Tell me again what you said at the revel, he says, climbing over me, his body against mine.What? I can barely think.That you hate me, he says, his voice hoarse. Tell me that you hate me.I hate you, I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.He kisses me harder.I hate you, I breathe into his mouth. I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t think of anything else.