Misanthropic Books Novels & Stories

But instead of being grossed out I found myself smiling. Yeah he was nice to me… very very nice and having some one like him here made the stay , could I call it a stay or was it an imprisonment, more palatable. Enjoyable even. There was just something about him, an attraction between us that had started the second we had met. I might dislike him for the most past but I didn’t hate what he did to me. As sick as that sounded, I couldn’t deny it. But it kind of tracked, I was a sick lady. Always had been. I always rebelled and went for the guys who were no good for me. And Dante Ritches was definitely a giant walking talking red flag.

‘Maybe he developed a liking for it,’ Chris thought with a shrug. He randomly pulled out a book from the romance section and read it. After skimming through the first few chapters, his interest died down and he immediately closed the book. Chris placed it back to where he had first found it. He felt chills running down his spine as the scenes were repeatedly playing in his head. “Just what kind of a book lets the female lead be so whiny and crazy?! My Lord… Nathan Hunt, just what kind of—never mind. I don’t even want to know,” he shuddered in disgust and hurriedly walked away from there.

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This book should be crowned the worst book of all time. This is not even a book! This is Complete Trash! Pathetic book! I just finished writing my book, "Sweet Stranger" , and I am getting a lot of backlash from readers. I know I should not focus on the negative comments. There are a lot of good comments from thousands of readers but me being a normal human being, I seem to focus more on the negative comments. I let them get to me. I want to strike back and defend my work of art when I see a comment from one particular fan that warms my heart.

Terrifying brutality lurked in my eyes but I was trying the best I could not to kill the fucker. Yes. I had more than enough money to get the goods, but it would be a waste if I let him live after squandering my money on useless materialistic things. Milano snickered, his breath ragged and his lips swollen from the punches I lodged at him earlier. “You won’t let me live even if I told you.” Dark thoughts, like cutting him open and feeding his body to some wild dogs were slinking and prowling around the edge of my mind, but I pushed them aside.

She stopped only when she felt satisfied, leaving a child to endure pain no child should ever have to understand. And his suffering did not fade with time. Instead, it hardened and numbed him. Growing up, Zandrei learned to survive by shutting parts of himself down. Somewhere along the way, his pain curdled into something darker. He developed an instinctive aversion to women, rooted not in reason but in memory. A raised voice, a sudden touch, even a lingering presence could set his nerves on fire. Rage came fast and unfiltered, like a defense mechanism forged in a house where love had always come with bruises.

“Excuse me, sir? Will you be checking any of these books out?” He tilted his head at her in confusion. He had reserved no books. The robrarian expected his question and spoke once more. “Your friend with the tail thought you would need these.” She showed him the different titles. The Lust Chronicles, I Am What I Am Accept It, My Lycanthrope Lover, How Not To Be An Asshole, and more. He nodded his head in understanding. She was a cheeky person when she wanted to be. He liked that.

The book was also filled with weird rules and things I don’t think we as workers need to know. Like the way grumpy guy likes his coffee and the things that we do that annoys him. Apparently, saying the words literally when the thing isn’t literal makes him wants to go crazy. He hates the color yellow and that wasn’t surprising at all. He probably likes grey and black and white and soulless colors that match his own disgustingly black soul that’s always put to destroy innocent people on his path. Have I not made a huge mistake like this? Can’t wait to tell Liam all this shit when I get home.

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“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”