10 Things I Hate About Me Book Novels & Stories

A measure of everything that is bad for me. I'm pretty sure I'm not his type either. He hates my red hair so much, he tried to cut it off. He hates my guts. He hates that I do not swoon like the rest when he shows up. He hates that I don't drool after him, begging him to take me. I'm sure the list of things hated goes on and on, longer than that. We aren't anything to each other. Never will be. Goddess forbid that anything comes of the both of us.

It’s too much. My breathing grows ragged, the words pressing down on me from all sides. And suddenly, I hate being me. I hate my skin. My hair. My lips. I want to tear them off. I want to scrub the name Susanna off the surface of the earth. I abhor it. My existence. Filthy. Dirty. Used. Degraded. Ruined.

Ever since my adoptive uncle, Luigi, took over the Mexican mafia, he would make me work for him too. Thing is, I was trained ever since I was ten, to become an assassin by Rafael. I did not want to become an assassin. I wanted to become a doctor, and save lives but I ended up becoming an assassin and take lives instead. I've taken more lives than I can count. I hated what I did. I hated being an assassin. I hated my life. It sucked really bad.

They were all adjusted alphabetically. He then randomly picked a book. ‘If I had your Face – By Frances Cha’ He read the title. He opened the book. On the first page, there was her name and a date written. The date when she either got the book or started reading it. He flipped through the pages. She had underlined some context. Marked notes somewhere. Scribbled replies to some lines. He laughed to himself. There was this line she had highlighted, “In New York, you can talk to anyone about anything at any time and have a conversation so long you'll fall a little in love with that person, and then never see them again.”

I say now on the verge of crying. " you are not" I said once again trying to grace in his arms. " I say don't you dare touch me" I shout at him with total anger in my eyes. " I can't believe I actually thought you could change, totally forgetting that adage that said a leopard can't change its spots. You are still the same manipulative bastard thay she were six years ago,and I feel totally disgusted with myself for letting this stupid feelings I have towards you being me right sense of reason. You disgust me!" I say as I felt tears slipping past my eyelids.

If there was one thing I hated more than liars, cheaters, spiders, judgemental people, corrupts, and..., you know what? I think I hate a lot of things happening in this world. That was really sad. Maybe I was a certified hater. But then again I think anyone would hate the above mentioned things. Well... maybe not if you are one of the above mentioned things. Except that the third of the above mentioned things was not possible because I'm fairly certain that you're not a spider since the last I'd heard, spiders couldn't read.

It wasn't a loud, dramatic fracture; it was quiet, like thick ice cracking under immense pressure. "I hate him, too," I whispered into my glass. Victor nodded slowly. "I know." "I hate Sophia Lang." "I know." "Right now, I think I even hate Thelma." "I know." And then, before my internal filters could catch the words, I admitted the one thing I hadn't dared to say out loud to Renata Cole or to myself. "I hate myself." Victor shook his head instantly, reaching out. "No. Don't say that."

I sniff, keeping the tears at bay, and I type - “I hate you, I hate you so much, and I'm done pretending that I don't. I hate you so much, and you hurt me. You were my bestfriend, my favorite person, and you left me. You read my books, the ones I don't share with the world, you've seen the demons between each lines, and yet, you went on and became one of them, you knew my demons and you become one anyway. You knew my achiles heel, and you stabbed a knife through it.