He couldn’t resist loudly pointing out every flaw he could find in her. Each negative comment seemed to give him a twisted sense of satisfaction, a proud, almost childlike glee on his face. He reveled in his harsh judgments, like a parent admiring their newborn, except his admiration was for his own cruel observations. He just looked so damn proud.

“she is unfixable”

“the way she walks is so weird”

“she’s so fat”

“i cannot believe boys actually like her”

The most cutting remarks were whispered softly, carefully masked to avoid drawing attention. He had to maintain the facade of normalcy for those around him.

What he didn’t realize was that she knew. She knew just how much he wished he didn’t exist, how his daily existence was a torment fueled by his own emptiness. Each day an excruciating hell. Lacking love himself, he only had hate to offer.

He had no one. And it will be that way til the day he meets his death.