The Thin Line Between Love And Hate

I knew he'd destroy me the second I laid eyes on him. It was that undeniable pull as we stared at one another with the hatred a mother experiences when she meets the murderer of her teenage son. It was the loathing a daughter experiences when she find out her dad's rolling in bed with some cheap whore, and she's nothing but a mere thought in the back of his empty-headed mind. The kind of hatred that leaves a slow, agonizing pain in your stomach, a fire that rolls its way through your veins inch by inch. A fire that makes you want to claw at your arms and neck, in order to get rid of it.

There was one thing that kept me from looking away. Behind all that hatred, was another emotion that had me confused and on-edge, but I couldn't quite decipher it. I couldn't possibly imagine what he was getting out of this. Some kind of satisfaction? A maid? A personal hooker?

Sitting in this board room, we were the only two people filling out the oversized table, meant for important office meetings. A place where I would usually look over all the seasons best designs and creations, before giving it the final "go" for Fashion Week. Now, this same room filled with a certain type of musk and expensive cologne seemed to be closing in on me, I breathed in a ragged breath and uttered the two words that would change my live irrevocably.

"I do."

He blew out a relieved sigh and stood up to straighten his suit. Reaching into his front pocket and sliding a red velvet box across the table to my seat, I barely managed to catch it in time, just as he slammed the door shut on his way out of the room.

"Nice to meet you too, you pompous jerk."