Most of the time, he loves her.

He doesn't want to love her; if it was up to him, he'd hate her, he'd loathe every particle of her and he'd walk away and destroy her and laugh at her destruction.

But it's not.

So most of the time, he loves her.

Most of the time, but not all of the time; sometimes, very rarely, for a few precious seconds his emotions are his to control, and he hates her and loathes her and would kill her if he could; he would stab her, and enjoy the look in her eyes as she realizes who stabbed her; he would skin her alive. He'd punch her and slap her again and again for making him love her.

But before he can, love, the emotion that he's cursed a thousand times and more, takes over, and stops him.

Most of the time, he loves her.