I Hate You by Chante

You Suck

You suck. I hate you.

With your perfect hair and perfect grace and perfect calm demeanor. I hate you more and more every day. Your friends sit around you, surround you with their support. You won’t let anyone else that close to you. The slots for your friends have long since been filled. But, that doesn’t mean that I can help but be envious. You are that guy, the one who everyone wants to be – that every girl wants to be with.

I hate you because you hate me. I know you do, because of the way you make my life a living hell. You are perhaps the biggest douche-bag I’ve ever known. You make me hate you more than you know. If you’d let me, we could have been best friends. Maybe more, because I’m so attracted to you that every time you look at me my heart stops.

I sit behind you in all of your classes. Not because I’m stalking you but because our professors think we’d be great together. Academically, of course. I watch as she slips a note into your hand, her lips painted ruby red. No – not ruby red – it’s too sanguine for that. You smirk at her, and I feel a tingle run up my spine.

I hate your smirk – what? Are you too good to have a genuine smile?

You pause, your back stiff. Everything stops – my heart, my breath, my existence as you turn your head. I duck mine before we can make eye contact.

I shift uncomfortably, my eyes drawn back to you even though I know you can feel my eyes. I hate school, too. I hate having to be around you. But even when I leave, I can’t escape you – damn you.

You walk the same way I do, through the courtyard of our school, past the statue in memoriam of that one girl whose name no one remembers. I have to go that way to catch the train. You go that way so you can suck the face off of your girlfriend. Once, I remember seeing you get more than a kiss. The way that you looked at me – I still remember – like you didn’t care. Didn’t care that I saw you, with her between your legs. You leaned against the statue so that no one would see you. Who goes behind the school after hours? Everyone else is worried about getting home.

Well, besides me – the train takes me to work, and I can’t be late. I still wonder if you knew that I’d be coming that way. I still wonder if you did it on purpose. Your arms were folded, hands cushioning your head as she slurped and sucked at your groin. Your half-mast eyes looked at me curiously.

They said “I don’t care if you watch”

“You see her? She’s so lucky”

“See how much she’s enjoying herself?”

“Don’t you wish you were the one on your knees? My hand fisted in your hair as you service me?”

“Aren’t you jealous?”

I remember stopping, a deer caught in head lights. I remember her eyes on me too – threatening pain, unless, of course, you wanted me to join.

I scurried past, and your eyes followed me for I don’t know how long. When I finally had the courage to turn my head towards you, your focus was back on her.

On her boobs – she was one of those early bloomers.

On her face – her waiting mouth open as if in worship.

On her hair – her once neat up-do undone in the heat of your moment.

Your eyes met mine as you reached absolution –the smug smirk on your face saying more then you ever would to me.

“Do you desire to be my little whore that badly?”

“Higurashi – I was under the impression that you were a good little girl,”

I still lay in bed sometimes, seeing that look on your face over and over. I usually tremble under the covers; refusing to touch myself for fear that the look in your eyes will fade from my memory if I give myself any relief.

My façade is so hard to keep up. It only got worse when you broke up with her. Without her, we almost always get stuck in groups together. I sometimes feel things. Sometimes, I feel like you’re still waiting for me to join in.

Sometimes, I regret that I didn’t.