As I sit on the edge of the bed, barely covered by my thick stained bed sheets, and watch you leave for the (I've lost count)'th time, I realise something. I always do after something like this. I realised that I liked you. Then, that I wasn't the only one on your mind. After that, I knew it wasn't going to work out. Last time, it was that I'm nothing to you. But this time my realisation isn't going to confine me to my room for a few days while I sit around and angst that I'm not the one you want. This time, I've realised that I hate you.
I hate everything about you.
I hate your hair, how it's always cut too short in some place because you do it yourself. I hate your scarred and imperfect skin with all the reminders of times where I'm sure I could have prevented your wounds if I'd just been a little bit better at my job. I hate your eyes and your lips and your nose that's definitely not bent enough for the amount of times it's broken. I hate how much of you there is and how I always feel so small when I'm lying next to you. I hate how you let me lie next to you just long enough for me to start to drift off comfortably, and how you then get up silently and redress like talking would kill you or make it real.
I hate your voice, your ridiculous French accent, and how it's stuck even though you've lived here since you were six. I hate your stupid fucking eyebrows that devour half your forehead, and how you always manage to lift one whenever I speak, like I'm just meant to sit here and look pretty. I hate how it's always my fault when something goes wrong and how you belittle me, just because I'm new to this. I hate the smoke screen you leave behind you that hangs in my room for days after you're gone, never quite leaving me alone and always reminding me of how pathetic I am.
I hate how you can't even think of one thing that you like about me, and I know there's something otherwise you wouldn't keep coming back. I hate how you tell me I'm jealous of Gregory and then laugh in my face about it. I hate how you say my name so quickly like it's dirt in your mouth. I hate how absolutely retarded you are and how you never realise how people feel about you, or even how you feel about them.
Because of this I want to rip you apart. I have crazy thoughts sometimes, dude. Thoughts of killing you, Gregory, myself, because this isn't going away and I don't think it ever will. I know how I'd do it, and I know how painful it would be for you, and I know that I wouldn't feel a thing until you breathed your last smoky breath.
They say that love and hate aren't far from each other.
You think that I'm joking.
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A/N: Reviews would be lovely. If you haven't read any of my other fics, Kyle is a hacker for Christophe and Gregory, just to clarify what his "job" is.