Lustily

Chapter one.

Would I be considered an asshole if I said that I hated, no despised everything love or romance related? Would that make me some heartless, bitter witch? No wait, a lonely heartless bitter witch. Yeah that has a ring to it.
But even yet, I'm an English major, which kind of say huge romantic all over me. So saying that would kind of make me a hypocrite considering, I've read majority of those books. You know what, it's a lonely, heartless, hypocritical bitter witch. Yep there it is.
People say how they fell in love with those characters in the books, how they instantly felt something about. How it was so "beautifully crafted, and how it showed the vulnerable side of human emotion". Which I don't disagree with, it's just when you've been constantly around others who didn't love you because they couldn't love themselves or anyone, that does something to you. It makes you numb. It makes you like a shell with nothing on the inside, just a body on the outside. You're not living just existing. So how can you really "feel or connect" with a freaking book character if you don't know what to Feel. That's sad, but that's life. Some get the silver spoon, while others get a fucking knife. And believe me, I got the knife. The knife that stabbed me in my heart over and over again, by my own flesh and blood. The one's who came to together to make me. My parents. They destroyed me before I could even live. They hurt me before I had a chance to grow. They took my innocence away, they destroyed the way a child was supposed to see the world. Rainbows and unicorns. But I all seen was violence and death. Because that's what they were, and me as an offspring of them, I know I won't be any different. I couldn't be different. They were apart of me, all of me. And I hated it. I hated myself. I hated them for it.