Hate Her

Hate Her

SARAH

He stared at me.

I froze. I didn’t know how to explain it. No one had ever looked at me like that before. Not with that kind of weight, that kind of clarity. It wasn’t the hatred I was used to. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t even disgust.

I couldn’t tell what it was. But whatever it was, it rooted me to the chair, my hand still caught in his, unable to look away.

He kept staring at me. And I kept staring back, waiting. Waiting for the snatchy remark, the hiss of sarcasm, the inevitable venom that always came when Ronan opened his mouth.

But it didn’t come. Instead, what came out of his mouth froze me in place.

“Mom…”

I blinked. My heart stopped. My eyes widened on their own as the word settled in the air between us.

Had he just.....

Had he just called me Mom?

“I missed you so much, Mom,” he whispered. His voice was soft, childlike, almost fragile.

I couldn’t breathe. My entire body went still. And then, God help me....he smiled.

At me!?

Not the smirk I knew, the one he used to slice people open without a knife. Not the predator’s grin he’d wear when he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. This smile… this smile was warm. Pure. True.

It was the kind of smile you’d expect from someone who had just seen a ghost they’d prayed to see again.

And almost like I was caught in a trance, I found myself smiling back.

“I missed you so much, Mom,” he said again.

I nodded before I even knew what I was doing. I didn’t have the faintest clue what I was doing. My throat felt thick.

I wondered if Cullen was going to walk in any second. If a doctor came and explained this. If anyone would. Because this couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. This had to be another one of Ronan’s tricks..... except nothing in his face looked like it

He wasn’t laughing at me. He wasn’t on guard. He wasn’t cold. The ice in his eyes was gone. And there was something in the way he looked at me that made me feel, for the first time, like this moment was real.

I didn’t have time to think about how it made me feel. Didn’t have time to think at all..... Because Ronan kept speaking.

“I waited for you,” he murmured. “You didn’t come back. You said you’d come back…”

His words tumbled out, softer now, like he was talking to someone who’d left him behind in another life.

"I'm so sorry," I responded.

I didn't even realize how sad it made me watching him so intently, so hard.

"It's all Sarah's fault. If it wasn't for her, you wouldn't have died. You would have still been here with us.... Mom, when she was born, I was so angry at her. I wanted her to pay the price. I wanted her gone. She took you away. Why does she get to live?"

I don't know why, but I held his hand even tighter. I felt him. I felt what he was saying, even though I knew it was against me.

"And then people kept comparing her to you. And as she got older, she kept looking like you. And I was so angry, because she had no right. She had no right to look so much like you. It was as if she were trying to replace you. She was still trying to take your place."

He spoke like a child; his voice cracked on the last words. It was almost like he wanted to cry. He meant every word. I have never been wrong....

Ronan really, really hated me.

Seeing him like this, so small, so broken, made something inside me shift. It wasn't my fault, and it wasn't his. Maybe the two of us would never be close. Maybe we were always going to be these two siblings: wounded and stubborn, tied together by things neither of us chose.

I didn’t say anything. I just kept nodding at him. He closed his eyes slowly, lids fluttering open and shut again as if even that small act pained him. He sighed, a sound low and uneven, and for the first time, I realized he didn’t even know what moment he was in. The drugs in his system, the sedatives meant to help him sleep and relax, had loosened his walls. This wasn’t him. Not really. But I didn’t know how to break it.

So he continued.

“Sometimes I feel bad…” His voice wavered, almost on the verge of tears.

I didn’t even ask him why. I couldn’t. I just listened.

“Sometimes I feel so bad because when I look at her…” he swallowed hard, “…I want to hug her. I want her to tell me I’m a good boy, that she’s proud of me. I want her to be you. And I know she’s not you.”

His eyes moved beneath his lids, restless. “And the anger that comes with it…” He swallowed again. “…the anger, it’s like it eats me.”

I could see it even now, that darkness flickering behind his sedated eyes. And I wondered: if the drugs were to leave his system right now, if he realized he was talking to me… what would he do?

“But sometimes," Ronan continued slashing his head slowly. "Sometimes I just get so tired of hating her, especially when she came back, and then dad was giving her all this attention, and then Ryan started giving her attention, and I saw the relationship she had with dad, and the relationship she sort of started creating with Ryan. And the truth was.... I got jealous.”

He laughed sadly. “You might think I was jealous of her, but no, I was jealous of them because... I don't know, I saw it. Whenever she's close to dad, dad feels like the old dad, the dad before you left us, and Ryan's just happy. I know Ryan is always relieved, always on high alert when he's with me, but when he's with her, watching her..., and then seeing him trying to protect her, sometimes I think I should just shoot her.”

He laughed, but it was hollow. “That's just wishful thinking because I could never hurt her because, yes,” he said, looking me straight in the eye, “sometimes I think she was a gift that you left behind so that we wouldn't forget you. I know it's stupid, but sometimes I think.... I think I love her, and half of the time I think I hate her.”