I hate his name, Jonathan. Hearing it makes me want to spit in his face and watch his eyes take in mine, smoldering with flames of utter disgust. The fact that I am still physically attracted to him makes me want to cry, for nothing, nothing, could ever redeem him. He doesn't care at all; I don't even think he knows of my rage at him. One day, he'll walk by me at the wrong moment, and he'll be sorry that he ever fucked up. He'll be sorry that he made me cry, sorry that he made me laugh, sorry that he made me into the kind of person I am now. I can never again trust any guy without some suspicion, all because of him, and how he threw my trust against the wall regardless of the consequences. I hate him and love him at the same time, which in the end makes my hate stronger.