lying to myself.

In our senior year, after securing his spot at the top university, he left school. His family situation seemed difficult, and I'd never seen his mother.

His father was a notorious gambler, leaving Harlan with some debts.

So he chose to work part-time at a bar.

He said he could make money quickly by working there. With his good looks, many were eager to pay him well just to have him around for his looks.

But bars were chaotic places. Not long after he started, a young woman from one of the most influential families in the region fell for him, just as I had once been captivated by his gentleness.

At my insistence, even though he worked, he would occasionally pick me up from school.

That woman sometimes followed him, and that was how she met me.

Harlan approached her on purpose. He brought her to meet me on purpose. He orchestrated everything on purpose. Harlan wanted to destroy me.

But I didn't know that. I saw him as the moon in the sky, while he saw me as dirt on the ground, something he couldn't even bear to glance at.

That woman liked Harlan. As his supposed girlfriend, I naturally became her target.

One day, she gathered some thugs and lured Harlan away.

When I was walking home alone, they cornered me in an alley and demanded I leave Harlan.

I loved Harlan so much. Of course, I refused.

"Do you think he'll like you if I leave him? Look at yourself."

When it came to Harlan, my tone was sharp.

As expected, she flew into a rage and slapped me across the face.

My cheek burned, and her sharp nails left a cut in my face.

Her lackeys pinned me down and slammed my head against the wall over and over. They laughed shrilly and called me delusional and trash.They said Harlan would never like me.

They said Harlan would never like me.

And they were right. He was radiant and gentle. How could he ever love me?

Even then, I thought it was my fault.

My head throbbed, and I felt dizzy, but I was stubborn. Could I break up with him?

That was impossible. He was my moon. He belonged to me alone.

Maybe they got bored when they saw I wouldn't give up. That woman left.

They warned me to stay away from Harlan. One of them lingered and said that if I told Harlan about that, she couldn't guarantee that Harlan and I would both make it to college in one piece.

I didn't believe her. But when it came to Harlan, I couldn't take any risks.

To be safe, I asked someone I knew working in the police force to look into that woman. Then I learned that she had just been released from juvenile detention.

At twelve, she had killed her stepfather, who had tried to assault her. The gruesome details were all over the news.

I finally understood that she might really carry out her threats. Her wealthy family had paid to get her out.

I gave up on reporting the incident. That petty bullying wouldn't result in any legal consequences.

But she was so cruel and might do anything. The college entrance exams were approaching. Once Harlan left for university, it would all be over.

I asked the servant to call in sick for me, with the excuse that I needed to stay home to prepare for the exams.