The Hatred of Love (AU / CC / Mature) Complete 03/14/07

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The Hatred of Love (AU / CC / Mature) Complete 03/14/07

Post by suicide_eagle_rath » Tue Nov 14, 2006 1:16 pm

<center> Image</center>

Title: The Hatred of Love: Part One of the Love and Hate Series

Author: suicide_eagle_rath

Rating: AU CC Mature POV

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, WB and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement intended.

Author’s note: This story is intended for adults because of the dark nature.

Summary:.What if any of the girls, Liz, Maria, Isabel, and yes even Tess were raised as a normal human but in abused loveless situations. That what if Max, Michael, Alex, or even Jesse came into their life only to leave again, not intending to be mean nor cruel, but let us face the facts they are men, who can be persuaded to find another path when the opportunity present itself.

What would happen to a woman, so fragile already, what would she think, react, could she be pushed over the edge into darkness?

Warning: Very dark POV.. you pick the girl ... for it could be any of them in the right circumstances

Trilogy: This is the second in the Love and Hate Series, a trilogy of three POV’s concerning the word LOVE…HATE… LOVE / HATE

The first POV of the trilogy is called: The Hatred of Love

The Second POV of the trilogy is called: The Love of Hatred

The Third is called: L O V E … H A T E : To love is to hate, to hate is to love
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Thu Mar 15, 2007 12:41 am, edited 8 times in total.

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suicide_eagle_rath
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Posts: 567
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Post by suicide_eagle_rath » Tue Nov 14, 2006 1:18 pm

<center>
The Hatred of Love
(Love and Hate Series)
Part one of one

</center>

L O V E

What an odd word. I bWhat an odd word. I believe the most cruel hurt a man can do to a woman is to make her love, to make her feel, to make her want, injecting her with emotions, sensations elements foreign to being, these ideas of fantasy love; after all this then he leaves her.

Most people cannot understand what it is not to feel love. To live most of their days subjugated to the will of one whose sees no love for himself. Word of hate spewed out, venomous poison that one ingests, drinking from the never ceasing river of fire, a blaze of such destruction that none can fathom its width or breadth.

I cannot blame those who have pure hearts, they cannot understand for they have never felt the pain of a hit, the sharpness of words that cut across the heart, the endurance of ridicule and mockery. I often wonder if those with such lofty standards, who fail to see the hurt and pain in someone like me, could survive my life. Or at the first strike, simple words, visions of hate, would they fold up their fluttering wings of innocence and die.

It is easy to hate someone like me, I hate myself. This hatred did not come in overnight; the seeds were always there from the beginning. But it took a special man to nature those seeds, to water them, and watch them grow into doubt and loathing. Over the last few years, I was trained well in the art of demoralizing myself, a special hatred for all that I was, had been, and will forever be.

Yet there have been those who believe it is their social duty to redeem the damned, those who believe that can mold the world into their own perfect moralistic view; they who have tried to teach me love. Unfathomable as that thought is, for all their good intentions, for all their guilty conscious trips, all these good Samaritans have done is to throw me deeper into the well, the sides’ slick with tribulation, despondency, and rejection. Till one day I stood on the brink of life itself, the thought to end it now, to end the pain.

Then when I thought my life was over, he came, and lifted me out, a knight on a white horse charging in to rescue me. A fantasy, real or imagined, a life I saw and wanted, a fantasy yes, one that I was happy to embrace, to change for, to better myself.

I met my lover, reached out to him, allowed myself to be filled with such feelings, I had no idea could exist in this plane, these dimension of life. I began to live for the first time, to see the day in a new light, color, for the first time in years I saw color, smelt the essence of cloves, feel the petals of a rose; simples pleasure one finds everyday but for me was new.

If I had been raised a women, nourished and educated in the art of being a woman, maybe I would had seen the future what was to come and how to avoid. But no, I feel into the trap, once again subjugating myself to his whims and wills. As long as I flattered him, made him the center of my life and projected him as a god, he stayed. But as my demented life began to creep into this cyber world, he grew tired of me, and all that I was comprised of, especially the constant mood swings as I tried so very hard to balance on the pole between future and past. He could not understand why it was so difficult for me, why I could not just shake off the past and go forward.

The there was the others, those who knew how to work a man, to lie, to smile, to laugh. But I was obvious to such carryings on to bother with; they knew what he wanted, a show, empty in future, but full in temporal space. I had let myself become vulnerable, unaware of those who work against you, those of jealous natures, who cannot see two people together, who must come in between, for the pure pleasure of winning, not that they wanted the prize, only the victory.

He was perfect in every respect, educated, intelligent, soft-spoken gentle nature when stroked the right way. The wrong path was met with anger, sternness, and punishment, resulting in long period of times in silences, ignoring that I existed. I slowly learned what not to do, not wishing to endure the pain of silence; I obeyed him at will, lowering myself further, without even recognizing I was doing it.

I was so desperate, all I needed was someone to say I love, someone to care that you exist on this god forsaken planet, someone to hold you when the times are rough. Someone to send a message, a quick hi I remember you exist, you are truly important to me. Not a show in front of others, or as a quick high from some flirtation. Is that so much to ask for in this world, is that so much to want, the touch of flesh to flesh the need to be loved.

On the other hand, I guess it was me who saw too much into what was and never could be. Maybe it was I that pushed the envelope, not allowing the relationship to mature on its on. I pushed to hard, was to demanding, in my zeal to feel what others had known and revealed in daily. I was grasping at a straw, the first man to show what I mistook for caring, for love.

Playing you is what they call it now a days is it not, words said with no substance, meaningless strings of vowels, consonants. Is that the game, was I nothing, simply dirt, soil beneath your shoes. Another lesson to learn, and round of mockery to endure, yes the blame is on me, he could not be that callused for I have to be to at fault, remember I was trained well to accept defeat, to accept blame.

It is easier to hate, to lock your mind, body and soul inside a temple dedicated to hatred, not of the world but of yourself. Walls so thick they cannot be penetrated again, so you will not have to endure that pain called love. Yes, that is where I will reside, my eyes see no more joy; my heart feels cold, I feel vacant inside.

The rose now bleeds; nothing can stop the flow, it is better this way, for I tire of the war, the internal struggle.
elieve the most cruel hurt a man can do to a woman is to make her love, to make her feel, to make her want, injecting her with emotions, sensations elements foreign to being, these ideas of fantasy love; after all this then he leaves her.

Most people cannot understand what it is not to feel love. To live most of their days subjugated to the will of one whose sees no love for himself. Word of hate spewed out, venomous poison that one ingests, drinking from the never ceasing river of fire, a blaze of such destruction that none can fathom its width or breadth.

I cannot blame those who have pure hearts, they cannot understand for they have never felt the pain of a hit, the sharpness of words that cut across the heart, the endurance of ridicule and mockery. I often wonder if those with such lofty standards who fail to see the hurt and pain in someone like me, could survive my life. Or at the first strike, simple words vision of hate, would they fold up their fluttering wings of innocence and die.

It is easy to hate someone like me, I hate myself. This hatred did not come in overnight; the seeds were always there from the beginning. But it took a special man to nature those seeds, to water them, and watch them grow into doubt and loathing. Over the last few years, I was trained well in the art of demoralizing myself, a special hatred for all that I was, had been, and will forever be.

Yet there have been those who believe it is their social duty to redeem the damned, those who believe that can mold the world into their own perfect moralistic view; they who have tried to teach me love. Unfathomable as that thought is, for all their good intentions, for all their guilty conscious trips, all these good Samaritans have done is to throw me deeper into the well, the sides’ slick with tribulation, despondency, and rejection. Till one day I stood on the brink of life itself, the thought to end it now, to end the pain.

Then when I thought my life was over, he came, and lifted me out, a knight on a white horse charging in to rescue me. A fantasy, real or imagined, a life I saw and wanted, a fantasy yes, one that I was happy to embrace, to change for, to better myself.

I met my lover, reached out to him, allowed myself to be filled with such feelings, I had no idea could exist in this plane, these dimension of life. I began to live for the first time, to see the day in a new light, color, for the first time in years I saw color, smelt the essence of cloves, feel the petals of a rose; simples pleasure one finds everyday but for me was new.

If I had been raised a women, nourished and educated in the art of being a woman, maybe I would had seen the future what was to come and how to avoid. But no, I feel into the trap, once again subjugating myself to his whims and wills. As long as I flattered him, made him the center of my life and projected him as a god, he stayed. But as my demented life began to creep into this cyber world, he grew tired of me, and all that I was comprised of, especially the constant mood swings as I tried so very hard to balance on the pole between future and past. He could not understand why it was so difficult for me, why I could not just shake off the past and go forward.

The there was the others, those who knew how to work a man, to lie, to smile, to laugh. But I was obvious to such carryings on to bother with; they knew what he wanted, a show, empty in future, but full in temporal space. I had let myself become vulnerable, unaware of those who work against you, those of jealous natures, who cannot see two people together, who must come in between, for the pure pleasure of winning, not that they wanted the prize, only the victory.

He was perfect in every respect, educated, intelligent, soft spoken gentle nature when stroked the right way. The wrong path was met with anger, sternness, and punishment, resulting in long period of times in silences, ignoring that I existed. I slowly learned what not to do, not wishing to endure the pain of silence; I obeyed him at will, lowering myself further, without even recognizing I was doing it.

I was so desperate, all I needed was someone to say I love, someone to care that you exist on this god forsaken planet, someone to hold you when the times are rough. Someone to send a message, a quick hi I remember you exist, you are truly important to me. Not a show in front of others, or as a quick high from some flirtation. Is that so much to ask for in this world, is that so much to want, the touch of flesh to flesh, the need to be loved.

On the other hand, I guess it was me who saw too much into what was and never could be. Maybe it was I that pushed the envelope, not allowing the relationship to mature on its on. I pushed to hard, was to demanding, in my zeal to feel what others had known and revealed in daily. I was grasping at a straw, the first man to show what I mistook for caring, for love.

Playing you is what they call it now-a-days is it not, words said with no substance, meaningless strings of vowels, consonants. Is that the game, was I nothing, simply dirt, soil beneath your shoes. Another lesson to learn, and round of mockery to endure, yes the blame is on me, he could not be that calloused for I have to be to at fault, remember I was trained well to accept defeat, to accept blame.

It is easier to hate, to lock your mind, body and soul inside a temple dedicated to hatred, not of the world but of yourself. Walls so thick they cannot be penetrated again, so you will not have to endure that pain called love. Yes, that is where I will reside, my eyes see no more joy, my heart feels cold, I feel vacant inside.

The rose now bleeds; nothing can stop the flow, it is better this way, for I tire of the war, the internal struggle.
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Tue Jan 02, 2007 11:43 am, edited 1 time in total.

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