Hate Me

by Leen Elle

  Hate Me

  Leen Elle

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Thanks dpgroup forum.

  Chapter 1

  Who Needs Love?

  "I love you – those three words have my life in them." – Alexandrea to Nicholas III

  RAYLIN

  Love. What is love? Some people say love is when you just want the person you love to be happy. Some people say love is when you feel a constellation of conflicting emotions, filled with profound affections. Some people say love is everlasting. Yet almost everyone says that love, is something that cannot be described with words.

  What I really don't get is why people say they love one another, when it all ends in heartbreak. Take for example, a mother tells her son she loves him dearly, but she passes away. Did they not say that love is when you want someone to be happy forever? Yet when she passes on, what the son feels is not happiness. What he feels is ultimate sadness and betrayal. Think about it, is that love?

  Lovers insist that they love each other unconditionally and they give their all up for just this one person. They get married, thinking that they love each other whole heartedly and nothing could tear them apart. However, why is it that so many divorces exist? Otherwise, couples break up because of petty quarrels. What happened to 'love is everlasting'?

  I bet all of you are staring and wondering, just who the hell this bitch is to ramble on as if she knows everything about love. Well, considering the fact that this bitch is only seventeen years old that is. Let me enlighten you then.

  Imagine having a happy, 'loving' family for seven whole years. Then one day, your screwed up father claims he 'loves' another woman. What do you think happens? Yes, your mother is extremely irate and she cries her eyes out nightly. Your father leaves all the same with that other woman he 'loves'. Your sister and you are whisked off to a whole new world with your mother.

  "I don't get it, Darren! You have the perfect family and you're leaving us for that bitch?" A voice rose to a shrill, accompanied by falling chairs.

  "No, YOU don't get it. Emily, I really love her. She's… she's… I just love her alright?" a male voice replied, as he tried to dodge the pots and pans being hurled at him.

  Two pairs of frightened green eyes peered out from between the stair banisters. The elder girl put her arm around her sister's shoulders and whispered comfortingly into her ear. Her eyes widened in further horror when her father turned and threw the front door open, turning his back to them forever. She ran down the steps and threw herself into her mother's arms. Tears fell from her mother's gray eyes as she clutched at her two daughters and sobbed her heart out.

  A whole new world where your mother has had countless boyfriends in those ten years your parents were divorced. They ranged from doctors to mechanics to gardeners and even the plumber who came to fix our leaking pipe. I've used up all my fingers and all my toes and still, I haven't come to a total number. That, is how bad everything has become. She claims she loves every single one of them. Every single one of them claims they love her. So can someone please explain to me how come it all comes to an end? Face it, people. Love does not exist.

  Hello to all of you, I'm Raylin Lachey, seventeen going on thirty and cynic extraordinaire. I cannot deny the fact that I am a total perfectionist (taking into consideration the facts that I organize my closet by color and my books by alphabetical order). I say I'm seventeen going on thirty because ever since my mother delved into her own little world of weekly romances, I have been the one to do the household chores, pick up my younger kid sister from school, and coax my mother to sign the bills. Sometimes I wonder if I can safely say I love her without my brain working out all the reasons why love does not exist.

  My little sister is the worst struck. She never knew our father, and now, her mother is a wreck who barely spares her a second glance. Rayne is the prettiest twelve-year-old you can find in this district. I've always enjoyed brushing her silky red hair just like our mother's (a contrast to my jet black hair), and she has taken to wearing it past her shoulder blades. Her emerald eyes glint with amusement at almost everything. I would say I love her but I don't want to. Someday I'm going to have to leave too and I don't want her to be hurt the way I was. All I can say is that she's my everything and I would simply die if I lost her.

  Either way, I hate love, love hates me and I enjoy our current relationship tremendously.

  VIPER

  Love sucks. End of story. Look, what I don't get is why people claim that love is the sweetest thing that He bestowed upon us. How can they say that when all it causes is ultimate heartbreak and ridicule?

  "Mummy, why're you lying in bed? Do you want me to get Daddy?" A nine-year-old boy with blonde hair and angelic blue eyes clung tightly to his mother's frail hand, holding his younger brother with the other hand. His eyes peered out the hospital room's window as he searched for his father.

  "Mason, mummy loves you and Melvin," a whispered voice came from the woman lying upon the hospital bed. "Look after your brother alright? I'll always be with you. Tell your daddy, I'm sorry I never got to say goodbye to the man I loved…"

  Her eyes dulled and shut as the machine gave one loud, final beep, her fingers still entangled with her son's. A tear fell from the boy's eye and landed on her finger.

  "Mummy…" he whimpered. "Why did you leave me if you loved me? Why did you leave me when you said you'll always be with me?"

  My mother was truly beautiful with her river of dark, dark hair and sparkling eyes of dawn's clearest, darkest blue. Every time she hugged me, I could smell the fragrance of the apple shampoo she always used. And every time she bent to brush her cheek against mine, it felt smooth, flawless. The neighbors remembered her as a beautiful woman who never hesitated to help, regardless of what the problem was. She volunteered at the dog pound and was in short the perfect mother. She cooked delicious dinners, she kept the house wonderfully clean, she looked after us well and brought us up as polite, loving children. It all changed when she left. I honestly loved her, and I thought she loved me too. If she really did love me, why did she leave me behind?

  My father – the man I used to adore and admire, he soon transformed into a monster I can barely recognize. When my mother was around, he was the perfect husband and the best father. His hair, just like mine, was almost combed neatly, and his shirt was always spotless and clean. He doted on Melvin and me, bringing us out to fish and to cycle. He concerned himself with all our school work, thus resulting in our exceptionally good grades. He was the chairperson of a company, dressed impeccably in suits everyday except on weekends. His colleagues claimed that he was the best worker they had ever seen. They praised his responsibility and his efficiency.

  That was when my mother was still around. That was then. When she left, all he did was thrust us into a relative's hands and walk away, to drown his sorrows in drink. We stayed with my aunt for two whole months while he recollected his senses again. I got regularly picked on by the neighborhood bullies and in the end, I taught myself how to fight, pummeling and kicking my uncle's old punch bag. My father did collect us back in the end, although I rather he didn't.

  Now, all he ever does is to drink and hurl abuse upon us. Once, when I was twelve, I returned from school to see a drunken man lying unconscious in his own vomit and
my own eight-year-old brother crouched, shivering in a corner. I did the only thing I could think of, I brought him out of the house and implored a neighbor to clean up his bruises. I blamed myself for it all. If I had been there, he would never even have the chance to touch my brother. The monster had hit him so badly, bruises the size of his fists were all over his body. I swore to myself then that I would teach him how to fight well, and I would protect him for as long as I lived.

  Father? What father? The only father I had, died when my mother died. What makes it most ironic is that they both claimed they loved me.

  I spend my time in my room drawing and sketching. I really don't mean to brag but I can turn just a few strokes of a pen or pencil into a picture. An accidental swipe from my pencil on a piece of paper can be transformed into a magnificent ship with billowing sails.

  I have always used this gift to amuse my younger brother. All over my walls, I have tacked up my favorite drawings – almost all of them consist of hearts being mutilated. I suppose you can guess why, can't you?

  That one single incident when I was nine changed my view of love forever. And nothing can ever make me change it again. Because I'm no longer Mason Gray, the mama's boy. I'm Viper, the one all the students feared. I'm the one who beat up everyone who ever dared to make a passing comment about me or my brother, and Melvin has turned into a regular little menace to the teachers at thirteen. He is however, pretty friendly with some of the students, quite unlike me. But I want him to have a real education, and not stone his way through his schooling years just like me.

  Let me get this straight one last time, love does not exist so quit waiting for your one true love to come.

  Chapter 2

  Ice Queens and Goths

  "Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it." – Unknown

  RAYLIN

  My alarm clock rang shrilly, disrupting the beautiful dream I was having. Groaning, I forced my eyes open, slamming a hand down on the irritating alarm clock. My room was left just the way I liked it, neat and tidy. I squinted at the clock's face, barely making out the hour hand. It was seven in the morning, time to get ready for school again. I slid out of bed, slipping my feet into the fluffy white bedroom slippers and shuffling towards the bathroom.

  Honestly, my room was a perfectionist's dream. All my furniture was white, glossy and perfect. Even my bed was a pretty cream color, the headboard a thick, cushion. Alone the walls, I had set up shelves where I had my books arranged neatly in alphabetical order. In one corner of the room was a desk with a glass top, my coffee black laptop sitting atop it. Next to the radio on the shelf above it was an upright box with compartments for my CDs. They were arranged in their different genres and by alphabetical order as well. Stop giving me that skeptical look, everything I had that had letters were arranged that way.

  On the topmost shelf next to my closet, I placed my most treasured photos and along its edge I blu-tacked pretty, translucent candle holders (with the candles inside, of course). I always made sure that my bed sheets, quilts, and curtains matched. This month, they were a pink theme. My jewellery hung in my walk-in closet, right at the back. A couple of hours in the woodwork room at school resulted in a white board with long pegs to hand my necklaces and bracelets on. I kept my earrings in small separate boxes, organized and pretty. My walls were painted pure white, with a thick strip of blue called 'Azure Sky 3'. Yes, I do remember the names of the colors my room is painted.

  I had my own bathroom linked to my room. Actually, so does the guest room, my sister's room and the master bedroom. I personally designed the bathroom such that the colors of the bathroom matched with the blue in my room. The walls were 'Summer Medley 3' and the basin was glass. I separated the shower area and the toilet with blocks of sapphire colored glass. If I must say myself, it was beautiful.

  If you are wondering where we got all the money from, my family was rich. Before my father walked out on us, with him being a lawyer and my mother being a professor, their annual income totaled to an overwhelming half million. When they divorced, my mother won custody of us and so, he had to surrender $3000 monthly. A little overboard, I know, but with his salary? That amount was just a mere fraction of it.

  Stepping out of the bathroom at last, I picked out a fresh off-shoulder top and a pair of hipster jeans from my closet. Did I mention that my closet was segregated into the 'tops', 'bottoms' and 'shoes' sections? I ensured that they were also arranged according to the colors of the rainbow. That was the way I liked things, easy to find. There was a soft knock on the sky blue door and it swung open slowly. Rayne put her head around it and slipped into the room, sitting on my bed. I cringed, realizing that I hadn't made it. Pulling my hair up with a diamante hair clasp, I grinned at her.

  "You look great!" She commented, taking in my blue shell necklace and mother-of-pearl ear studs. I ushered her off the bed and onto an armchair while I made my bed quickly, folding hospital corners and making sure that my pillow was tucked under my comforter. Rayne watched me working in amusement. "Y'know, sis. I never understood why you have to make everything so perfect."

  "Because I'm a perfectionist, babe. You look amazing in that top," I responded, picking up my shoulder bag which I had packed the day before and leading her out the room. Her hair swung gently against a black top and her denim miniskirt was held up with a thick black belt. Recognizing the butterfly buckle, I stopped. "Is that my belt, Rayne?" She gave me a sheepish smile in response before popping two slices of bread into the toaster. My mother was already in a wine red suit, her coffee in one hand and a black brief case in the other.

  She always wore bold colors, accentuated with very discreet jewellery. Frankly speaking, my mother had a great fashion sense. Her black hair, like mine, was pulled up into a high ponytail. Sometimes I wondered how her students at the college managed to concentrate on her lectures, with her striking clothes.

  "Raylin, honey. I'm not going to be home for dinner, alright? I have a date with Chris tonight," she practically giggled. "He's such a great guy!" I rolled my eyes at Rayne who had a look that read 'drop-dead'. My mother said that about every guy she met. How she was able to meet so many guys while being a professor was an amazing feat beyond my understanding, but I wasn't about to find out how she managed it.

  When she left, I cleaned up as usual and went outside, where Rayne was waiting patiently for me. In the garage was a sleek black convertible. Yes, it was my baby. I may be seventeen and not old enough to drive, but my mother hadn't thought twice about it when she bought it for my seventeenth birthday. I kept it spotlessly clean, wiping the insides and washing the whole car weekly. I even polished it regularly so that it would maintain its perfect shine.

  "Sis, why must you always arrange your CDs in alphabetical order?" Rayne asked, looking through my discs. That was not the first time she had asked that question and I still didn't have an answer to it. I just liked having my things in order. I revved up the engine and sped off to, dropping my sister off at the school first before parking the car. She gave me a quick hug and bounded off to join her friends.

  I found my three closest friends waiting for me at the door of the school; Calista with the hazel eyes and curling brown locks, Belinda with her blonde-streaked hair and dark blue eyes and finally my bestest friend, Leila. She was drop-dead gorgeous, although she refused to admit it. Her hair was black, almost like mine, but she had streaks of red through it. Her eyes were like chips of blue ice, unless you knew her well, like we did. Behind our backs, (or sometimes right before us), they called us the Ice Queens. Why, you ask. We basically ignored all the people we didn't know, and perfected death glares which we shot at those we loathed. Leila and I were the professionals in this field, and I don't mean to brag, but some people actually cringe when we turn our eyes on them.

  "Well look, the queen's here at long last," Leila spoke, shifting her pose, sarcastic as always.

  "Leila, you know she's never late, right." Belinda laughed, flashing her bri
lliant white teeth. She was right, I was never late. Usually I was extremely early, or right on the dot, in today's case.

  Calista picked up her books and started towards the hall, "C'mon. We have to go to the auditorium for assembly."

  "Why?" Belinda looked confused as per normal.

  Groaning, Leila turned to stare at her, "It's the first day of school, Belle." Belinda giggled sheepishly as she followed us to the hall. As we entered the crowded place, I felt a tug on my ponytail. I spun around, my eyes narrowed, only to see a grinning Rayne. I relaxed, giving her a small pat on the head. While we strode away, I could hear someone gushing to my sister, "Oh gawd, Rayne! You're so lucky to have such a cool sister…"

  I smiled to myself, oh what it was like to be popular.

  VIPER

  I sat in the office, looking at the cream walls in distaste. It was a disgusting color, at least, to me. The couches were upholstered in red leather, surrounding a short wooden table. Vases filled with fresh flowers dotted the place, surrounding the place with a gagging scent. This was what I was close to doing when the door to the principal's office swung open.

  "Hello, you must be Mason Gray, the new student." A tall woman in an imposing black suit held out her hand for me to shake. I took it, standing up. The manners my mother drilled into me as a child had never left, much as I wanted to shake them off. Although she looked positively turned off at my copious amounts of eye liner, she smiled appreciatively, "It's rare to have someone stand when I talk to them. You will be in the Grade 11 class, and I'll send someone there with you in a moment, alright? So you can just sit down here for a while."

  I dropped back into the squeaky leather as she turned to leave, picking at my over-sized black tee. The leather cords I had bound around my wrists hooked onto a long branch from the neighboring plant. Grunting in displeasure, I yanked it free. This was going to be a long, long day.