I Hate You (On-Hold) by Chloe Knox (great reads txt) 📕

the middle of the hall way and then she slammed the door shut mumbling, “Fucking ungrateful child! She never knows when to shut that fucking mouth of hers!”
Tears threatened my vision, turning it to a slight blur. But I held them back, grabbed my school stuff, and went into the garage to grab my bike.
No way was I going to wait here for my mother to go on and on for a good hour about how terrible of a daughter I was. I wasn’t going to sit in my room and cry over what she said about me. She doesn’t love me, so I don’t love her. She doesn’t deserve my respect….it’s a good thing I have some more razor blades in my locker. I’m going to need them.

Chapter Two: Naïve

Tanya's P.O.V.

For those of you who are either too oblivious or in your own perfect “La La Land” to know or even realize it, girls are bitches!
Twenty-four-seven it’s either non-stop gossip or incessant whines about their own appearance.
“Did you see what that girl was wearing today?”
“God, I hate my hair.”
“Her boobs look so fake and disproportionate. They have to be implants.”
“I look so ugly today.”
“Ew! Someone hasn’t heard of the invention of soap and warm water.”
“Awe, I broke a nail.”
“She actually went all the way with him? O!M!G! What a slut!”
“Does this make me look fat?”
And what pisses me off is the people you here saying this is usually one of the popular girls. You know; the type of girl that has perfect hair, with a gorgeous face that guys drool over? The type of girl that’s parents are rich enough to get her a pedicure every week and is as skinny as a pool cue?
I mean, seriously! Just shut up! There is more to life then dating and prom, and there’s definitely more problems in life then a broken nail and one bad hair day!
I mean, yeah! I complain about the same things—well not the broke nail thing since I barely have any. I chew the tips to bits. It’s just a habit I have.
And about the whole dissing on people thing? What the hell’s up with that? Like, seriously!
Honestly, if I see a girl walking down the street with nappy hair that stinks or if I see a twelve year old in Wally-World (a.k.a. Walmart), yeah! I’d probably judge. Every does. It’s human nature. But at least I have the decency to keep my thoughts to myself. Whatever happened to the saying ‘if you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say it’? Maybe I should teach that quote to my mother…
Anyway, girls are bitches and that’s why I usually hang out with guys. My only and best girl friend is Nicole (a.k.a. Nicki) Rivers. We’ve been friends since the beginning of the fifth grade. She tried to take my lunch money, so I punched her in the left boob and BAM! Best friends for life! No matter what kind of day, even after a crying or cutting fit she can make me laugh and smile and have a good time. It’s almost like I have two lives or two different personalities. When I’m at home with my mother and my homework, I’m depressed. But with Nicki, I’m fine. I’m just me….and that’s great because the more and more I’m with my mother, it seems like the more and more I lose of myself.
But as much as I love Nicki I hate her—not literally! I’m just bummed—for ditching me. I’m at lunch sitting by myself just doodling counting down the seconds that Nicki is gone. I hope and wish for her to come back from the music room quickly, but I swear she’s like a snail, or molasses, or something.
“Hey!”
I jumped at the sudden familiar voice coming from my side. I was so engrossed with my drawing that I hadn’t even noticed Brandon take a seat next to me.
I looked at him, his brown eyes curious.
"What do you want?" I asked as I squinted at him in irritation. Brandon? He was just like every other good-looking guy in school...he's a dick! He thinks he's so hot, and cool, and that no girl can resist him It's nauseating.
"Nothing. Just wondering why you're not with my sister. Usually you two are joined at the hip." Oh yeah, and I forgot to tell you, Brandon is Nicki's older brother.
"Your sister ditched me to talk to Mrs. Reinart about her violin practice after school today."
"Ah," he mumbled with an understanding nod. I rolled my eyes at him and sighed aloud, hoping that would be enough to make him go away. I don't like Brandon that much, if you haven't all ready noticed.
After an awkward moment of silence I figured I'd just ignore him and go back to my drawing, so I did. I picked up my pencil and began adding texture to the drawing, "What you drawing?"
I glared at Brandon, "What do you care?"
"I'm just trying to be nice." he said as he put his hands up in an innocent gesture. No way in hell did I by it.
I scoffed, "And since when are you nice to me?"
He squinted at me, confused, "When have I not been nice to you?"
"Are you just going to keep answering my questions with another question?"
"I don't know, am I?" I said with a raised brow, purposely. Just to tick me off, he had to come up with the lamest question.
"Well whenever I'm at your hanging out with Nicki, you barely ever say hi. Last time I checked ignoring people isn't being nice." I said and went back to my drawing.
There was a moment of silence, and I kept cussing in my head when I found myself wishing he'd end it...he did, "Well, I said hi today...what you drawing?"
"Just stuff." I said with a sigh.
Brandon moved closer to me to try and peer over my shoulder, so I quickly slammed my sketchpad shut, "What do you want Brandon?"
"I want to see what you're drawing." he said with a smirk as he reached a hand out for my sketch pad. I quickly slid it out of reach across the lunch table and glared at him, "Well too bad. You're not gonna."
He looked down at the filthy tiled school floor and began to fake whimper. I couldn't help but laugh, "You are so pathetic."
But what he did worked. His little fake pout, caught me off guard, and so while I was giggling at him he tour the notebook from my hands.
"Hey! Give it back!" I yelped as I reached for my sketchpad. Brandon only smirked some more and stood to make sure I couldn't reach it. Why did he have to be so tall?
I stood up and tried to jump for it, but he was a good few inches taller then me and really fast too. He'd just switch hands.
I looked around and saw that a lot of people were watching us, and my cheeks immediately began to blush. I couldn't not try and get my book back. A lot of personal stuff was in that thing.
And then I saw Brandon's friends in the corner of the lunch room laughing their asses off. I knew it! He wasn't being nice! He was just trying to crack up his friends by making a fool out of me!
I stopped jumping and gave Brandon my fiercest glare, "Give! Me! My! Sketchbook! Now!"
"Why? What's in here that you don't want me to see, huh?"
Well let's see; there are my personal thoughts, my emo and depressing drawings of crying woman and dead babies! Nothing out of the ordinary!
"Give it back, you fucking prick!"
Brandon's smirk grew into a smile, "Ooooh! I get it! You've got pictures of me in here, don't you?"
I blushed, but my anger didn't go away. Not even a bit, "Yeah! Tons! There's even a nude drawing!" I growled sarcastically.
Now he obviously knew I was being sarcastic, yet he still felt like making me feel like crap! Why? Who knows! "Oh yeah! Let's see one, shall we." he said as he opened the book and flipped through a couple of pages. He squinted at them, his smile immediately disappearing. Was he confused? Surprised? Disgusted?
Then I saw his lips. They were moving the slightest bit, but nothing was coming out. He was reading! Hell no! He was not reading that!
Panic arouse in me. My heart began to beat, my legs were shaking, and my whole body was heating in embarrassment. Now he was going to tell everyone about me. He's was going to tell everyone how horrible I thought my life was and how I cut...No! I won't let him!
I reached for the book, but this time he caught my wrist instead of pulling the book out of my reach. I tried to pull away as I groaned in dislike, "Let me go! What are you doing?"
With his free hand he slammed the book shut and put it on top of the lunch table, and then he yanked me closer to him. I tried to pull away again, but eventually gave up. Brandon he hated football, but he LOVED hockey...and he was definitely way stronger than any football player in the high school, and definitely stronger than me.
He looked at me; his eyes so dark they seemed black, just like my mother's had turned this morning. Only he didn't seem angry. Surprised? Maybe even a bit worried? But not angry. I looked back at him, and cursed at myself when I began to cry. He knew. Oh god, he knew!
He looked from my face, and then to my wrist which he held in his hand. Slowly and gently he pushed up the long sleeve to my shirt to reveal my freshly scarred wrist. There were at least five; thin and jagged strips of scarred flesh ran across my wrist, plus a bunch of red lines that were now a bit puffy from the rubber band I used most of the time during school. It didn't numb me as good as the razor blades, but they were easier to get away with during class. You can't exactly sit in the middle of Algebra and cut yourself to the point of bleeding and not get noticed.
His thumb brushed over my bruised skin, and I winced the slightest bit. The rubber band bruises still hurt a bit. The scars not so much, but they weren't completely healed either, “Why would you—”
I need him in between the legs, grabbed my sketch pad, and ran out of the cafeteria before the bell rang and before he could ask anything. I ignored his moans of pain, and I didn't care that I'd most likely get in trouble since the whole entire school saw me do it...I didn't even look back. I just wanted to get out of there. The