Mr. Whitlock

13 - Hatred

Marie never thought she was one to hate people. She had learned from a lifetime of anger, that hatred never made anything better. Bringing herself down to a pitiful level in order to make whatever person had wronged her feel worse never worked, teaching her over time that forgiveness was far more comforting in the long run.

She chose to feel compassion, although not respect, for her mother. Gratitude, although not love, for the men which had hurt her in the past. Most people would even describe Marie as the most patient person they knew, but it had all come from years of struggle and eventually contentment with her own life and knowing that others could not ruin it.

It surprised Marie that her own grandmother held immense hatred for only one person. And when she had asked who this horrible person was, and what they must have done so wrong, she was given an answer which left her in a state of shock and confusion.

Marie assumed it would be Charlotte's father, for from what she had heard he was not a very kind man. He spent years locked in his study away from his family and was seemingly the one to blame for the ripple of problems following his absence. Their family forever paid the price for his maniacal decisions, from abandoning their house to sprouting a family tree full of hesitancy.

It was an odd idea to think of how different Charlotte would be if her father had loved her.

Despite these truths, though, the man who held Charlotte's passionate spite and distaste was someone Marie had nearly forgotten.

"Charles was an awfully strange man. He seemed to be at our house all hours of the day, busy in the study with my father. It was a mystery what they did inside that room, but all I know is that Charles was at the fault of it. He had no family to go home to, spreading that to the mind of my father when in reality, his mother and daughter were waiting eagerly at the dinner table that he never arrived to. I hate Charles and his selfish ways, I hate his deceit and his foolishness. It was almost a relief my father left that house. For even if it made him lose his mind, at least that horrible man was out of our lives forever. He was the person who tore our family apart." Charlotte had said these upset words amidst a conversation she had with Marie a few days prior. That memory resurfaced as Marie recalled all the times she had heard her grandmother speak, and she thought of how much this terrible man had affected her life.

He was likely the cause she never got close to anyone. He was likely the reason she felt her father never loved her. And he was likely the core cause of why she never trusted anyone.

It was almost comical how much one person's existence could mean so much negativity in someone else's life.

Marie felt her cheeks grow hot as she thought of this man. Her grandmother was clearly hurt and upset by what he had done. How could he have been so arrogant to pull Charlotte's father away? Alistair had been a kind and faithful husband and father before meeting Charles, or at least that is what the old woman had said.

Perhaps Charlotte could have been happier if she never met him, and if her father never worked with him. Perhaps she could have lived a more fulfilling life without that weight on her shoulders.

Reflecting upon everything her grandmother had said, Marie found herself nearly hating Charles as well. Not only had he ripped Alistair away, but he had tried to manipulate Charlotte into liking him. That stuffed teddy bear given to her was only another way for him to show her he cared, no wonder she had thrown it away time and time again.

His intentions were nothing but evil, his head filled with work and fame rather than the things which actually mattered.

Then Marie sighed, exhaling all of the tension that put crescents into her palms and scars in her cheeks. She breathed out whatever hatred she had been feeling as her blood simmered from a boil. She wondered why the thought of Charles had made her so angry all of the sudden, as she sat alone on a park bench with the sharp autumn breeze caressing her face.

How was it that one man, whom Marie had never met, could pump fury in her veins?

Perhaps she was simply grasping at anything—rather, anyone—to blame for her grandmother's troubled life. Nobody else in her family seemed to care enough to think of what caused Charlotte's awfully morose demeanor.

Evelyn had cared for and adored her mother all her life, but was caught up with balancing her career, husband, and three children. She also believed that Charlotte was well taken care of by Anne, which was so obviously a lie. But the old lady was no longer the woman she once was when her husband was alive. His death was her breaking point, causing all of the stress she had built up in her life to suddenly collapse on top of her completely.

And Marie happened to spend quite a lot of time with her grandmother during that time, possibly the most out of anyone else in her family. She noticed the little things, the seemingly pointless comments Charlotte would occasionally make. Perhaps Evelyn would have glossed over the story of Charles, but Marie saw the pain and disgust in Charlotte's eyes. Marie wished, nearly more than anything else in the world, to find some way to give her grandmother closure.

To think of something to say, to reassure her than he was no longer in her life. And that even though the repercussions of what he did were irreversible, and would affect her until she died, she didn't have to worry about him any longer. 

She didn't have to think about his coaxing smile used to cajole and manipulate her into trusting him. Nor did she have to wallow in disappointment at the man he molded her father into becoming.

But as much as Marie hoped to comfort the old woman in some way, she couldn't help but hate him too. And why convince Charlotte to forgive someone that Marie couldn't even respect?

She also knew that even if she found the right words to say, her grandmother would likely turn her head and ignore it all. And why go through all that trouble just to defend a hateful man that even the thought of made Marie sick?