is a strong word, and a word I very seldom used. I’d learned years ago what it
felt like to really hate someone. I’d reserved that term for one man. The man
who snatched me from my life, changed me, and then returned me as if nothing had
dreamt of his face, though I’d never seen it. I’d imagined him to be a vile, disgusting beast in a beautiful disguise.
What he took from me had damaged me so immensely it had consequently ruined
every other relationship in my life.
the Juliana Callahan who now stood tall was the epitome of perfection. She was
at the top of her class, followed her father’s hopes and dreams to a tee, but
inside, she was a dark mess.
I was a broken mess.
seventeen-year-old girl, who’d lived a nightmare, refused to go away and take
her memories with her. So when I say I reserved that word for someone who tore
me apart, I never once guessed I’d grant that same title to the man who made me feel love again.
The thin line between love and hate everyone
spoke of was bullshit. It was more like a dark, gaping
pit I plunged into headfirst. There was no line, thin or thick, that separated
the feelings. In that gaping hole, all emotions infused into an unbearable
struggle to hold onto my soul or to hand it over to a man who’d left me unbalanced.