I hate you,” I whisper. I feel it in my gut, and I can’t deny it. I can’t ignore it. I’m so angry, so hurt, so consumed that the hate feels like lava, settling in the pit of my stomach. My world was a sunny sky before him, a pretty picture my mother drew for me, and he painted it all black with the truth, splattering it with red from the bloodshed.I hate it.I hate him.”I know,” he says quietly. “You said you wouldn’t… you said you meant it… but I know you do.””But I love you, too… I don’t know how I still can. I hate you, but I still love you somehow. It’s just… how can I feel both ways?””Easily,” he says. “The opposite of love isn’t hate, Karissa. It’s indifference. You’re a passionate person, and love and hate… it’s not a far stretch from one to the other. They both take passion, someone getting under your skin and consuming you. And I ate you alive, sweetheart. You never had a chance. ― J.M. Darhower

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I hate you,
I hate you," I whisper. I feel it in my gut, and I can't deny it. I can't ignore it. I'm so angry, so hurt, so consumed that the hate feels like lava, settling in the pit of my stomach. My world was a sunny sky before him, a pretty picture my mother drew for me, and he painted it all black with the truth, splattering it with red from the bloodshed.I hate it.I hate him."I know," he says quietly. "You said you wouldn't… you said you meant it… but I know you do.""But I love you, too… I don't know how I still can. I hate you, but I still love you somehow. It's just… how can I feel both ways?""Easily," he says. "The opposite of love isn't hate, Karissa. It's indifference. You're a passionate person, and love and hate… it's not a far stretch from one to the other. They both take passion, someone getting under your skin and consuming you. And I ate you alive, sweetheart. You never had a chance. ― J.M. Darhower

I hate you,” I whisper. I feel it in my gut, and I can’t deny it. I can’t ignore it. I’m so angry, so hurt, so consumed that the hate feels like lava, settling in the pit of my stomach. My world was a sunny sky before him, a pretty picture my mother drew for me, and he painted it all black with the truth, splattering it with red from the bloodshed.I hate it.I hate him.”I know,” he says quietly. “You said you wouldn’t… you said you meant it… but I know you do.””But I love you, too… I don’t know how I still can. I hate you, but I still love you somehow. It’s just… how can I feel both ways?””Easily,” he says. “The opposite of love isn’t hate, Karissa. It’s indifference. You’re a passionate person, and love and hate… it’s not a far stretch from one to the other. They both take passion, someone getting under your skin and consuming you. And I ate you alive, sweetheart. You never had a chance.
― J.M. Darhower

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