Jen looked over at her friend in disgust. "I /so/ hate you," she said, watching Amanda lick the chocolate icing from her fingertips.
Amanda eyes grew wide, as blue as glimmering aquamarines, and shoved her fingers into her mouth. She made a slurping sound as she sucked th(more)em and then laughed. "Why?"
"Because you eat like a pig and don't gain a pound. If I licked that chocolate off you fingers my ass would be three pounds heavier by morning."
"No it wouldn't" Amanda said. "Here, take a bite." She held the cupcake to Jen's face.
It was decadent- one of those fancy, four dollar cupcakes filled with fudgy goodness and topped with a prissy pink rose resting on a bed of shaved chocolate leaves. Amanda had taken a huge bite out of one side and the whole thing threatened to collapse under the weight of all that icing.
Jen had an image of pushing it into her pretty little face, smiling white teeth blackened with cake. Instead, she merely pushed her hand aside. "Back, Satan. I've lost four pounds this week and I'm not caving in now."
"That's a little dramatic don't you think?"
"No more than your fake bake tan. You look like a god damn oompa loompa."
Amanda took another bite of cupcake and shrugged. "It's better than looking like Casper," she mumbled, mouth full.
Jen sighed and pulled the gun out of her waistband. "Are you ready to do this or what?"
Amanda shoved the rest of her cupcake into her mouth and reached for her own gun. "I hate you, too."
"Because a cupcake like that is supposed to be savored, not shoved down like some tequila shot."
Jen rolled her eyes. "You work crowd. I work counter."
"Yeah, yeah. Bank robbing 1o1."
I wish I could hate you.
For what you've done, what you're still doing.
Oh, I WISH I could hate you.
Maybe it's your blood, running through your veins, through mine. Though I don't think so. I can hate him and his blood is my blood is your blood.(more) Maybe it's your words. Spewing from your mouth in a vile stream that courses through my mind and finds articulation only in your mouth. The words I won't let pass my lips that make themselves so at home on your tongue. The words that keep me up at night.
I wish that by some miracle, our shared biology did not mean you saw me as a mirror. I wish you did not take my shortcomings personally, finding anger enough for the both of us. I wish I didn't drag your words to my room with me, and play them over and over again. I wish the anger in your eyes was not what haunts me in my nightmares.
I wish I wish I wish.
I wish I could hate you, but I am too much like you for that. (less)
"I hate you, Mama!" The door slammed shut and I shook where I stood, my right hand resting on a dining chair. My two other children were silent until the youngest stood, her own chair scraping on the tiles.
"I'll......go see what's wrong." Alice's eyes were wide at(more) what had just happened, but her mouth was set in a determined line. Jeremy never got that mad. Not J3. He'd never...unless something had happened that they (the parents, at least) didn't know about. She padded down the hall as quietly as she could, our little mouse...
Gavin and my husband, the elder Jeremy, just kept picking at their food-ribs- and I sank down into my chair, careful not to move too fast, 'lest I disturb the baby inside. His name would be Matthew when he came into the world, but now? My eldest was upset, he HATED me. I don't know if I could ever handle that. No. Not my baby boy. Not my husband's boy. I heard loud tears; he'd hit or pushed her. So unlike my boy... Alice ran out, going right to her father.
"Yes?" My husband looked up from his food, holding his daughter close as he looked at me.
"Please go explain to your eldest son how he cannot hurt his sister. He doesn't want me for a mother, anyway."
"Oh, honey..." I'd begun to cry and the baby kicked inside me, restless at my discontent. My husband stood, a hand holding his daughter's own.
"Please, just... just go..." A small nod and my husband tramped down the hall to his son, his heir. Gavin and Alice just looked at each other and came over to hug me.
"..............we don't hate you, Mama. Neither does Jeremy."(less)
I don't even want to speak your name. I hate it. It makes my heart race, makes rational thought impossible. It sounds like golden rings, and the bluest blue that even the summer sky envies. It sounds like protection in the form of strong arms from this simple and(more) horrible world, like your breath on my cheek and your heartbeat echoing in the dark at 3am and of course I'm listening because experiencing your like that is more worth my time than sleeping. Sleeping is for when you're gone, so that you can come back to me in my dreams.
Though you never do,
The world is silent,
I'm screaming and you can't hear it.
You hate yourself too much to love me. (less)
Just because it’s cliché doesn’t make it any less true. The “line” between love and hate is thin. It’s so thin that the thick of everyday life will—if you’re not careful—have you easily overlook the demarcations. (more)(less)