Sweet Hatred Chapter 283: A S

That made my blood freeze.

I blinked, rereading the text like maybe I imagined it.

_She’s not who you think she is, Aria.

I stared at the screen. Felt my jaw tighten.

A thousand things scread bullshit. Eric had always been a manipulative little bastard. A gaslighter in pretty skin with a pathetic god complex. After my discovery at his apartnt, I got to see his true color. He was the last person I’d trust about anything.

But still... My thumb moved on its own.

_What the hell are you talking about?

He took his sweet ti replying.

_She’s not your friend Aria. She’s always been fake. She ca on to first.

My stomach turned.

What?

I almost dropped the phone. I couldn’t decide what I was feeling in that mont, if it was anger or sothing worse. The bastard could have given a better excuse for his infidelity but he decided Sarah would be a good scapegoat.

_You’re disgusting, I typed. _You’re actually insane. Stop lying through your damn teeth. It’s been MONTHS, Eric. Get over yourself._

I didn’t give him ti to send another reply. Blocked. Deleted. Erased.

I shoved the phone into the cup holder and rubbed the side of my head like it’d stop the headache building.

And that’s when I saw her.

Sarah.

Walking out of the diner with a bag of junk food and a fountain soda and beer in each hand, grinning like she’d won the damn lottery.

She looked so harmless.

So warm.

So... Sarah.

She slid into the driver’s seat, plopping the bags between us.

"Ta-da," she said. "One sugar-filled coma coming up."

I forced a smile. "Perfect."

And just like that, I buried it again. Whatever that was. Whatever he said. Whatever it could’ve ant.

Buried it so deep I couldn’t feel it anymore.

Because I didn’t want to. Because I couldn’t afford to.

Even when everything inside was starting to unravel.

We were back on the road again.

Sarah humd along softly to whatever music was leaking from the stereo, and I was half-listening, half-drowning.

I kept telling myself to forget it.

He’s lying. He’s always lying.

That’s what Eric does. It’s all he knows how to do.

But the words stuck anyway.

She ca on to first.

I didn’t believe it.

I couldn’t.

Not Sarah. Not my Sarah.

Still, sothing inside wouldn’t let it go. That itch. That whisper. That slow, sour churn of doubt that always crept in at the worst tis.

I clenched my jaw and shook it off.

This was his ga. Trying to poison whatever I had left.

Trying to ruin the one person who had stayed.

He always hated Sarah.

Said she was too controlling. Too involved.

Said she "got off" on being the perfect best friend, just to make dependent on her.

Back then, I thought he was just being possessive.

Now? I didn’t know what to think.

I glanced sideways at Sarah... her profile lit up faintly by the dashboard lights. She looked peaceful. Comfortable. Her grip on the wheel loose, her gaze soft.

How could I even ask her sothing like that?

How could I accuse her?

She’d been my lifeline these past few days.

Cooking. Cleaning. Staying by my side.

Keeping sane.

And even now, she was taking out... trying to give a night to rember instead of letting rot in my grief.

What kind of person would I be to throw doubt in her face?

If soone had asked sothing like that, I’d feel... betrayed. Hurt. Unseen.

No. I wasn’t going to do that.

Eric could rot.

Whatever angle he was playing, I wasn’t buying.

I closed my eyes for a second, letting the wind brush past my face through the cracked window.

The air slled like sothing between rain and gasoline. I didn’t hate it.

"Hey."

My eyes blinked open.

Sarah was staring at , her brow slightly furrowed.

"We’re here," she said gently.

I sat up, blinking the fog away from my brain and looking out the window.

It took a second to realize where we were.

Then my heart pulled sothing sharp and slow in my chest.

The theatre.

The abandoned, paint-chipped, soul-haunted theatre near the edge of town.

Where we used to sneak into during our second year with leftover wine coolers and course mates we barely talk to now.

Where Sarah once cried over a failed exam.

Where I kissed that guy from psych class whose na I forgot.

Where we carved our nas into the back of the seats like idiots who thought permanence was real.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.

She parked and looked at . "You okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Just... been a while."

Her smile was soft. "Thought it might help. You used to love this place."

I didn’t respond.

The door creaked open like an exhale, stale air wrapping around us as we stepped inside.

It slled like old velvet and mothballs. Like the forgotten breath of a hundred stupid, loud, beautiful nights.

Our footsteps echoed across the warped wood floors, and my fingers brushed against the faded gold of the handrail as I walked further in.

Nothing had changed. Not really.

The red curtains were still moth-eaten.

The projector booth still shattered.

The dusty seats still bore the sa deep slouch from too many bodies curling into them.

But sothing in had changed.

Everything in had.

I took a slow breath, letting my eyes adjust to the dim.

"It still feels the sa," Sarah said behind , her voice a whisper. "I used to think this place was magic."

I smiled a little, walking toward our old row.

Back center. Two broken cup holders. A carving in the armrest.

A S

Forever.

Back then, I’d thought forever was real.

"It was magic," I said, almost to myself. "In a dumb, broke-college-student kind of way."

We sat down.

For a mont, the silence settled between us like an old friend. Not awkward. Just... shared.

I closed my eyes.

Back then, my mom was still alive.

We were broke, but not broken.

Olivia hadn’t t Michael yet. She was still our spoiled princess, sneaking ho every weekend to demand our mom’s cooking.

And Sarah? She was my roommate, my makeshift sister, the only person who could translate my bad moods and worse sarcasm.

We were dumb and dramatic and thought heartbreak was the worst pain we’d ever feel.