Mya Cahill

“I have a theory. Hating someone feels disturbingly similar to being in love with them. I've had a lot of time to compare love and hate, and these are my observations.
Love and hate are visceral. Your stomach twists at the thought of that person. The heart in your chest beats heavy and bright, nearly visible through your flesh and clothes. Your appetite and sleep are schredded. Every interaction spikes your blood with adrenaline, and you're in the brink of fight or flight. Your body is barely under your control. You're consumed, and it scares you.
Both love and hate are mirror versions of the same game - and you háve to win. Why? Your heart and your ego. Trust me, I should know.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“All I want to do is kiss you until I fall asleep. I want to slide in between your sheets, and find out what goes on inside your head, and underneath your clothes. I want to make a fool of myself over you.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“So, how was work? You clearly missed me.”

I put my hands on my face in embarrassment and he just laughs a bit to himself.

“It was boring.” It’s the truth.

“No one to antagonize, huh?”

“I tried abusing some of the gentle folk in payroll but they got all teary.”

“The trick is to find that one person who can give it back as good as they can take it.” He takes out a pan and begins to fry the vegetables in a single, stingy drop of oil.

“Sonja Rutherford, probably. That scary lady in the mailroom that looks like an albino Morticia Addams.”

“Don’t line my replacement up too quick. You’ll hurt my feelings.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“I hope it's not too forward of me to say, but your eyes are incredible, Lucy. I die when you blink.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game