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Summary
She hated that he never did his homework. She hated that he never seemed to care about college, choosing to party rather than work. She hated his immaturity. His stupid blonde-dyed hair. His cocky strut. His stupider stereotypical college-bro-muscles. She hated that he was wide awake and hyper at eight in the morning, as if he hadn’t drunk himself into oblivion the night before. She hated that she could see his hair sticking out of his snapbacks and that it curled up at the ends. She hated that she had the urge to take the hat off of him and put it on her head. She hated that his eyes always seemed to catch her looking at him. She hated that they reminded her of a cloudless sky. She hated his stupid laugh that never failed to tug involunatrily at the corner of her lips. She hated that she didn’t actually hate him.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
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