Sweet Hatred
Chapter 197: Safe Space

Chapter 197: Safe Space

I climbed the short steps to Sarah’s building, dragging my feet like they were made of lead. My phone buzzed again in my pocket, but I ignored it. I couldn’t stomach another call. Not from him. Not from anyone.

I knocked once.

Then again.

Then again—harder this time.

The door creaked open and there she was—Sarah, in plaid pajama pants, a fluffy yellow hoodie, and a mint green facial mask spread across her cheeks like war paint. She blinked at me.

"Aria...?"

I didn’t even get to say anything.

From somewhere behind her, a man’s voice called, "Who is it, babe?"

Sarah’s eyes widened in full cartoon shock.

Shit.

"I—I didn’t mean to—" I started to step back.

But her hand reached out and yanked me inside by the wrist. "No! Don’t even try it. You’re staying."

We moved through the narrow hallway toward the living room, and there he was—some guy sprawled on her couch like he owned it. Tall, not in a threatening way but in that annoying personal trainer who posts gym selfies way. Hair too styled, shirt half-unbuttoned like he wanted someone to ask him to stop, jaw too smug to be real.

He looked up, slow, and cocked a brow when he saw me.

"Your friend, huh?" he said with an edge.

"Yeah," Sarah said, too quick.

"Cute," he muttered. "She crashing or something?"

"Actually," Sarah began, walking around him to grab her phone off the coffee table, "I think you should probably head out for the night."

He chuckled. Didn’t move.

"It doesn’t bother me," he said with a grin. "She can stay. I’m chill."

That’s when I caught it—Sarah’s eyes. Quiet panic. The tiniest shake of her head.

I nodded once.

Message received.

I crossed the room slow, deliberate, and stood between them. "Look, I’m really tired, and I just came here to crash. I’m sure you had your little thing going on, but... it’s time to wrap it up."

He frowned, looked from me to Sarah. "Wait, did you call her here?"

Sarah opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

That was enough.

I took one step closer, toe to toe, arms folded. "I’ve dealt with guys like you. Real pretty. Real good at talking. Real bad at knowing when they’ve overstayed their welcome."

He tried to puff up, lean forward. "You think you scare me?"

I tilted my head, real slow, and gave him a look I’d perfected in college, the don’t test me, I’ve stabbed people and broken bones before and slept fine after it stare.

I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Try me. I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten, and the only thing I want more than this couch right now... is a fight."

He faltered.

I didn’t stop.

"You so much as raise your voice at her again, and I swear to God, you’ll wake up in an alley without your fucking teeth."

Silence.

The guy blinked. Smirk faltering.

He looked at Sarah again. "You’re friends with psychos now?"

"Yes, I am the psycho," I snapped.

He stood up, grabbed his keys from the counter with way too much energy, and stomped past me without another word.

When the door slammed, Sarah collapsed onto the couch with a groan and yanked off her face mask.

"Oh my God."

"You’re welcome."

"I love you. I actually love you."

"Buy me tacos and we’ll call it even."

Sarah shuffled into the kitchen, muttering about wine like it was oxygen, and I sank onto the couch with a groan, my body finally registering how much it hated me.

I looked around her apartment. My own safe space wasn’t even my apartment, it was Sarah’s. Still the same, cluttered, cozy, candles everywhere. It smelled like vanilla and betrayal. Probably from the smug idiot’s cologne still lingering in the air.

Somehow Sarah always had the worst luck in men, since highschool days if I remembered correctly. And frankly I always felt a piece of me die every time she got unlucky. Because sometimes I wished I was a man so I’d show her what it meant to be loved properly by one.

Not that I was perfect myself but no matter how much of a flawed person I was, I always knew I’d never do anything to make her feel insufficient or unloved. Because I loved her too much. And I knew she loved me too.

Sarah came back with two mismatched glasses, already filled. She handed me one and dropped beside me with a sigh like she’d aged five years in five minutes.

"So," I said, lifting the glass to my lips, "where the hell did you pick that one up?"

She covered her face with the wine glass and groaned again. "A bar."

I blinked. "Classic."

"Okay—but listen. We hooked up once like a month ago. It was... fine. And we just kept texting. I thought, I don’t know, maybe he was normal. Then he started getting weird."

"Weird how?"

She dropped her voice into a mock-deep imitation of him. "’I don’t want my wife to work.’ ’Feminism has destroyed women’s purpose.’ ’Women shouldn’t wear makeup if they can’t cook.’ Like, full-on podcast bro energy."

My mouth hung open for a second. "Jesus Christ."

"He said modern women were lost," she whispered like it was a horror movie line. "I swear to God, he said that with a straight face."

I choked on my wine. "And you still let him in your house?"

"He said he wanted to hang out and y’know, have a nice time! And I was like, okay fine, maybe he just has strong opinions. But then he proposed."

"He what?"

She nodded, sipping her wine. "Dead serious. Said he was ready to make me his ’queen’ and take me off the market before I ’expired.’"

I physically recoiled. "Are you sure we shouldn’t call the police?"

"I started doing a face mask to make it obvious I wanted him gone," she said, like she needed me to understand the full desperation. "He said, and I quote, ’That’s so cute. Wifey behavior.’"

I gagged. "Sarah."

"I know," she whispered like she was confessing to murder. "I know."

I leaned back into the couch and exhaled. "How do you manage to attract creatures like this?"

She shook her head slowly. "I ask myself that every day."

We sat in silence for a second, just sipping, trying to wash the male toxicity out of our mouths with wine.

Then she turned her head toward me. "Alright. Enough about me. What the hell is going on with you? You don’t just show up at my place at two a.m. like this unless something’s really wrong."

I didn’t mean to.

I didn’t plan to.

But I just... collapsed.

One second I was holding my wine glass, and the next I was folding into her side like my body gave up trying to pretend I was okay. My forehead pressed against her shoulder, and I felt my voice crack before the words even made it out.

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