She didn’t know what to do.
Hate was better than love, wasn’t it? At least with hate there was some control, at least it was easier.
Only it wasn’t. Either emotion had a way of blinding you, each emotion had an intensity that she couldn’t control. So what made hate so much more appealing to her?
Maybe it was the hate she felt towards herself. Maybe that was what fuelled her.
“I love you,” her brother told her, his eyes glistening, vulnerable.
She hated feeling vulnerable. And she hated him for loving her. Love was disgusting.
“Don’t,” she said, “I’m not worth it.”