I look away. I'm tired of liking him. I only have a day and a half worth of memories, but they're all filled with me not hating Silas. And now He's made it his personal mission to make me love him.

I was wondering how the old Silas ever broke through your hard exterior." She laughs. "What makes you think he did?" I would smile again, but I don't think I've stopped. "You saw the video, Charlie. You loved him." I pause for a second, then rephrase. "Me. You loved me." " She loved you," Charlie says, and then smiles. "I'm not even sure if I like you yet.

Sometimes I hate him. When he does the dishes, he shakes off each one before setting it in the drying rack. Water flies everywhere. A couple of drops always hit me in the face. I have to leave the room to avoid smashing a plate against his head.

Was it me? Was I too cold? Too inexperienced? Not pretty enough? Not good enough in bed? And when disloyal, seed-sowing scum buckets slept with other girls, why did women look inward to find fault in themselves?

How many times can a heart be broken before it is beyond mend? How many times can I wish to not be alive? How can one human being cause such a crack in my existence? I alternate between periods of numbness and inconceivable pain all in the span of -- an hour? An hour feels like a day, a day feels like a week. I want to live, and then I want to die. I want to cry, and then I want to scream.

You can only give your heart away once, after that, everything else will chase your first love