I told him I hated him, and maybe sometimes I did.
Because there was no one else who could fuel my fire
quite so easily. Nobody could make me as frustrated
or flustered as him. Him with the dark eyes and dark
hair, him so effortlessly beautiful and so tantalizingly
cold. Him who let no one in and him who claimed to
hate the world. Him with a frozen heart. Him who
needed my love more than anyone else, and him who
had acquired it.