They Hated Him For He Told The Truth Novels & Stories

He asked, “There’s no more to it, I was banished as I said earlier hence you met me at the desert” I couldn’t remember the words I said to him earlier so I wrapped my head around the basis of my lies. One thing I hate about lies is that I’m not good at it and when the truth unfolds it would be disastrous. “Ok if you say so, I hate lies and one thing I hate about them is the consequences the teller faces” He chuckles as I put a smile on my face.

She was staring at me as if trying to shred past the surface and seek the truth. "I.." It broke my heart to lie to them. I was never going to forgive myself for this. God help me. Sophia, please don't hate me. "I love him." I bit my lip, half expecting to be struck by lightning for lying, but there was nothing, just the gentle frill of wind against the leaves.

I should tell him I didn’t mean it, but after denying me a simple request, he may as well keep his distance. “You said you hated me,” he reminded me, his expression hard to read. I swallowed. I could never hate him, not even if I made a conscious effort into hating him. I hated that things were this way between us, and I hate that he’d kept the truth from me, but I can never hate him. “I was angry,” I say instead, my eyes dancing around the whole room without meeting his.

He lifted his head from my thigh. “He said he hated me.” His finger tilted my head to the side, “…look at me.” I did. “And?” “He doesn’t want to see me again,” I shrugged. His finger dropped from my face. “I didn’t…” “It’s not your fault,” I said quickly, because I knew what he was going to say, and I didn’t want him to say all that. “I should have been honest with him from the start, but I got distracted, and that’s worse. I made him hate me.”

Words of disdain he had fired at my mother when she died and his cold attitude and hatred towards her when she was still alive filled my head. “It's a lie," I whispered in a quivering voice. Tears stung in my eyes but I didn't look away from that face. “You hated her," I blurted out the truth I had always known. “You married her best friend a few weeks after her death. You hated her, you spoke ill of her. You're lying!" I spat. He sighed and pushed the empty glass towards me for a fill. I wanted to get up and leave this conversation for another day.

Like saying Winter over and over would make the truth disappear. I let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the bed again, staring down at the ring in my hand. “You should hate him,” I whispered to myself. My voice sounded empty. “You should hate him for everything.” For lying. For betraying the pack. For putting everyone in danger. For making me look like a fool in front of everyone. For making me love him when he knew the truth the whole time. My fingers curled tighter around the ring. “So why can’t you?”

I just can't imagine him being disgusted with the way his parents train him how to control people and gave him the permission to be happy while everyone outside of their place is suffering. When he explained things to me, I know that he's telling the truth. I can read people way and even though I know that they are telling the truth, I sometimes get hurt which made me hate them and deny what the truth is. And I would do the same if I were him so that would be reasonable.

I whispered it one last time, barely loud enough for them to hear. “I hate him.” But even as I said it, the tears slipping down my face told the truth neither of them dared to call me out on.

He simply stayed. Finally, she murmured, “Do you hate me for lying?” He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against her hair. “No. But I hate that you thought I’d love you less for the truth.” Her chest tightened. “It’s not that simple.” “It never is,” he said quietly. “But I’ve spent years surrounded by people who only tell me what I want to hear. You lied, yes but at least your lies had meaning.” She looked up, eyes shimmering with something close to wonder. “You’re impossible.”

"I know I can’t. I know I fucked up." "Fucked up?" I repeated, scoffing. "That’s putting it mildly." His glance burned with frustration. “Then tell me what to do, because I’m holding out. Tell me what it will to take for you to believe me.’” My pulse raced, my heart slammed against my ribs as I stared at him. Because the truth? The truth was—I didn’t know. I had hated him for so long, blamed him, convinced myself I would never forgive him, that there was nothing to be salvaged.