The Thing I Hate the Most (One Shot)

The Thing I Hate the Most

The Thing I Hate the Most (One Shot)

A short story written by ShielaPottie.
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"Good."

Just with that simple word, I felt panicky all of a sudden. I looked down at my intertwined hands and played with my fingertips like a child caught stealing cookies off a jar.

"Good," I echoed back.

I didn't adjust my gaze to look at him but I knew that he was heading back to where he came from. I heard the closing thud of a door and as if on cue, my knees woobled and I dropped on the floor, hopes drained empty off my body.

It was my fault. There was no denying that. But he jumped into conclusions just based on what he saw. I've never got the chance to explain my side and deep down, I knew that it was no help.

Provoking him was a dumb idea. I know. But he was the one who started it. All I know is that I just wanna get even with him.

Stupid. I need better judgment that day than to follow my fury.

"Hey, what are you doing? You're next."

I blinked my eyes to reality when I heard a voice calling out my name. I looked up only to see my professor and blockmates staring at me.

I suddenly felt self concious so I straightened my back and cleared my throat.

"Shayna, you're next. Read us your essay, if you please. This is creative writing class, not daydreaming."

Everyone chuckled at what my professor said except me. I have no time for that kind of things. Besides, I'm too busy contemplating my thoughts.

I didn't stand up as soon as she said my name. Honestly, there's no essay to tell because I haven't got one. My mind was too preoccupied to think of it.

I tried to act busy as though I was looking for my copy of essay but I can see on my peripheral vision that everyone was waiting for me. I had no choice but to stand up in front with a blank piece of paper shaking from my grasp.

Standing in front of an audience wasn't exactly my thing. I glanced at my side to see my professor who just motioned me to continue. My palms felt sticky and wet. I looked down at my blank piece of paper and sighed.

I had no choice but to do this on the spot.

"The thing I hate the most," I said and looked up at the sea of dumb faces expectantly looking at me. I breathed in and scan the whole room.

"The thing that I hate the most is," I repeated more loudly, "Myself."

I closed my eyes trying to think of things to say but there weren't anything but his face. Out of nervousness and anger, I absent-mindedly crumpled the piece of blank paper in my hands.

"I'm a walking manifestation of a breathing paradox, so as they say." I opened my eyes and searched for him inside the room. I took a glimpse at him but he wasn't looking at me. I sighed. "I don't want to be the emotionally unbalanced one, but who am I fooling? Looking at the circumstances that I am in, I might just as well gather myself up and be oblivious of everything, of anything."

This time around, I pretty much caught everyone's attention. I knew that I got him too. He was the one who told me that I was a breathing irony. I shifted my weight and looked down at my clumpy hands.

"I love everything about you. Every piece of you. I love how you make your hair undone and disheveled and with its tips pointing at different directions. I love the way your eyes flicker whenever you smile and how it highlights the tons of bags beneath it."