100 Things I Hate About You Novels & Stories

Stacy's POV I knew saying I hated him wouldn't stop him. I knew it would probably make things worse. But I was too angry to care. Too furious to think straight. "I hate you," I repeated, my voice shaking. "I hate what you've done. I hate—"

She rolled her eyes but slid her finger on the screen anyways. "Whaaaatt?" She sat straight, "What the fuck is wrong with these people and their stupid reports. I was reading them the whole day.” She loudly said and threw her phone on the couch. “How come she read all of it and had already marked my mistakes. And now she wants me to correct it. Great! Just Super Fucking Great! Ah! I don't like this life. Who gives so much work to a trainee?" She put a cushion on her face and let out a muffled scream. She sighed again and plugged in her phone and laptop. She took out some baggy clothes and went inside the bathroom to take a tension-releasing shower.

One second he was flirting with my grandmother then the next he was shooting daggers at me with his eyes. "Idiot" I mumbled. Of course he wouldn't know why I was trying to kill him. He unknowingly ruined my life. I hated him for it. "I'll see you soon, beautiful." He said, turning back to my grandmother instantly nodded, "Feel free to visit whenever you like. Just don't bring the guns."

The stupidly, arrogant bastard. I got my test results back and as expected, I’d failed the test. Now, I have no other choice than to work extra hard to not fail this course. How convenient. My day was going way smoother than I had expected. It had all been roses and sunshine since I stepped out of the house this morning. ~~~~~ “I hate him, I hate every inch of him and now I’m dealing with this predicament because of him!” I grumbled under my breath as I walked into the house and slammed the door shut behind me.

But I'm not. I turned to my dad, my heart pounding. “Dad, we can stop this. Please, we can still stop this.” He looked at me like he didn’t recognize me. Like I was being dramatic over nothing. “We've talked about this so many times, Lilith. You can’t come here and hesitate on your wedding day. You had so many months to get prepared for it, Now you have to go through with it.” I blinked fast, trying to stop myself from tearing up. “But you know he hates me. You know he hates me so much. He thinks I'm a killer.”

I growled, staring deep into his eyes, giving him a choice to hate me or love me. . . . Ray's P. O. V Hate me... The word resounded me in my ears a thousand times. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't see myself hating her. It was impossible. " I can't..." I muttered, still looking at her. " What did you say?" She asks me, her voice coming out as a whisper. " I can't.... Do it..... I can't hate you. I don't know how to." I said again, strongly this time, begging and hoping she'll understand. Then all of a sudden, she started hitting me in every place that was available.

Dominic: “You're good at this.” Me: “I had a mother who survived immigration with three hundred dollars and a suitcase. You learn to read rooms.” I set the phone down and started the morning prep and spent approximately zero minutes thinking about the photo. This is a lie. I spent a significant amount of time thinking about the photo and specifically about the expression on his face in it because I had not seen him make that face in person, or rather I had not seen it when he knew I was looking, and there was something destabilizing about seeing it captured and still and undeniable.

Another loud thump. “I hate Sabrina for telling me to grow up,” Irena said with a renewed strength as she let the bat fall against the dried straw. “I hate Cathy constantly belittling me,” Sandra shouted, and the inflatable object hit the hay with a soft smack. “I hate being pregnant and getting fat,” Irena growled. Whack. “I hate being stuck in England when I wanted to go to Africa.” Thud. “I hate Peter taking control of everything.” Smack. “I hate therapy.” Flop. “I hate everyone telling me to plan my wedding.” Bam.

The words were a torrent now, unfiltered, a geyser of poisoned emotion that needed a reason to break free. “I hate you!I hate you for making me feel this! For making me care what you think! I hate the way you look through me, like I’m just glass! I hate that you—” A violent, chest-aching hiccup stole my breath. “I hate that you make me feel guilty for things I didn’t even do!”

VICTOR There are exactly two things I fucking hate: turning into a beast every night and arguing with my father. And honestly, I’d take turning into a beast over arguing with my father any time. Because that man loves to be right, and he will not stop the argument until he’s right.