Hate, actually

Chapter 1

COPYRIGHT STATEMENT

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

---

"For the moment, I am

really very, very tired of

everything - more than tired." - Friedrich Nietzsche, Letter to Freiherr Karl von Gersdorff, April 1, 1874

My best friend Lauren is too pure of a soul for this cruel world. She thinks she can mend all my unrealistically difficult problems and the rest of the human race's combined.

"We're not doing this again. And besides, she's refusing treatment," I shrug, stirring my cappuccino.

We are currently seated in our favorite cafe when I finally decided to break the news to her.

I haven't seen her in months - almost a year - because she went on some backpacking trip across Europe with her boyfriend.

Judging from the pictures she sent to me practically every thirty minutes during that time, I could tell that she was living her best life and I wasn't going to call and ruin her vacation with the bad news. It didn't feel right when I mulled it over.

My mom has been re-diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. A month ago. She was first diagnosed when I was eleven, they caught it early and she finally got into remission - three days after my fifteenth birthday.

I considered it a belated birthday present from heaven. Unlike most of my family, I've always believed in a greater power and I said a silent prayer for my her every night.

She went through so many procedures and treatments that we would've been damned if at least one didn't work.

Now about four years later, it's back - and it's worse than ever before. It's spread to her brain and adrenal glands.

We've discussed death before; me and her.

When I was eleven - after her first diagnosis - she made it very clear to me that she might not make it and that life will go on for me either way afterwards. My eleven year old self thought this was bullshit, of course and I cried for days on end.

When I reached about twelve and a half years, I came to terms with things and made the most of the time I had 'left' with her.

With an absent psychopath of a father and a terminally ill mother, I was inevitably forced to be mature from a young age.

Maturity is relative, and in retrospect, having tried my utmost best to make my mom's cancer experience a little less hard by accepting the reality of the situation at the tender age of twelve made me somewhat proud of myself. The latter being something I never feel all that often.

I braced myself for her potential death and even after her remission, I didn't dare let out a sigh of relief.

Of course I was beyond elated, but the doctor's words rang through my head over and over again: 'Remission isn't a definite thing. The cancer could very well come back; but for now enjoy the good news and hopefully good news is what you will continue to get.'

I will forever be grateful to that doctor for his honesty. You'd be surprised at how many doctors tried to sugarcoat things - especially in front of me because of my 'tender age'. Because of that truthful doctor, my mom's re-diagnosis was not a punch in the face, it didn't break my heart as much as the first one because I was ready.

And don't get me wrong; it hurt like hell - but I was ready.

Lauren's eyes widen in fear. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't she want treatment?"

"She's tired of it all. Says she felt like she was barely alive during her last one, so she doesn't see the point. The doctor gave her four months tops," I tell her, drained of all emotional energy.

Apathetic is the only word I can use to describe the way I feel about the universe and anything that doesn't involve my mother.

"And with treatment? How long will she have with treatment?" Lauren inquires, her voice thick with emotion.

Her reaction is totally understandable - my mom is practically her mom.

"Six to twelve months. I can see where she's coming from, though. The treatments are horrible and if she is going to pass, then she'll leave us with no last minute memories. The medication drains her entirely."

Lauren nods, taking it all in. She looks up at me with tears glossing her eyes.

"Okay but if money is the issue then I'm going to help-"

I cut her off. "For the last time, money's not the issue; and trust me when I say I wouldn't let you spend another penny on us. You've done enough and I mean that in the most grateful way possible."

My family and I were never really well off. We've always been okay - that is until my mom got sick. She had to get into early retirement and most of the money we had from her pension went towards her treatment. When I turned 15 I got two jobs that I somehow managed to juggle along with school just to try and get us back on our feet.

My aunt Lizzy - my mom's sister - moved us into her house as soon as she heard about my mom's condition. Aunt Lizzy has no husband and no kids so she decided to move us in to lessen the burden of our bills. As an only child, I was doomed without her help.

Aunt Lizzy's a nurse and she doesn't earn very much, but it payed the bills.

My mom and her were never close before her diagnosis, resulting in my mom and and I feeling like burdens for the first couple of months - but we soon got over it.

Lauren had always insisted on helping with my mom's medical bills. I remember when aunt Lizzy just had enough to pay for treatment and we had no money for the hospital charges.

Lauren's parents are loaded - with her mom being a lawyer and her dad a high flying businessman - so she and her mom begged to cover the costs and my mom and aunt Lizzy didn't let them because they didn't want anybody that wasn't family to pity us like that. I agreed with them for once but we later realized over the years that Lauren and her mom were indeed family.

Not even an hour later, Lauren and her mom (who were the definition of stubborn) decided to pay for the bills behind our backs anyway. I'm eternally grateful to them for that.

I won't let them spend any more money on us, though - we're not their responsibility.

Lauren sighs. "Whatever Sadie. All I know is we need to make the last four months of your mom's life worry free, and she needs to go peacefully."

Lauren also got the passing away talk from my mom. We both didn't take it very well but we soon realized the reality of it.

I sigh. "You're right. You're definitely right. Did I tell you I dropped out of college?"

"Enough with the surprises, Sadie. I really hope you're joking," she says, close to tears again.

I reach out for her hand as a sign of reassurance. "I'll be fine. I got a job as a waitress and I'll work my way up from there. If I'm in college the entire time then I won't get any time with her. I can always go back later on in life."

"At least there's comfort in the fact that you can go back. You have dreams that need to be followed, Sadie..."

I smile. "I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I'm just grateful that the universe gave us more time with her."

●●●

"Mom, I'm going out to work! Do you need me to bring back anything?" I yell out from the front door.

"No I'm fine, honey have a good day!"

I step out into the cold morning and tighten my coat around myself. I check the time.

9.05 AM.

It's early January in New York so the snow isn't prepared to leave just yet. I make my way to Bo's Bistro where I work as a waitress. I earn a fair income and it gets my mind off of things so I tolerate it just fine.

"Hey Sadie. We're full today so you've gotta get to work stat," my boss, Jake instructs me.

Jake is a tall muscular guy in his thirties. He's one of the kindest bosses I've ever had and he gives the best advice.

If there's one thing I can say for myself and my shitty life, it's that I'm mostly surrounded by good people. Mostly. 

"On it," I salute.

Bo's is a pretty big restaurant, so it's pretty much hectic when it's full.

Three hours of walking up and down and taking orders pass and I'm exceptionally exhausted. I'm only going to be done at 5 PM, too.

I lean against the kitchen counter for a two minute breather.

"Jake literally pays you for doing nothing, I swear. If you can't handle the job then just quit, honestly," an annoying voice mumbles in my direction.

It's Olivia. Olivia Reed. The most annoying specimen on planet earth, who for some reason likes to pester me.

I spare her a second long glance. "Last time I checked, you were an employee just like me so jump off your high horse, yeah?"

"I may not be the boss but I sure as hell won't keep quiet when I see someone doing something unfair," she counters.

So juvenile.

We regard eachother with varying degrees of animosity.

I look up at the ceiling, contemplating on ending it all just to stop the irritation I'm feeling.

"What I'm doing or not doing has nothing to do with you, and for the record, I don't see you doing your job either, since you're standing here talking to me."

Olivia stares at me for a little longer than a second - as if contemplating on whether or not to say something - before she storms off, rolling her eyes.

Good riddance.

I make my way to the front so I can get back to work when Jake calls me over.

"Hey Sadie. I need a huge favor. My uncle works close by and he needs a couple papers I was signing delivered to him before 12 PM." He hands me an envelope.

"I can't go because a couple of important people are visiting the restaurant today and I'm asking you because I know you'll get them to him in time. The Uber is outside and you can have the rest of the day off." He looks at me pleadingly.

The rest of the day off, huh? Heck yeah.

"Sure, no problem." I nod. "Who should I ask for when I get there?"

He lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, thank you, thank you - you're the best. Just ask the lady at the front desk to give the envelope to Mr Jones."

I give him a thumbs up before he rushes off to prepare the place for the 'important visitors'. It's probably a well known critique who can make the restaurant flood with people after just one good review.

I make my way out, wondering when and how so many hard earned businesses and their success started being in the hands of other people.

I get into the Uber that's parked right outside the place and it drops me off in front of a colossal building.

There's a sign at the top of the building that reads Romano & Co.

I walk through a scanner (I'm not sure what for. Weapons?) after I go through the sliding doors.

I step into the heavily air conditioned place and immediately wrap my coat around me tightly.

I mean come on now, who puts the A/C on when there's literal snow outside?

I check the time.

11.38 AM.

I walk up to the front desk feeling like I don't belong. Everything is so state-of-the-art and the ceilings are unnervingly high. Everyone I catch a glimpse of is either dressed in a crisp suit or the classiest attire there ever was.

There is no one at the front desk and it's nearly 12 PM.

The receptionist not being there is probably the only unprofessional thing going on at Romano & Co.

I wait for a good five minutes and no receptionist shows up. I decide to make my way further into the building by myself - appointment or not.

As I blindingly walk around, I notice that the place is all glass, everywhere you look. Just wrap-around windows.

I take an elevator up to the second floor and I stop a random lady to ask her for directions.

She's wearing an expensive looking mink coat and her long, tan legs look amazing in her black stilettos.

I know she's not that much older than me but I probably look fourteen next to her.

"Hello. Hi, excuse me."

She turns around to face me.

"Uh hi, do you by any chance know where Mr Jones is?" I ask.

She eyes me up and down - not maliciously though (at least I don't think so) - and she gives me the kind of smile you'd give a cute stray puppy.

"Aw, aren't you the cutest? His office is straight ahead to your left. His name will be on the door," she says with a practiced looking professional smile.

I give her my own tight lipped smile that takes a lot to muster. "Thank you."

She gives me a curt nod and turns on her heel.

I follow her directions and knock on the door with five minutes to spare.

I sincerely hope he's in there.

"Come in!" A male voice calls out and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

I step into a nice baby blue office and an elderly man is sitting behind a desk.

He doesn't look up from his MacBook. "How may I help you?"

I clear my throat. "Uh my boss Jake sent me to deliver these papers to you."

He looks up at me. "Oh and just in time for my meeting, too. Thank you so much."

I hand him the envelope. "Not a problem."

"Do tell Jake I said thank you when you see him next, dear," he says, standing up and gathering more papers for what I assume is his meeting.

"I sure will," I say backing out of the office and shutting the door.

Well, that's now done and dusted.

Now all I have to do is find my way out of this humongous labyrinth of a building without attracting any attention whatsoever.

I walk through a narrow corridor with no idea where I'm going.

"Pablo! Come and see this," I hear a deep voice frantically yell.

I look around to see where the voice is coming from.

It's coming from what appears to be a conference room but there are only two people inside.

The door is slightly ajar and I can see what is going on inside. I'm standing at an angle where I cannot be seen but I have to be careful.

The owner of the voice is seated at the end of the long table and he is staring angrily at a newspaper.

His silky, thick, caramel hair with wheat colored highlights is neatly brushed back except for a stray strand or two falling into his face, seafoam eyes staring intensely at whatever is bothering him.

His eyes are beautiful.

Why the heck am I spying on this insanely attractive guy and 'Pablo'?

Pablo walks to his side and tries to get a glimpse of the newspaper. His eyes skim through it and his expression doesn't change.

"Well, it was expected, Mr Romano. You're currently ranked as the richest businessman not only in New York, but in several countries too. He knows that if he ends your career or even just gets a reaction from you, he'll earn thousands," Pablo speaks calmly.

Mr Romano tosses the newspaper onto the long table in frustration. "What am I going to do, Pablo? I'll be damned if I fail my father and this business is the closest thing I have left to a family."

Pablo sits down across from Mr Romano. "Well since I already anticipated this situation - I have a plan. Let me make a few things clear first. You're a really powerful man; I've been working for this company for years and I know that not even the best journalist out there could end your career. What we don't want is for you to lose important clients."

Pablo speaks like such a wise person, it makes me wish I could somehow ask him for advice on everything that's going on in my life.

Mr Romano sits up. "Pablo - this is Phillip Sultana we're talking about. He is the best, most well known journalist in the United States. He could quite possibly end me and everything I own. He ended Brian's career like it was nothing."

Pablo shakes his head. "Let's not exaggerate things, sir. You've worked with top-notch companies and 98% of your clients have been satisfied with your services over the past years - it's all on record. Your potential clients can't possibly ignore your rep and walk away from you after reading a couple of words. It simply doesn't work like that."

"What do we do about the clients that might possibly walk away?" Mr Romano questions before taking a nervous sip of water.

Pablo laces his fingers together on the table. "You need to feign a stable life and the only way you can do that at the moment is by getting married."

Mr Romano chokes on his water and stares at Pablo for a couple of seconds. "Please tell me you're joking."

Just as the drama unfolding before me  reaches its peak of comedy gold, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

I turn around and come face to face with a graying woman who's mouth is set in a thin line. She looks very uptight and I'm almost sure that her brand of strictness is that of a dorm mistress at an all-girls Catholic boarding school.

"May I help you?" She asks in a rather condescending manner.

"I...uh- I was just leaving actually," I say, backing away from her.

I turn back around and make my way to the elevators, hoping I never have to step foot in Romano & Co ever again. I clearly don't fit in and I stick out like a sore thumb.

Once I'm back in the cold outside, surrounded by snow, I spot a nice little cafè opposite the building and decide to grab a bite, grateful that I have the rest of the day off.