Sweet Hatred
Chapter 204: "Cheers, you fucked-up mess."

Chapter 204: "Cheers, you fucked-up mess."

Empty.

I used to walk into Olivia’s place and be greeted by a scream from Kaleb or Lily’s tiny arms clinging to my legs. Olivia would yell at them to give me a second to breathe, but she’d always be smiling. She had a way of filling the air with warmth, even when she was bone-tired.

God, I had taken all of that for granted.

I pulled out my phone and tried calling her again. One ring. Two. Voicemail.

I stared at the screen like it might change. Like maybe if I held my breath, she’d answer.

She didn’t.

With a sigh, I tossed the phone on the couch and ran a hand through my hair, pacing slowly toward the kitchen before the familiar ding of a notification stopped me.

I picked up my phone.

Facebook Notification: Olivia Thorne just posted a photo.

I tapped it.

It loaded slow, like the universe wanted to give me one last chance to brace myself.

There they were.

All of them.

Olivia in the middle, glowing. Kaleb and Lily on either side of her. Michael stood proudly behind them, a hand on Kaleb’s shoulder like he earned the right. And next to him... was him.

....Our father.

Smiling like he hadn’t once ruined our lives.

Like he hadn’t laid hands on our mother.

The caption was simple. Just one word.

Family ❤️

I stared at it so long my hand started to cramp. My chest felt like it was folding in on itself.

Was I... wrong?

Had I been holding on to something everyone else had let go of?

Maybe people really do change. Maybe I was the problem for not giving him the chance.

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, biting down on the skin, hard. I didn’t want to cry. Not over this. Not again.

But the betrayal, it sat in my stomach like a stone. Heavy. Cold.

Was I the only one still bleeding from wounds everyone else had decided to forget?

Maybe I really was the bad person here.

Maybe I just didn’t know how to let go.

The post was still on my screen, but I didn’t want to look at it anymore.

Not because it hurt, no. I was past that.

It was because somewhere deep down, a part of me had started to believe it.

Maybe I was the problem.

Maybe I didn’t know how to let go. How to forgive. How to move on like everyone else.

Olivia could. Even after everything he did. She smiled in that photo like none of it mattered anymore. Maybe it didn’t.

Maybe I was just too bitter. Too angry. Maybe that’s all I’d ever been.

I locked my phone and stared out at the apartment again. Same walls. Same air. Same damn quiet.

"You deserve this," I whispered to myself.

I didn’t even flinch.

I walked to the cabinet, second shelf from the bottom, right behind the cereal boxes I never ate. I pulled them aside and reached for the bottle I kept hidden like a secret.

Vodka. Half-full.

Not the good kind. Just the kind that burned going down and numbed everything on its way.

I poured a glass. A tall one. No ice.

Lifted it.

"To me," I muttered. "The bitter bitch who never lets go."

And then I downed it all.

It seared through my throat, and I welcomed the sting. I wanted it to hurt.

Because the pain made sense. The pain felt right. The pain was mine.

I poured another.

Sat on the edge of the couch, staring at nothing while the world in my head started talking again.

Maybe this emptiness is my punishment. For being cold. For never knowing how to forgive. For pretending to be strong when all I am is tired.

And God, I’m so tired.

Of pretending.

Of fighting.

Of hoping.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t keep people. Why I pushed them. Hurt them. Drove them away before they could leave on their own.

Maybe that’s why I kept falling for men who would never love me the way I needed. Who only ever touched the surface while I burned underneath.

I thought about Kael. About all the things we never said. About how much of him I wanted to believe in, and how little of me I ever thought he could want.

And somewhere in that thought, the hate returned. Familiar. Soothing.

My father. Michael. All of them.

The way they walked back into people’s lives like they had the right. Like apologies fixed everything they destroyed.

No.

I might be broken, but at least I never pretended not to be.

I hate them. I need to hate them. Because when I hate, I feel something. And when I feel something, I remember I still exist.

Even if I’m rotting on the inside.

I lifted the second glass.

Held it to my lips.

And whispered, "Cheers, you fucked-up mess."

Then I drank.

....

Just one more.

That’s what I told myself after the second glass.

Then the third.

Then the fifth.

And by the time I lost count, the bottle was almost empty, my vision swimming, my body numb. The sharp edges of reality had dulled into a blurry haze.

I told myself I’d stop. I said, "One more and I’ll leave. One more and I’ll sleep maybe. One more and I’ll forget."

But I never did.

I reached for my purse instead, my fingers fumbling inside it until they found a crumpled piece of photo paper. I knew what it was before I pulled it out.

Me and Kael.

That dumb little photo strip we took at the amusement park. The one where he actually smiled for once, his arm around me, our faces pressed close together. I looked so alive in it. Like I believed in something.

I stared at it now like it was a lie.

It didn’t even feel real. Just a smudge of color and motion. A blur I couldn’t quite touch.

The memory was supposed to comfort me, but the longer I stared at it, the more hollow I felt. Like whatever we had was already fading. Already gone.

Was he going to marry Ash?

I tried to picture it. Kael in some stupid tailored tux, Ash in couture white, all poised elegance and smug victory, surrounded by the kind of people who’d never glance twice at someone like me unless it was to judge or devour.

Would he?

Would he really marry her?

Or maybe not Ash.

Maybe someone else.

Someone prettier. Cleaner. Someone not weighed down by rage and grief and daddy issues. Someone who wouldn’t drink herself stupid over a stupid photo.

A replacement.

A better fit.

Maybe I was just the detour before the real thing.

God. I could practically see it, Kael’s hand on another woman’s lower back, guiding her through one of those high-society parties like he used to with me. A low murmur in her ear. That stare. That touch. That possessive silence.

I blinked, hard.

The tears didn’t fall, but they burned behind my eyes like acid.

I brought the photo to my chest and curled into the couch like it could somehow hold me back.

"Don’t you dare cry," I told myself.

But I was already broken wide open inside.