His expression instantly formed a scowl when she stretched out her hand, as if on reflex, before he smoothed it back down to what it was before. It was only habit to feel somewhat repulsed by the the contact as he shook her hand. He could see already that she believed she could save him, give him enough fake smiles and happy words and he will suddenly be happy smiley too.<br/><br/>He hated it.<br/><br/>In fact, there wasn't much Jonathan didn't hate.<br/><br/>He hated his bullies, his abusive father, his therapist, his depression, his scars-<br/><br/>Himself.<br/><br/>Ludovica was very pretty,  put together, and seemed to have all the confidence in the world, such a contrast to the pathetic thing she was talking to. Jonathan was under the impression that ghosts appeared as they looked when they died, so this Ludovica must have been extremely lucky to die in such a graceful state. With these thoughts came more forms of hate. Jealousy towards the woman, bitterness towards her smile, and anger at his own situation that had caused him to blow his brains out.<br/><br/>A slice of pain rippled through him as she asked about his mother. He shrugged, letting his arm fall back to his side, "It doesn't really matter." He answered blandly, hiding the fact that he even hated, to a significant degree, his own mother. Hated that she was never there, hated that she ignored every sign, and above all, hated that she had the guts to cry after it all.