I Loved Him, He Was Allergic to Me / Chapter 1: Allergic to Love, Addicted to Pain
I Loved Him, He Was Allergic to Me

I Loved Him, He Was Allergic to Me

Author: Daniel Howard

Chapter 1: Allergic to Love, Addicted to Pain

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I tried to get close to the campus heartthrob—the brooding, untouchable genius—only to find out the guy was actually—no joke—allergic to women.

It sounded like the setup for a bad meme, but when I realized it was real, it hit me so hard I almost laughed. My heart started pounding, each beat a little faster, a little more panicked. Was this some kind of cosmic prank? Was I on camera?

Panicked, I scrambled for my phone and dialed 911.

My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone, fumbling with the screen. The operator’s voice was calm, like they’d heard it all before, but I could barely get the words out: “My boyfriend—he’s passed out, and he’s having some kind of reaction!” Even as I tried to explain, my mind was spinning. Confusion, dread, the whole nine yards.

Then, out of nowhere, glowing comments scrolled across my vision, just like a TikTok livestream:

[Can the side character just get lost already? She almost killed the male lead. If she’s that desperate, she should go hug a tree!]

[Love this trope where the hero can only touch his soulmate and breaks out in hives around anyone else.]

[Just wait till the real heroine shows up—Mr. Abstinent is about to go full beast mode.]

For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. The words floated, pulsing in the air, like the whole world was watching me screw up, live. Was this a joke? Was I on some hidden camera show?

When Chase finally came to, he reached for me.

His eyes were glassy, lips pale. He reached for me like it was muscle memory. It should have made me feel special. Instead, I felt this icy dread settle in my gut.

I stepped away, cold. I had to be. “Let’s break up. My psychic said you’re bad luck for me.”

I could see the confusion flicker across his face, but I forced myself to sound breezy, even a little bratty—exactly the girl he always thought I was. If only he knew.

After leaving him, I played truth or dare and said yes when a sweet younger guy asked me out.

My friends cheered, egging me on. The music thumped in the background. I laughed too loud, let the guy buy me a drink, and pretended I didn’t notice the way my hands still trembled. The tequila burned on the way down. Not enough, though. Not even close.

That very night, Chase locked me in his basement.

I never saw it coming. One minute I was headed home. The next, I was in the familiar, echoing dark of Chase’s basement. The door clicked shut behind me. My heart hammered. Fear, and—God help me—a strange thrill.

He held the leather collar in his teeth, then handed it to me, his kiss desperate and wild.

His eyes were wild, fever-bright. He pressed the collar into my hand, voice rough. “Please—let me try again.” His lips crashed against mine, desperate, as if he could erase everything with the force of his kiss.

“Baby, I can do better than that pretty boy.”

“Try me. I promise I won’t black out again.”

He was shaking. But his grip? Iron. I could feel the heat of his skin, the shudder in his breath. For a second, I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly.

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