Sweet Hatred
Chapter 162: dead to us

Chapter 162: dead to us

He was the first monster I ever knew.

When I was a child, my home wasn’t a home. It was a war zone. A prison where laughter went to die. Where silence meant danger. Where crying only made it worse.

I used to watch him, watch him break our mother over and over again like she was something made to be destroyed. He’d slam doors. Throw punches. Spit vile, venomous words. And she’d flinch. She always flinched. But she never left.

Not until the night he went too far.

She was on the ground, gasping. Bleeding. Her dress torn. One of her eyes already swelling shut. And Olivia, just barely eight, was screaming in the corner, tiny hands over her ears.

Something snapped inside me.

I was thirteen.

I picked up the nearest thing I could find, a vase. Heavier than I usually could carry. Ceramic. White. I didn’t hesitate. Swung it at him. The impact made him drop. I brought it down on his skull. Once. Twice. Again. And when something cracked, I didn’t stop, I kept going. I grabbed a candleholder next. Then a paperweight. Then a goddamn iron lamp. Books. Plates. Anything I could find. Even the goddamn chair. Until he went still.

His blood was everywhere, on the floor, the walls, my arms, my face. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I had gone beyond control.

Not until the cops came. Not until two officers pulled me off him like I was some wild animal, screaming. My knuckles bruised and wet. His face unrecognizable as he kept rasping. "She’s going to kill me."

I remember Olivia crying and crying and crying. And my mother, barely conscious, trying to crawl toward me. Begging me to stop. Calling my name in a voice I still hear in my dreams.

But I couldn’t stop. Actually, I didn’t want to. After that night, I never saw him again. My father left after he was discharged from the hospital. My mother never pressed charges against him. She just let him go as she should have years ago. And all three of us worked hard to pretend he never existed. And truly he was dead to us.

But now he was back. Shamelessly.

He stepped forward slowly, like he was some grieving guest with the right to be here. Somehow he looked a little terrified, a little guilty now. He looked a little haunted.

But even with that he still looked... like himself. Calm. Put-together. That smug, chilling calm that had always made my skin crawl.

He lifted a small rosary from his pocket, kissed it, and made the sign of the cross.

The nerve.

The priest paused mid-reading. Whispers began slithering through the pews. Someone shifted uncomfortably. The air turned thick with discomfort and curiosity and disbelief.

And still, he dared.

My voice was a razor, low and unshaking. "Why are you here?"

He looked at me like I’d asked something casual. Like this wasn’t a funeral. Like he wasn’t the last person I ever wanted to see.

"Hello, Aria," he said. Smooth. Practiced. " I see you look well, my girl."

I blinked.

My nails dug into my palms.

I asked again, slower this time. "Why are you here?"

He gave a half-smile. "To see how you’ve been. I’m your father aren’t I?"

I ignored the bile rising in my throat. "You don’t get to see anything. Didn’t I make myself clear that night?"

His smile didn’t falter. "People change."

"I told you to never show your face again."

The volume of my voice hadn’t changed, but people were definitely staring now. Olivia walked slowly towards us. Michael frowned. Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The priest looked completely lost.

And Kael—Kael was already moving.

His hand closed over mine, firm and grounding, and suddenly I remembered to breathe. He didn’t ask. Didn’t say a word. But I leaned into him, just enough to feel real again.

"He’s not welcome here," I told Kael coldly. "Throw him out. Drag him. I don’t care. Just get rid of him."

Kael’s jaw ticked once. Then he nodded.

He didn’t even glance at the bastard. Just turned and gave Niko a small signal. Niko was already moving.

But of course, before the coward could be dragged out like the filth he was, he had to try and stain the air one more time.

"Aria," he called, just as Niko reached him. "I only came to ask for forgiveness."

I laughed. Just a small, cold sound that left my lips like smoke curling off a fire I’d buried long ago. Mom, Olivia and I had fought hard to pretend this man was never a part of our lives after he left. Mom picked up what she had left and raised us both by herself. And now—

He had the audacity to speak of forgiveness. The man who used to beat the prayers out of my mother, who made our home a prison. The man whose shadow I woke up screaming from till I turned eighteen.

Forgiveness?

The next breath I took felt like glass.

Kael’s grip loosened and I moved before I could think. My legs carried me, hands trembling, fists clenched, and I slammed my fist straight into his face before Niko even blinked.

His head jerked back. There was a gasp, several and then silence, thick and horrified.

He stumbled, hand flying to his jaw, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. Just like that night.

I raised my fist again, this time to end something. But Kael was already there.

He grabbed me from behind, arms locking around my waist like a cage. "Aria—listen—Aria, stop."

"Let me go!" I screamed. My voice cracked as I thrashed, wild and shaking and furious. "LET ME FUCKING GO!"

He held on. "Breathe—please—breathe, Aria—"

I wasn’t listening.

"You bastard!" I shrieked, my voice breaking apart. "You think a rosary makes up for what you did? You think you can just walk in here and pretend—pretend you didn’t ruin us?! That you didn’t—"

My throat burned. I couldn’t stop shaking.

"You don’t deserve to breathe the same air! You don’t deserve forgiveness! You don’t deserve to be here—to look at her! Leave now! LEAVE!"

He didn’t say anything now. Not a word. Just stood there while Niko’s hand gripped his shoulder harder, already pulling him away.

And then, again. Softer this time. Almost sincere. "Aria, I’m sorry."

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