I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

Indecisive

I wasn't a stranger to the science of hatred. No, I knew it well, right down to its very fine points. I felt that it was an art, a very delicate practice that only a select few could enact successfully. I was one of them, and so was she.

Oh, yes, she knew the art of loathing, and I was always her subject. I was the one who was always on the receiving end of her jealous rages, always the one who felt the sweet sting of her romantic moods….

….and of course I hated being her victim. I hated the feel of her lips on mine, the way her body felt when it pressed against mine…I hated it all, but yet I was bound to her; a docile little whore.

And I hated it.

But I couldn't stop what she made me feel; the one order that always made me melt in her arms; "love it."

I did--but only physically. Mentally--I was screaming at her and at myself--stop it, get off me, I hate you…

…but my body always said otherwise; more…please…don't stop…

I crumbled when she touched me; reduced to a heap of begging, blathering, writhing uselessness. She touched me in all the right places; her fingertips brushing over my bundle of nerves…fingers slipping inside me…desecrating me…pleasing me…and I arched into her touch, surrendering….because the curse had me chained…

"Scream for me, Ella-dear…" and I did, despite the obscenities and insults that my mind was hurling at her; fuck you! Get the fuck away from me!

I screamed her name; Hattie! and she curled her fingers, kissing me, my lips burning from the contact; and I tightened around her fingers, and gasped and writhed and begged for her to never, ever stop…

….but she did, pulling away from me, and I fell back on the bed, panting, used up, and completely satisfied. She lay beside me, fingertips tracing along my body, her eyes alight with sick fascination.

I was perfectly still--my eyes closed, and my mind racing. I hated her--I hated Mum Olga--I hated Olive--I hated the curse--I hated everything.

But I was able to forget…when Hattie kissed me…when she fucked me…I was numb, my thoughts were silenced.

I was satisfied; and yet I was empty.

My emotions had become a complicated art; and only Hattie could master them. Only she could control them, shut them up, and tear me apart.

She had mastered the art of hatred, and she had mastered me, whether I liked it or not.

A/N: Merely written to make sure that my writer's block is at bay before February. I don't like the ending, really, but this was a difficult fic to end.