She was always on his mind, and he couldn't get her out.
He wished he could, sometimes, late at night, his sleep troubled by her image. But other times, when he was talking to her, half distracted by her beauty, he couldn't help but be happy he had at least her image with him at all times.
He knew he had a fan club, at school. But he also knew they were wasting their efforts. He wanted her, and only her.
Because he loved her. She was the one who took care of him when he was sick, who comforted him when he hated himself. She was the one he loved.
And yet, he hated her. Hated her for making him feel emotion, emotion that he hated, he had trained himself not to have, He had trained himself to stay inside his mind, to be polite and without feeling. He had trained himself to be a rock, so it wouldn't hurt as much when he was damaged. But she had made it different, and he hated her for it.
Or, maybe he loved her for it. He couldn't really tell which.
