Romans & histoires He Hates It

I hate her! [Aurora did nothing wrong, stop hating] [Aurora is such a bitch!]

Something crackling. And fuck—I hate it. I hate Isla Moreau.

I hated myself but why can't I just hate him too? .

I say honestly while staring back into his eyes, wondering why it’s so vital for him to know if I hate him or not. It might surprise people that no matter how much Ethan and I don’t get along, I don’t hate him. I feel hate is a huge word, and it can’t be used to describe what I feel towards Ethan. Yes, I dislike his character, but hate is far too big of a word to use and describe it. And also as far as Ethan does not rudely speak to me or insult me. We are totally fine with each other because I don’t have any other reason to loathe him.

Not only that, but I hate you all ! ....

I hate it… but how do I get rid of him now?

[I hate you] END.

he said smoothly, "even when it’s locked from the inside." He clicked his tongue. "I thought you were smart enough to know that, Ivy." My fists clenched. I hated how he said my name like it was a joke. I hated how my desperation amused him. I hated everything about him. With mocking ease, he added, "Calling someone who answers to me… to betray me? That was bold. Stupid, but bold." "I hate you," I muttered, my voice trembling. He adjusted his cufflink, gaze cool. "Save your hate and your energy for tomorrow."

“Call him. Tell him to bring the rest. Or I’ll kill you right now.” He shoved the phone into my bound hands. I almost laughed. Like Kaelen would answer now. But he did. His voice was cold, clipped. Detached. I hesitated. “Hey. It’s me. They’re asking when you’ll be back with the other billion.” Silence. Then the line went dead. I handed the phone back. “He hung up.” The man’s grin returned, even sharper. “He really hates you, huh?”

I had already learned not to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I turned away, walked down the steps, and pretended I couldn’t feel the mud squish between my toes. He followed me with his eyes the whole time. I felt it—like heat against the back of my neck. That stare of his. Heavy. Focused. I didn’t know it then, but that stare would haunt me for years. It wasn’t the last time he called me names. He had a collection of insults just for me. “Vulture Vee,” “Creepy Vee,” “Vee the Invisible.” He was creative like that. Every week, a new version of me he hated.