Loathing You by Amina Khan

Chapter FIVE

A d a l i n e

Identical icy blue eyes, the same golden-blonde hair, barring the slight grey hairs. Every time I look at Samantha Kingston I feel as though I'm seeing a vision of what Juliette will look like in thirty years. She should be elated that she'll be an absolute milf when she gets older; a repressed, bitchy milf, but a milf nonetheless.

When I heard her shrill voice calling for Juliette from downstairs, I couldn't even react before Juliette rushed down instantly. Of course, I didn't have much choice but to do the same.

So, that's where we are now, standing in front of Samantha Kingston who's looking at me with contempt and her daughter with a soft look of indifference.

She's wearing a long beige coat, a leather belt wrapped in the middle, and a Chanel scarf wrapped around her neck. I have to give it to her, she is fashionable. Or is she just filthy rich? Is there really a difference?

“Adaline,” she greets disdainfully, acknowledging me with a slight nod.

I nod back. “Miss Kingston.”

I hate her. I've hated her ever since I was a child and she tried to use her power and money to implement homophobic rules at Richmond academy, which thankfully, didn’t work.

I’ve hated her ever since she told me that being bisexual was disgusting, but not as bad as being gay, because I still had a chance of ending up with a man.

She told me that at a pride rally a few years ago. Vile bitch. She is always at pride events heckling and berating people like me.

She is a tyrant, which is very amusing, because she's the same woman who has rallied against sexism and racism and even funds abortion clinics, yet she draws the line at homosexuality? Someone needs to teach her what progressiveness actually means.

“What are you doing in my home?” she questions, tight lipped.

My eyes turn to Juliette who is standing next to me. She's standing stiffly, her arms crossed. I can tell she's widely uncomfortable, so I decide to have a little fun with her.

“Well, I actually just finished fucking your daughter—”

“She's joking!” Juliette interrupts loudly, her hand shoots out to mine and her nails begin digging into my skin. “She's just tutoring me.”

I stifle a laugh and yank my hand away, ignoring her glares and how satisfying it felt when her nails sunk into my arm. I really need to sort out my masochistic tendencies.

“I know,” Samantha scoffs, “you're not a degenerate like her.”

“You sure about that? She's probably sucked her boyfriend’s cock right in this living room.”

This isn’t slut shaming; this is just pure rudeness. This is me being as annoyingly infuriating as I possibly can to make her mother feel uncomfortable. Not to mention that infuriating Juliette is always a bonus too. Her tight fists and clenched jaw tells me that she's absolutely furious. I love it.

Even if I’m being petulant, which I so very clearly am, the common courtesy rules don’t apply when it comes to the Kingston’s. They are vile humans who only deserve vile treatment back.

“We aren't living in the stone age. My daughter can do whatever she likes with her body, that's her prerogative.” Samantha shrugs off my rudeness.

Ugh. She always says the right thing. It should calm me down, but all it does is make my chest swell with fury. I'm angry because she's berated me for being bisexual since I was a child. I'm angry because on every other social issue, we seem to be fighting on the same side!

Most of all, I'm angry because she's the one that has made Juliette this way. She's the reason Juliette is so angry, vicious, and homophobic.

“So you're sex positive as long as it's only a man and a woman?” I question, scoffing.

“Precisely.”

“You're a repressed hag, you know that?” I spit out angrily.

Right at this moment, I can finally understand why Juliette despises my lack of attention. I'm getting a taste of it from Samantha, with her stoic face and emotionless words.

Usually, it wouldn’t bother me this much, but that’s because I’ve never spoken to her for longer than five minutes—nor have I ever been in her house.

“Adaline!” Juliette reprimands me, but her mother holds her hand up signalling her to not get involved and she shuts her mouth instantly.

This is what it takes to shut Juliette Kingston up? Just a signal from her mother and she's completely silent? Pussy.

“I'd rather be repressed than a deviant,” Samantha retorts.

I laugh indecorously. “Deviant? Can you hear yourself? So much for not living in the stone age.”

She had to understand her hypocrisy, how could she not understand how ridiculous her notions are? It would be one thing if she was ultra right-wing and hated every minority group, at least then I could chalk it up to ignorance.

With her, I just can't let it go because she's the reason Juliette hates me. I need to know why. I’ve tried asking her before every time I run into her. I used to ask Juliette the same thing too, but I never got an answer from either of them.

“It's different!” she argues and I can see the emotionless façade breaking. Juliette is completely silent, her eyes on the floor and I realize this is my moment to figure it out without anyone interfering.

“What is your actual problem? Why do you hate people like me so much?” I bombard her with questions, raising my voice louder and louder.

“I don't owe you any explanation,” she says with finality, averting her eyes from me and I know I have to keep pushing.

I chuckle darkly, walking closer to her. “Is it mommy issues? Daddy issues?” I pause before lowering my tone. “Or is it husband issues?”

Is this what Juliette feels anytime she is cruel to someone? It's slightly addictive, like malice is drenching from each inch of my body.

I've never been one to mince my words or control my thoughts and I certainly won't be starting now. I need to keep going in order to understand Samantha—to almost degrade her.

That's the thing about people like Samantha Kingston, they're just miserable, little bullies and if you push hard enough, you'll expose an insecurity; something embedded so deep that even the mention of it breaks them down.

“Stop it!” she warns lowly. She isn't the same stoic woman who walked into the house, she looks like a ticking time bomb.

“Is that why your husband left you? Because you're an ignorant, intolerant piece of shit?” I can’t feel any regret after speaking because my malicious words seem to set something wrathful in effect.

Samantha's eyes change, becoming darker and narrowed. When I'm up this close to her, I can see a vein protruding out of her forehead and her breathing becomes heavier; so dangerously heavy.

“How dare you!” she bellows out loudly. I half expect her to hit me, but she doesn't. She just points her finger in my face and says, “Don't presume to know things about my husband—”

“Ex husband,” I correct with a malicious smirk on my face. I hate it. I sound like Juliette right now—so bitter and venomous.

But I can't stop. I want to, so badly, but I can’t.

I had heard about Juliette's parents' divorce a few days after I had experienced Juliette's homophobic wrath for the first time.

I was too wounded about my own bisexuality being outed to even have a shred of sympathy for anyone else, especially her. I didn't know enough to be sympathetic anyway, all I knew was that her father divorced her mother and left.

I despise that this fury inside of me is going to make me use that against her right now. Nonetheless, I continue talking. “I don't blame him for leaving. I would leave too, if my wife and kid were miserable, homophobic bitches!”

Samantha narrows her eyes and clenches her jaw. “He didn't leave because of me!”

“Mom!” Juliette tries to interrupt her mother by walking up and putting her hands on her shoulders. It doesn't work. I know it doesn't because Samantha pushes Juliette's hands away gently, signalling to her not to get involved.

Her eyes turn back to me with pure ferocity. “Julian left because he's a fucking faggot who would rather leave and fuck his boss instead of staying with his family! He's the reason I hate your kind!”

Her words come flooding out with fury and I feel as though I've broken a dam and the water won't stop flowing.

She won't stop spitting out words, even while Juliette is hysterically begging her to stop. “He was a coward! He beat me to a pulp to stop me from divulging his dirty, little secret. He was happy to leave me for a man, but too scared to admit it!”

No. No. No. I wanted to push her, but to this extent? To this place of her shaking, falling to the ground while Juliette comforts her? No, not like this. I’ve just stepped down several levels past Juliette’s behaviour.

“Get out!” Juliette says coldly, holding her mother who's shaking with anger.