I do not know who's POV this is. I don't even know who the anger's directed at, but it looks like a high school fic. Maybe Chris Hobbes directed at Justin? I seriously don't know. Anyways, here it is:


I hate you. 

I’m just human. Humans hate. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It keeps us sane, doesn’t it? As a human being, you realize that you have to hate some things because it’s impossible to like and accept everything. Our society says we can hate things. It’s something to do with your self anyway. 

Too many people though, they let their hate consume them. 

They let it eat them alive from the inside out, like I’m letting you do to me and you don’t even know it. 

I can’t help it. I hate things. 

I hate rainy days. I hate the way your blue eyes cloud over to this bleak, depressive colour, making your expression rain like the sky. 

I hate that squeaky noise Converse’s make on polished hallways, when the rubber is wet from treading through puddles and muddy foot-prints have been trekked up and down the corridors. 

I hate the echoic way your locker shuts with that final bang, like a jail cell door slamming closed. Like a heavy book being pounded shut with that triumphant thump at the end of a long, drawn out, and in the end irrelevant story. 

A story that I hate. It’s all the same anyway. It’s all so clichéd and repetitive it makes me sick. 

I guess that’s what hate does to you. It leaves that spinning, nauseas feeling in the pit of your stomach, like being on a roller-coaster one too many times. 

When you hate something, you tend to avoid it. Hate is this emotion that makes your chest feel full, and ache because when hatred hits you it’s the equivalent of having an aluminum bat swung full force into your rib cage. At least, when it’s real hatred. 

You can dislike something, like a food or a place, and not get punched in the face with that ominous feeling of sick abhorrence. 

If I had half a brain, I’d probably avoid what I hated too. Dislike is so much easier to deal with. If I disliked coleslaw, I just wouldn’t eat it. I’d avoid it, right? But with hatred, I’m so frighteningly drawn to it. It compels me, maybe. Humans seem so addicted to their hate; they love it. 

And I was always under the impression that love and hate were an oxymoron. I’ve come to the realization that they aren’t. 

I’m standing behind you, watching your ears burn different shades of red. I hate you so badly right now, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m shaking. My hatred is fueling my rage, or maybe it’s the other way around, or maybe, even, they’re the same thing. I just want to hit you. I want to slam your pretty face into the row of lockers. 

My hate is egging me on. It’s not even me anymore; it’s this horrible monster lurking in my subconscious that’s begging for revenge. I want to spin you around to face me and shove my forearm against your throat, look you right in your eyes with their whirling, howling storms and ask you what’s wrong with you, when really I know it’s me with the problem. 

I’m the one that can’t let go. I can’t let go of my hate. I’m that addicted to it. I don’t know what I’d do without it. It’s the only thing I can feel for you, thus it’s the only thing I have of you. 

Yesterday, when the sun was still out, I looked up the definition for the word ‘hate’. It was something I had to do. I had to make sure that I really hated you, of all people, someone I once trusted and loved. As S. E. Hinton said in one of her books, “Make sure I hated you,” when the boy went to see his best friend in prison, and even though the emotion was true, he still had to check. 

They say that hate is such a strong word. I had to make sure that this was hate. 

Webster says hate is detestation. It says that hatred is bitter aversion, malevolence, and sustained hostility of feeling. To hate is a general term signifying intense aversion, especially accompanied by ill will; to abhor implies deep rooted antagonism or repugnance; to abominate is to detest in the highest degree; to loathe is to regard with utter disgust. 

That pretty much sums up how I feel about you. I loathe every aspect of your cocky, conceded self from your stupid gray eyes to your stupid squeaky Converse’s to the stupid way you slam your stupid locker door. 

I don’t know if hate can ever be justified, but that’s the only thing I can tell myself to make me feel any better. Hate is killing me. It’s just suffocating me to death. I can’t escape it. I can’t deny it. I can’t make it go away. I can’t avoid it. 

It’s killing me.