My name is Alexander Hamilton, and I hate Thomas Jefferson.
With a flaming passion.
I have a list.
A list of every reason I hate him.
Late at night when he's asleep in the dorm room we share (ironically) I open my computer and spill everything I've been feeling that day onto the keyboard.
He's tall and looks down at me, he's too flamboyant, he broke my best friend John Lauren's heart, he likes Nickelback and the by far worst reason I hate him, is because he's hot.
Not just hot.. stunning.
His curly hair that bounces when he walks and his blindingly white smile.
I can't let him know that I like him.
So I hide behind a facade, trying to convince everyone and myself that I hate Thomas.
But that wall I've built up around my feelings is starting to decay, and I'm scared he doesn't feel the same way.
We are enemies.. aren't we?
YOU ARE READING
Anathema • Jamilton
Historical Fictiona·nath·e·ma əˈnaTHəmə/ noun something or someone that one vehemently dislikes. "C'mon Hamilton, spend one night with me and I can change your mind. No. Piss off Jefferson, and let me fucking write."
