I hated her since the moment I saw her. It’s nothing to do with her perfectly pretty face or her pretentiously expensive bag or the fact that there are three boys outside the class, still waiting to catch the last frames of the enticing swing of her hips as she walks towards me.
It also has nothing to do with the fact that she has a gentle, hopeful smile on her face that is hoping to tame the snarling demon inside my chest, to pet it’s coat with beauty and charm and make it hers. I hated her beacuse she had everything I ever wanted and all that I couldn’t ask for. I wanted her light but I never learned how to use it. But then something shifted in our routine for the first time since she did this exact swinging walk two months ago for the first time. She passed by me, her scarf and soft scent brushed against the skin on my arm, and something happened.
Scientists call it static electricity. My demon calls it grooming. I call it love.