Hatred was natural. Anger came easily. It wasn’t at all difficult to be put off or turned against someone or something. It was as simple as complaining about summer because of the intense heat and pining for it when cursing the bitter cold of winter.
He was so apt to hatred that it didn’t need to make any sense at all. He would feel completely justified in hating a curb because it hit his tire when he was trying to park along it. He would swear at the unmovable concrete and feel his hatred grow for it as if it had jumped out and rammed his wheel.
His hatred could easily percolate in him over races of people. He was attentive to noticing someone making true a stereo-type and wasn’t immune to the toss of his head and thought of the word “typical” in the most condescending way possible. But what made him imagine someone’s bent toward a certain cultural characteristic made him any better off than they? What genetic make-up was in him to set him apart and making impervious to his own heritage?
So quickly was he to hate and become angry at anyone who he felt threatened by. It took no effort to reject, with no uncertain intensity, anyone who seemed better or stronger than he was. Usually, sadly, these characters were similar to him in some way (if they weren’t they wouldn’t offend him so much) and could prove to become very good acquaintances and maybe friends, but his natural draw toward hatred and anger would make quick the end to that idea.
Hatred was the common reaction to differences, boredom, being uncomfortable and general pettiness. His hatred to grow quickly and strong like a weed over something as simple as a poor joke told by someone he didn’t really think should be telling jokes in the first place.
Of course, the contrast was her. It was always her. Although, her early distance and hesitant nature made him wish he could be rid of her, he was stricken with adoration. He desperately wanted to be rid of the idea that she was special and precious. He wished he could insult who she was within himself, turn her beautiful eyes and lips into that of a ghoul’s, but he was stuck with her flawlessness in his mind. How he wanted to turn his nose up at her and be free from the burden of waiting until she was completely his, but he couldn’t. All he was able to do was wait in a cool stream of fresh admiration, adulation until he could love her and kiss her to show her.