I Hate To Admit It Novels & Stories

“Please tell Chris” “What?” his eyes showed confusion and a hint of anger. “That I hate him and that I… also have nothing to do with him” “That would work if you could speak it once again and I record it” “Okay” I said and then he turned on his voice recorder. “Chris” I said. “I hate you. I hate the hell out of you and I have nothing to do with you either. I know mom must be hating me… but I will say this. Adams family is a shame and you are a part of it”

I just couldn't afford returning home without a job. "Well welcome aboard!" He exclaimed and slipped my file in his drawer close by. With a wry smile, I stood up and thanked him. I was to return the next day. I felt like screaming for joy, or let me say pain. Teaching was the worst job ever for me. It was my second list after detective. I wondered why I hated working, but I just had to right, this is the 21st century, and we've got to struggle to survive but to me, this wasn't what I wanted. As I cat walked, I came across a grocery shop and I hopped in. I was going to sponsor today's meal with those horrible neighbors because I got the job. They more like agents fixing people with works and

I haven’t… met anyone like this before. I hate him, I really do. I have to say it until I convince myself because the contrary will not end well for me. \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

’ The answer didn’t come. It never came. How could it? I let out a ragged sigh and slumped back against a tree, closing my eyes. The night pressed in. The stars blurred. And for once, I let myself admit it—if only to the silence. “I don’t know what to do.” The words echoed, fragile and raw. I hated them. I hated myself for saying them. But they were the truth. And the truth was heavier than any sword. I tilted my head back, resting it against the cold stone, and whispered the only thing I hadn’t said aloud in years.

I let out all that I have to say and admitted it. I hate admitting it. And I hate my mind for not letting me forget about it. I've always got what I wanted, and I will never give this up! I know that I am stubborn and selfish and self-centered and a drama queen. I know it. But I have every reason to be. And if you people can't understand how I feel and still suck up to that brat, then f*ck you all, I hate you, I wish you all die along with that brat! You do not understand my pain and what I had to give up to be here.

But the truth I can’t admit, the truth I bury under liquor and rage, is this: I don’t hate her. I can’t. I love her still. And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

I hate crying. “I don’t like it,” I whisper. “I don’t like anyone near you. I don’t like anyone calling you theirs. Because every time they do… it feels like something is being stolen from me.” The words rush out now. Messy. Raw. “I know it’s stupid. I know we’re supposed to be ‘family.’ I know none of this makes sense. But I can’t stop it. I can’t stop wanting you. And I hate myself for it.” There.

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 know enough.” There was a beat of silence before I forced out a breath, trying to suppress the whirlwind of emotions clawing their way up my chest. “Look, I hate myself sometimes,” I admitted, my voice quieter now. “Not because of you or anyone else. But because of the choices I made. But then I think about it… and I don’t regret it. Because Mom is alive. And I did what I had to do.” He studied me, his features unreadable. “You’ll never understand that,” I whispered. “Because you never loved her.”

she asked, popping a piece of chocolate into her mouth. "Dad knows him, he wants this," I explained, causing her to sigh. Living with that jerk before marriage is the worst thing I can imagine, but I have no choice. "Forget it, Sofia. I've accepted that no one can love me," I said, feeling defeated. "So, when are you both moving?" Sofia asked, catching my attention. "Maybe tomorrow. Can you believe I haven't even met his family yet?" I said, shocked. Marrying someone you hate, and on top of that, not even meeting his family - just wow.