Hate. The one word that could describe my very existence; the feeling that singed my being. Such a strong word, and one I very well meant. I hated everything... everyone.
I wanted the world to burn and drown in it's own ashes. I wanted it to feel this unbearable pain and hatred I was forced to live with.
This hate was all that I had left. It was the only reason why I was still alive.
Five years ago... that was the day I lost everything. When the flames scorched my skin and changed my life forever. Some say that, that little girl was still alive, forever chasing down a pitiful and unattainable vendetta... but they couldn't be more wrong.
That poor and pitiful little girl died a long time ago. What I sought... what I wanted was for everything to be destroyed. I wanted them all dead. Him... them... everyone.
And yet, why... why was I here... in his arms?
Our blood trailed all over our bodies from our previous fight. Gashes sliced all along our limbs and yet our bodies were still so close.
His rough and calloused fingers traced along my jaw as his eyes stared at my dark voids. We stood still for just a moment. My back felt cold from being pressed against the dry wall. Slight and subtle breaths were taken, as if we were both hypnotized. I couldn't move, and neither could he.
I hated him. More than anything. He was the reason why I was here and I wanted him dead for it.
So why. Why did his eye's comfort me? Why was I suddenly calm? This hate suddenly felt unrecognizable and yet so familiar.
What was happening to me?
With a heavy breath, he whispered, "I hate you."
I looked up at his towering height, gazing upon his mutilated face. His eyes seemed so soft, yet intimidating. I could do nothing but take a breath as I spoke.
"I hate you too," I lied.