I Hate Him (One Direction Fanfiction)

Chapter One

This book contains cussing and violence and God knows what else.

Enjoy, my lovelies. (:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I kicked my feet up on the coffee table in front of me and stared at the magazine in my hands. The page I was currently staring at and ogling displayed a very delicious-looking photo of the gorgeous faces of the members of the glorious boy band that the world had the privilege to call One Direction.

And their bodies.

Shirtless.

No, just kidding. Not shirtless. I would probably go into cardiac arrest if I had to contain that drastic of fangirling.

Or, like, have a heat stroke from their hotness.

I pushed my tongue back in my mouth and wiped the drool off of my chin. Just kidding. I try not to publicly fangirl. Actually, that was expressed extremely lightly.

I never publicly fangirl.

Ever.

I'm a closeted Directioner, and I have every intent of staying in the closet. It's extremely comfortable.

Not to mention warm.

I even made myself a cozy little pile of blankets to sit on. And I may or may not have bought a popcorn machine on eBay.

If it helps, it was only two-ninety-five. I doubt it even works.

Then again, I never even plugged it in.

Is there even a wall plug in this "closet"?

Well, there is now.

Ah, yes. A wall plug. Along with a few (who am I kidding? I meant all) One Direction posters lined along the wall. Well, basically all One Direction merchandise ever to meet this Earth's oxygen.

I am seriously thankful for One Direction.

I am also a sole believer in the fact that Simon Cowell's existence has one purpose and one purpose only: to form a British-Irish boy band. What is the name of this boy band, you ask? I'll give you a hint. It rhymes with "fun correction."

Thank you, Simon Cowell. If I knew your mother, I would lovingly attack her with a ginormous bear hug for putting you on this Earth.

Someone cleared their throat quite loudly, disturbing my chain of thought. I slammed the magazine shut in my lap. I peered up at them with a cheeky grin. "May I help you?" I asked casually.

A young man, early twenties at most, frowned down at me in annoyance. "Are you planning on purchasing this furniture, ma'am?"

Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention a few pieces of key information.

I was inside of a supermarket. More specifically, Walmart. Or Wallyworld, as I like to call it.

Coffee table? Not mine.

Magazine? Not mine.

Ninja turtles? Mine forever and ever, 'til death do us part.

I always thought that phrase was a bit creepy for a vow. I mean, it's basically an open invitation to kill your spouse when you get tired of being with them through sickness and in health.

Either that or not feed them enough chicken noodle soup and let them die.

How wonderfully romantic.

I relaxed as I eyed the guy in front of me from head to toe, noticing that he was an employee and not someone I actually knew who happened to catch me red-handedly having a "Direction Infection" moment.