Hatred

She hated the way that it felt. The way that her heart pressed against her ribcage, fighting to claw its way out.

Her blood boiled at the sight of him. He and his egotistical ways, the soft chocolate curls falling along his olive forehead, his gleaming skin.

He was everything anyone could ever want.

She felt disgraced that she fell into that category.

Yet, when his fingertips grazed her skin, running along her heated cheeks and tucking a strand of her raven hair behind her ear, she felt like she could float. Like she could lift off with him, run away, and never have to worry again.

What could she do? Where could she run to hide from this intoxicating feeling?

And the answer to her question finally came to her, as his forehead rested against hers, and he murmured words that went through one ear and out another--

Maybe she didn't need to.