They Hate Each Other

by Amanda Woody

“Do you hate me?” he asks for the third time. His brown eyes are so big. And warm. I might melt in them, if I keep staring. “Do you . . . hate me?” I ask softly.

“I’m so annoyed, because anytime I think of you, it’s all these moments we spent together, the quiet and the loud ones.”

“I want to try again,” I say. “But this time . . . without the fake part.”