Epic Lies (Epic Fail Book 2)

by Trudy Stiles

  Copyright © 2016 by Trudy Stiles.

  Trudy Stiles, LLC Copyright ©

  First published in 2016.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual, locations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.

  This book is intended for mature adults only. It is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

  Content Warning:

  This book is not suitable for young readers. It is intended for mature adults only (18+). It contains strong language, adult/sexual situations and potential trigger subject matter.

  Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations

  Interior Design and Formatting by Elaine York of Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  Editing by Chelsea Kuhel of Madison Seidler Editing Services

  Proofreading by Julie Deaton of Author Services by Julie Deaton

  To contact Trudy:

  Website: www.trudystiles.com

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authortrudystiles

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  Twitter: @trudystiles

  Email:authortrudystiles@gmail.com

  Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Trudy-Stiles/e/B00H3O0OJ8

  DAX ANDERSON has always been the one to keep it all together.

  ~ His family~

  ~ His friends~

  ~ His band~

  His heart is huge, but guarded. He’s the best friend. The protector. The shoulder to cry on. But he’s never been able to protect his own heart or himself. Lies from his not-so-distant past have destroyed his outlook on love - until he meets her.

  GISELLE ANDREWS is confident and happy, but cautious. She’s learned to overcome many obstacles despite her past. She’s fiercely loyal and loves beyond measure. When she’s reminded of her past and the pain that she lived through, will her perfect world begin to crumble?

  What connects Dax and Giselle?

  And will EPIC LIES destroy their future?

  EPIC LIES is the second book in the EPIC FAIL series and can be read as a standalone novel.

  This series is a spinoff of the FOREVER FAMILY series.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon...

  Playlist

  A Note to My Readers

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Trudy Stiles

  I WANT TO DIE.

  I need to die. And I’m ready. I realize how selfish this is, but I’m really doing this for all of you. As much as you want me around, you have no idea how bad it’s going to get because I’ve been here before. The endless hours of watching me in pain, knowing there’s no hope for me. Knowing that every breath I take is a struggle. Watching my chest rise and fall, hoping and praying it’s not the last breath I’m going to take. My pain causes you grief and sadness. My pain rips me from within and shoots through my bones with purpose. Every moment hurts. Every single breath hurts. Every single touch hurts. I just want it to end. I want to be at peace. Please don’t hate me for this. Eight years ago, I felt this. I lived this. I remember every single stabbing pain. I’ve suffered like this before. Please don’t make me do it again.

  Your pain is emotional. You struggle with trying to see a world without me in it. You cry over the loss of my future. You weep when you realize that I don’t have one. Your tears fall for the time I no longer have. For the time you no longer have with me.

  I can’t stand the thoughts swirling through your heads. I can hear them all.

  You feel sorry for me. You feel sorry for yourselves.

  My father, strong and stoic. You have been amazing and I wish I had your strength. I can see it in your eyes every single time you look at me. Your voice booms in my head. What am I going to do without you? My baby girl. Why is this happening? Lord, please don’t steal my dreams from me. Please don’t take away her future. Please don’t take her away from me. My only girl. Our only child. The girl I’m supposed to die before. The girl I’m supposed to live through. Kiss away her scrapes. Take away her pain. The girl I’m supposed to give away at her wedding to her true love. Please take me. Take me in place of her. Please. I’m begging you. Take me.

  My mother, so confident, yet fragile. I want this to be over for you as much as I want it to be over for me. Every single day is a struggle. You’re putting your best face forward, pretending that everything’s going to be fine. Pretending like I’m miraculously going to stand up and shout, “I’ve been healed!” You do so much for me, hoping your optimism will be contagious. Your voice is soft and shaky in my head. This isn’t happening. I won’t let it happen. I read this amazing article about your body’s pH and how cancer can’t live in an alkaline environment. We’re going to beat this! You’re going to beat this. Your father is out, buying ingredients now to make you an amazing cocktail. You’re going to drink it three times a day, and it’s going to heal you. You’re going to live, I promise. You’re going to one day know what it’s like to be a mother. To love your daughter as much as I love you. You have to. I want you to know what it’s like to feel this kind of love. To live for someone else. To wake up every day and wonder what amazing words are going to come out of your child’s mouth. The smiles that she shares. The laughter that fills a room. I want this for you. I want you to know what it’s like to have this much love for another human being. You’ve given that to me, and I so desperately want this for you. Please fight. Please live. I’m begging you. Your future daughter is begging you. We’re all begging you.

  My boyfriend. You’re so angry with me. You tell me every day that you love me. That you want me to fight for you and for us. But you’re also angry I lied to you. I never told you what was wrong with me. My parents had to. They told you everything after I was admitted to the hospital this last time. I know you’re mad. Upset that I didn’t trust you enough to tell you that I am dying. Your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been crying for days. How are we even here? Why are we here? You don’t deserve this horrible disease. You should be filled with life. You should be in my arms, dancing with me like nobody else is in the room. You
r eyes should be bright and clear. Your lungs should be full of oxygen and not struggling. Your hand should be in mine, forever. But we no longer have a forever. Not unless you fight. You need to fight for you and the future you’re supposed to have. Don’t give up. You can’t give up. I need you. Fucking Christ, I love you. Isn’t our love enough for you to fight with everything you have? Please. I don’t know who I’ll be without you. Please, don’t give up. I love you.

  My best friend, my cousin. Your heart is huge, and your entire life is ahead of you. You have so much to live for and so much to fight for. I want you to siphon what strength I have left and use it to help fight your own demons. We don’t talk nearly as much as we used to, and I wish we lived closer to each other. You’ve been through so much lately, and I rarely share my own ups and downs. You will be strong again, and I want to make that happen. You’re the only one that I haven’t been lying to. You know the truth and know how much I need this all to end. Your voice is chipper and animated in my head. Seriously, get over this already. We’ve been here before, when you were eight. You beat it then, and you’re going to beat it now. Remember when I shaved my hair when you lost yours? We called ourselves cousin twins. We looked almost identical, and we became sisters that day. You can do this. You have to. You need to keep showing me what true love is. I don’t know how to love like you do. I’m learning from you. So much. Who says a teenager can’t find love? You have. You’re proof that true love exists. Help me find that in my heart. Help me love like you do. Drink those disgusting shakes that your parents make for you. Show them who’s boss. Fuck cancer. Fuck it. Beat it to death and fight.

  Your voice starts to waver in my head, and I know what’s coming next. You know me better than anyone. I’m sorry, erase all of that. I take it back. Don’t fight anymore if you don’t want to. I know what this is doing to you. I know how much it hurts. It’s going to hurt so much when you’re gone, but I know how much you’re hurting now. If I could take your pain away from you and swallow it whole, I would. I would do anything for you. I love you so much, and I give you permission to go. Take your memories and your huge heart with you. Never forget the love that we have for you. Promise me you’ll be there for me when I need you because I know I’ll be calling on you in the future. I’ll get my cell phone charged to call you in Heaven. It’s going to be epic–our own cousin twins divine hotline. Please watch over all of us and smile. I love you.

  All of your voices are swirling together. Your words jumbled and clamoring in my head.

  Shouting.

  Crying.

  Begging.

  Laughing.

  Sobbing.

  Please, don’t give up.

  I love you.

  Take me.

  Please, fight.

  I hear you all, and I feel everything. You don’t know what it’s like every single day, living with the grief that I’m going to cause. I’m sorry that I can’t live for all of you. I’m sorry that I can’t live for myself. I hope none of you ever have to suffer with the pain that I feel every day. Please don’t hate me for giving up. I just want it to go away. To be at peace.

  I would tell you all what you want to hear. I would say that I have the strength to fight longer, harder.

  But that would be a lie.

  Giselle

  Past

  Age 16

  I’M SCARED. Terrified. Fear and doubt swirl in my head, and I want to run, but I can’t move. My fingers are tingling as I tighten my fists against my sides. My heart pounds so hard in my chest I can feel it in my throat. I swallow and nearly choke. I attempt to pull my arm up to cover my cough, but it’s pinned to the ground.

  “Are you okay?” he asks and loosens his grip on my arms. My coughing fit subsides, but it’s still hard to breathe. The weight of him on top of me is making it worse. I quickly nod and gasp for air, embarrassed. “Are you having some kind of panic attack?”

  I try to relax and I’m able to slightly loosen my clenched fists. My eyes search his face for a reason not to run. He looks concerned, but different. His eyes look cold and uncaring. When he told me he loved me just ten minutes ago, his eyes were much softer, kinder. I’m suddenly confused by his expression. Is this Troy McIntosh, my boyfriend? Or is this someone else entirely? What am I even doing here? I was supposed to be at my cousin’s house this weekend, celebrating her fifteenth birthday. I told her that Troy invited me to a party, and she told me I could celebrate with her another weekend. I haven’t missed her birthday ever, and I chose to miss it this year for Troy.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I whisper and take another deep breath. Can he feel my heart pounding? Am I supposed to be this scared?

  He shakes his head and pushes my hands back down into the blanket. A warm gust of air reminds me that we’re outside on the golf course behind his house. His cool lips brush against my neck, and his hips press into mine. I inhale deeply, turn my head, and see my clothes that he expertly removed. His grasp tightens around my wrists as he poises himself above me. What am I doing?

  “Stop, Troy,” I say. “I can’t do this.” None of this feels right.

  He tenses above me, and his eyes become even colder. “You wanted this, Giselle. You’ve been practically begging me for it.” He ignores my plea and presses himself between my thighs. I feel how ready he is, and I attempt to close my legs. “No,” I gasp, but it’s too late. He plunges into me in one movement, and I cry out in pain. Blinding, shooting pain. He pushes his forehead into my chest as he thrusts and grunts and thrusts and grunts. “No,” I attempt to say again, but my words don’t come out as I intend. I choke on my tears and cry as his pace quickens, the friction tearing me up inside. I try to push him off of me, but the weight of his body is too heavy, his grasp on my hands too tight. I’m trapped beneath him as he continues to plunge in and out of me, burning me. Destroying me. I just want this to be over.

  “Ah!” he yells into my chest, ramming me one last time, his sweaty forehead leaving a damp residue behind. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He pulls out of me quickly and removes his condom, tossing it into the bushes. He jumps up, pulls up his boxer briefs and zips his jeans. I’m lying cold and naked. Ashamed.

  I can’t look at him. He kicks my pile of clothes closer to me. My hand shakes as I reach for my underwear, but I can’t sit up. Everything hurts and aches. My head is pounding from my unheard tears. He turns his back to me and looks out into the darkness. “I bet you’ll remember your first time forever, Giselle.” His words are cold and unfeeling and I shiver.

  My first time wasn’t supposed to be like this. I imagined us in a four-poster bed, candlelight dancing off of the sheer fabric drapes that surround our bodies. Soft music playing and him gazing at me through loving eyes, caressing me, loving me. I imagined warmth and heat and love. His body wrapped around mine, protecting me. Holding onto me until the sun comes up and loving me all over again.

  Lies.

  As I pull up my panties, I see drops of blood on the blanket. I’m hyper aware of the tenderness and burning between my legs. Warm tears continue to stream down my cheeks. I sniffle. No, there are no soft pillows and glowing candles here. There’s only rough grass and dirt. And music coming from somewhere. It’s loud with electric guitars and banging drums drowning out the voices. “We should get back to the party.” He turns back to me. “Are you ready yet?” he asks, his voice tense and annoyed. The warm August air is heavy, weighing me down. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, and the stickiness between my legs makes me shudder.

  I pull my tank top over my head and attempt to stand up. My knees are weak, and I fall back down onto the blanket. “Are you drunk?” He knows better than to ask me this. I’ve never had a drink in my life. Maybe if I did, this would have been easier.

  “Of course not,” I say and look up at him. He shakes his head and huffs. “Hurry up then. The party sounds like it’s raging!”

  Can’t he see my tears?

  “Do you love me?” I blurt out, needing reassuran
ce for what just happened.

  “What kind of question is that?” he scoffs. “I told you that I did, didn’t I?”

  I nod and look into his eyes. I see everything I need to know in his dark, cold gaze. He doesn’t love me–he never loved me.

  “I’ll catch up. I need a minute to get myself ready.” I reach for my purse, hands shaking. I fumble for the zipper and can’t open it. The strength in my hands is gone. I place my hand on my lap and cover it with my free one, but the shaking doesn’t stop.

  “You should freshen up a bit,” he sneers. He points back at me and grins. “Let’s keep making memories.” His words make me shiver as I watch him jog across the fairway toward the music and laughter. The darkness swallows him, and I’m alone.

  Alone in my tears.

  Alone with his lies.

  Dax

  Past

  Age 16

  “WHAT ARE THE CHANCES he actually comes back?” Alex asks as he places his guitar into his gig bag.

  “He seemed interested and sincere,” I say. I slide my sticks into my back pocket and walk toward the driveway. We’d been practicing for the past few hours when some dude around our age tried to find the guy who lives next door to Tristan. He seemed nervous and curious about where he may be. He noticed us in the garage and came over to find out if we knew anything. We don’t know much about the guy at all, and that’s exactly what we told the kid. Garrett.

  But, more importantly, he can shred on guitar! He picked up one of Alex’s Strats and played with us like he’s always been part of Epic Fail. Mighty impressive.

  “Later, guys,” Tristan says as he opens the door from the garage into his house. “See you tomorrow in school.”

  “See ya,” I say. Alex and I grab our things and close the garage door on our way out. We walk across the street to our house. Alex moved in with me and my family about two years ago after his father tried to kill him and then killed himself. It was a totally fucked up situation, but now Alex is like a brother to me. Now he’s safe.