Sweet Hatred-Chapter 251: Monstrous Coward

His voice was calm. Almost too calm.

"And sometimes," he said, exhaling slowly, "I just wish I could vanish. Not die. Just... not exist. For a while. You ever feel that? Like the air around you is too tight, too loud. And you just want to press pause on being a person for a second."

I blinked. My heart clenched.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently.

He finally looked at me.

And smiled, crooked, tired. "Not suicidal, Aria."

"Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what a suicidal person would say."

He snorted. "That’s my line."

I shrugged. "Still true."

He didn’t deny it. Just laughed softly, tugging at a thread on his jacket.

"It’s not like I’m not grateful," he said. "I know how lucky I am. Born into luxury. Safety. A name. But... sometimes I sit down and think about everything going on in the world. The wars. The lies. The way people treat each other. The things we do for power. It’s not a great place, you know?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know."

He was quiet for a second, then added with a faint smirk, "But... if I disappeared, who else would be around to annoy you to death?"

I groaned. "God, you’re insufferable."

"And yet," he said, leaning in slightly, voice dropping into that low flirt again, "you’re still sitting next to me instead of throwing yourself off this hill."

"Give it five minutes."

Sylas grinned, the sadness in his eyes flickering out just enough to let something warm take its place.

And in that moment, with the night wrapped around us and the city far below, I realized something,

We were both a little broken.

But it felt a little less heavy with him beside me.

The silence stretched again.

And I don’t know what it was, maybe the fact that Sylas wasn’t pushing, or the way the wind blew just soft enough to make it feel like the world was listening, but I spoke.

"I think my sister was right about me."

Sylas looked over slowly, his brow twitching, but he didn’t interrupt.

I stared ahead. "She said I’m a monster."

The words slipped out too easily. Like I’d been keeping them warm for this moment.

"She said I don’t have a soul. And I think I agree... maybe I thrive on hurting people, pushing them away, ruining anything good before it gets a chance to stay."

Still, he said nothing. Just watched with a quiet presence.

And somehow that made it easier.

"I can’t forgive people like everyone else does. I can’t just... let go. I hold on to anger. To hate. It’s like if I drop it, there’ll be nothing left of me. Like I need it to feel real. To feel me."

My chest ached. Not the kind of ache that came with tears, no, those had dried out long ago.

This was sharper. Emptier.

"I put on this front," I whispered. "Like I’m this strong, fearless woman who doesn’t take shit from anyone. But the truth is..."

I looked down at my hands.

"I’m a coward. I run from anything that feels too big. Too raw. Too... real. I shut people out the moment they try to get close. I lash out when I’m scared. And it’s because deep down, I don’t think I deserve anything good. I don’t trust it. I think if I let it in, it’ll just... vanish."

Sylas still didn’t speak.

I felt him watching me, listening, breathing in every word like it meant something.

Like I meant something.

"I ruin things before they can ruin me," I said. "And I hurt the people who try to love me because I don’t know what the hell to do with that kind of warmth."

I finally turned to him, voice barely a breath now.

"And I don’t know how to stop."

The wind picked up again, brushing through my hair. The stars blinked overhead, too far away to matter.

And then he moved.

Sylas shifted closer, not in some dramatic way, just enough that our arms touched. Enough to feel the heat of him bleed into me.

Still, he didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

Because in that silence, I felt something. Not judgment. Not pity.

But understanding.

And maybe that was the most terrifying thing of all.

Sylas exhaled, low and steady, and finally said, "You’re not a monster, Aria."

I scoffed, bitter. "Of course you’d say that."

"Because it’s true."

"No. Because you don’t know me," I muttered, looking away. "Not really."

He didn’t flinch. "Maybe not all of you. Not yet."

I rolled my eyes, but he kept going, voice calm but sure.

"But I know what I see."

His hand moved, gently brushing against mine, just a graze, a whisper of warmth that made something tight in my chest throb harder.

"I see a woman who’s been through hell and still shows up. Who still breathes. I see someone who holds everything inside because she’s scared it’ll all spill out and drown everyone if she lets go. I see a storm you pretend is under control. And you think that makes you a monster?"

He turned slightly, eyes locking on mine.

"It makes you human."

I blinked.

"And maybe," he added with a small smile, "you do burn a little. But you don’t destroy everything in your path. You warm the people who can stand close enough without flinching."

I stared at him. That smile.

It wasn’t a cocky one this time. It was soft. Real.

"And I don’t mind the heat, Aria," he said. "In fact, I kind of like the idea of getting burned."

"God, you’re such a flirt," I murmured, heart aching.

He leaned in just a little, enough to make my skin buzz.

"And you’re still here, listening to every word."

"Unfortunately."

He grinned, but then his voice dipped again, slow and steady.

"You think you push people away, and maybe you do. But maybe you’re just waiting for someone who’s stubborn enough to stay."

That did it.

My throat tightened, my eyes stung, but still, no tears. Just the dull throb of pain, nestled beside something dangerous.

Hope.

I whispered, "You don’t know what you’re signing up for."

Sylas tilted his head, smirking again. "You say that like I didn’t already buy a front-row ticket to the chaos that is you."

My lips twitched. "You’re such an idiot."

"Maybe," he said. "But I’m your idiot now."

....

Eventually, I sighed. "I should head home."

Sylas blinked, and just like that, he was sulking. Like a damn puppy who just got told playtime was over.

I raised a brow. "What?"

He shrugged, leaning back on the bench like his soul just took a hit. "I dunno. Was kind of hoping you’d stay."

"What? Here?"

He looked at me, hopeful. "I wouldn’t mind." freewёbnoνel.com

I snorted. "Yeah, no. You can go back to your high-rise penthouse with voice-activated espresso machines or whatever it is you people have."

"Okay, but..." He leaned forward again, eyes glinting. "I could take you there. Could show you the view."

"I’ve seen buildings before, Sylas."

He pouted, actually pouted, and I rolled my eyes.

"I just want to go home," I said, standing. "Lie on my couch, stuff my mouth with shitty snacks and binge something trashy until I forget I ever had emotions."

Sylas rose beside me, looking way too interested. "That actually sounds perfect."

"Don’t get any ideas."

He gave me that lopsided grin, cocking his head. "Can I come?"

I paused. Stared at him.

There was something so annoyingly adorable about him when he asked. Like a stupid golden retriever trying to politely ask if he could climb onto your bed after already doing it.

I sighed. "Fine. But don’t be disappointed when my place looks like a shoebox compared to your palace."

"I’ve always wanted to live in a shoebox," he said, deadpan.

We stopped on the way for junk.

Chips. Hot wings. Pints of ice cream. Beer. Chocolate bars. One mystery bag of spicy noodles Sylas insisted was "a rite of passage."

By the time we pulled into the small parking space in front of my building, my arms were full of greasy, sugary chaos.

Sylas parked the bike and looked around. "This wasn’t the same place I dropped you off last time."

"That was Sarah’s."

He nodded thoughtfully. "This feels more like you."

I glanced at him. "How so?"

He smiled. "Lived-in. A little intimidating. Probably cursed."

I elbowed him. "Watch your step on the stairs, golden boy. Wouldn’t want you to faceplant."

"I dunno. I fall for you daily, it’s probably time my face joined in."

"Gross," I muttered, but I was smiling.

We reached my floor, and I unlocked the door. My apartment greeted us with its usual blend of dim lighting, faint vanilla candle remnants, and the scent of fabric softener that never really went away. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t big. But it was mine.

Sylas stepped inside, surprisingly awkward and polite.

"Uh... where should I sit?"

I kicked my shoes off and tossed my keys on the couch. "You’re not at Buckingham Palace. Sit wherever."

He shed his jacket, and when I turned around, I got a face full of biceps and a tight black shirt hugging all the wrong places.

Correction: all the right places.

Sylas caught me looking.

He smirked. "See anything you like?"

I didn’t hesitate. I hurled the remote at him. "Pick a show, perv."

He caught it with a laugh, already dropping onto the couch like he owned the place.

A chuckle slipped out of me as I headed to my room. "Be ready to suffer through soap operas and murder documentaries."

"I’m oddly okay with that."