She hates it. She hates it so much.
The way he stares at her like she's the only one in the world, the way he smiles - actually smiles, not smirks - when she walks into the room, the way his eyes sparkle with hope and fear whenever he says 'I love you'.
The way he looks like he could propose to her on the spot when she whispers it back.
She hates that protective look in his eyes whenever Duncan walks back. She hates the way they growl and snarl at each other like she can't hear them.
She hates the way he looks when she lets him down. When she has to cancel a date because of work or school, or she has to turn one down because she's hanging out with Bridgette, or Gwen, or Heather, or someone else that day.
He hates the worried expression in his eyes whenever she tells him that no, she did not eat lunch today there was just too much work to be done and time could not be wasted on something so trivial as lunch breaks (Seriously, just eat at home.)
She hates the way he awkwardly grabs at his pants, trying to manuver them so that they cover up his, uh... (You know what she means, so why does she have to say it?) after a heated make-out session. She hates the way he hesitates whenever he reaches to touch her. As though she'll suddenly realize that his hand is poison and pull back so fast her shoulder dislocates.
She hates that he's always so scared that she'll leave him, when she would never even dream of it.
She hates what he does when he thinks she's asleep. How he plays with her hair and runs his hands up and down her arms. How he'll curl around her slowly and carefully like any wrong move will break her and their fragile bond, like if he moves too quickly and she wakes up, she'll snap out of the illusion and realize she can do better than a dirty farm boy.
She hates that he loves her more than she loves herself.
She hates that she's the one who's not good enough. That she's the one who doesn't deserve him. She hates it, and she hates him, and she hates Duncan, and Gwen, and Chris, and everyone who ever had anything to do with her relationship with him.
But mostly, she hates herself, because when he finally does fall asleep with his arms and body wrapped around hers in his usual, protective, terrified stance, she knows that she'll always move closer to him, that she'll press her back up against his chest and feel his warmth envelop her body.
She hates herself because when he looks at her, asking - begging - for permission to continue, she'll answer only with soft kisses to his collarbone, to his neck, and to his lips. She hates herself because she finds that she needs him more and more each day.
She hates herself because no matter how much she loves him, no matter how much she needs, craves, and yearns for him, she'll never be able to love him as much as he loves her. Her heart will always be split in two. Even if ninety-nine percent of it belongs to him, a part of it will always be someone else's.
She hates herself because she doesn't deserve him, she doesn't deserve his blush or his stutter, doesn't deserve his kiss or his embrace. She hates herself because when she looks at him, somewhere, deep in the back of her mind and heart, a small voice screams out "He's not Duncan. He's not Duncan and this isn't right."
She hates herself because that tiny voice gets louder every time she runs into the punk who refuses to stop calling her 'Princess'.
She hates herself because Scott is a prince, but he's not hers, she hates herself because her heart truly doesn't want him to be either.