Hate Me

The woman's features were shadowed beneath a fall of bangs as she fixed the top few buttons of her shirt back in place. Even if they weren't, it would have been impossible to tell what she was feeling. She looked entirely placid. Uncaring. It was the way she had grown accustomed to feeling. Her heart was much to tired to care anymore and she didn't have the will to follow once strict moral codes. It was only in the most secret of places she kept inside that she allowed a small trickle of guilt and pain to seep through, but she quickly pushed it aside. If it was only in these illicit moments that she was allowed a small reprieve at feeling free and a meager bit of happiness then she'd take it. She couldn't possibly loathe herself anymore then she already did so what did it matter? Looking back at the sleeping man she still couldn't squelch the dissatisfaction she carried with her. Emotionally, she just wasn't satisfied. She never was. Sighing she grabbed her coat and as she entered the hall she nearly crashed into another man. Looking up her eyes widened as they met those of the one she'd been betraying.
"Why?"
At a loss for words she could only blink, before averting her gaze in shame and discomfort. She waited for him to scold her. To yell at her. To curse her. She expected it and even wanted it. She wanted to know he was mad at her. If he was mad, then maybe, maybe he would finally go. He didn't yell, though, he just turned her to face him.
"I love you."
Don't say that..Please don't say that. She couldn't stand the sound of those words. Not when they came from him. Not when he was looking at her with eyes that begged for her to heal the scars she couldn't see. She couldn't stand to feel his hand pressed to her cheek as he leaned in for a kiss, because it wasn't him she wanted to be kissing. It wasn't him she wanted to feel pressing into her. He wasn't the one she spent her nights dreaming of or days wishing she could see. If she closed her eyes she could pretend he was someone else, but she was so tired of pretending. What do I have to do to make you hate me? She asked herself, unable to ask him, knowing she would never get an answer.