Epic Lies (Epic Fail Book 2)

by Trudy Stiles

  What?

  “No, I don’t think that would be appropriate.” I gesture toward his house, expecting the front door to fly open and a beautiful model of a wife to be running toward him.

  “It’s the least I can do,” he says.

  “Just pay it forward,” I respond. “I’m sure your wife wouldn’t approve.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t assume things, Giselle.” He gets out of the car and pats my roof. “Take care of yourself, and stop picking up strangers on the side of the road.” He closes the door and strolls to the garage. I watch him punch a code into the keypad, and one of the doors opens up. I can see a line of black cars, the closest a large SUV. He doesn’t turn around as the door closes.

  “What the hell?” I ask and turn my car around. I watch in my rearview mirror as his mansion becomes smaller behind me. I stop at the end of the driveway and enter my own address into the navigation app. C-3P0 quickly chirps the directions to me as I begin driving home.

  “Did that just happen?” I say out loud. C-3P0 doesn’t answer.

  I’m tense as I drive home. I’m also sick to my stomach.

  I’ve never told anyone about the significance of ‘zero, eight, two, four.’

  So many things swirl around that date.

  Loss

  Love

  Lies

  It’s a date I’ll never forget.

  Dax

  Past

  Age 17

  I GRIP THE SIDES OF THE VANITY as I stare at myself in the mirror. Dark eyes peer back at me, eyes I barely recognize. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I try to regulate my breathing. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, closing my eyes.

  Her smile is vivid and fresh in my memory. She’s all around me, I can feel her body against mine, trembling slightly. I can see her eyes, wide with excitement and maybe a little bit of fear and uncertainty. The scent of her strawberry Chapstick suddenly hits my nose, and I lick my lower lip, tasting her again. I need to feel her again. I quickly turn and rush from my bathroom. I need to confirm that what just happened was real and not a dream or hallucination.

  She’s still here. Lara is in my bed, propped up on the striped flannel covered pillows, her wavy blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She’s still here.

  Her eyes widen as I stride across the room, still naked. I stop next to the bed, and her gaze slowly travels down over my chest and toward my…

  “Lara,” I blurt out, interrupting her visual assault of my no longer impressive junk. She blinks quickly, and her eyes find mine again. I pull back the comforter and jump into the bed next to her, covering our nakedness. She shivers and slides lower under the blankets, blushing and embarrassed that she was caught staring at me.

  “I’m freezing,” she whispers, eyes softening. I turn onto my side, clumsily twisting the sheets and covers around us. My bare ass is now completely exposed, and I quickly kick my legs, trying to fix the blankets so we’re both covered again. Her cool hand touches my arm, and I settle against her, pulling her closer to me. I take care not to press my once again growing erection into her.

  “Is this okay?” I ask as I wrap my arms around her waist. Our hips are touching as our lower extremities are facing up. As awkward as we are lying next to each other, it feels incredible knowing that we just had sex–made love–for the first time. And then I remember how she tensed underneath me, wincing in pain. The look of surprise on her face as I pushed into her is fresh in my mind. “Oh my God, Lara, are you okay?” I turn completely on my side, placing my chin on her shoulder. “Please tell me that I didn’t hurt you.”

  “I’m fine,” she says softly. “It’s about what I expected.” My heart drops as her tone tells me everything that I need to know. It was awful. It sucked.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper against her skin. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she says, and she giggles a little bit. “I knew it would hurt. The first time is always painful. That’s how it’s supposed to be. You did nothing to cause that - it’s just how I’m made.” She places her hand over mine and squeezes. “It’s really okay, Daxton. I’m fine.” Her smile relaxes me, and she stretches forward to kiss my cheek, the scent of strawberry Chapstick once again filling my nose.

  “Are you sure?” I ask hesitantly, wanting to find her lips again.

  “Yes, totally sure,” she assures me.

  “Well, I hope so, because I would hate to hurt you like that again.” I close my eyes and try to erase her look of panic from earlier. “Are you bleeding?” I ask, embarrassed.

  She blinks rapidly, looking surprised. “I…I don’t know,” she says, shifting uncomfortably next to me. “I probably am, and I’m sure I’ve ruined your sheets.” Her eyes glisten and begin to fill with tears.

  “Hey, stop that. I don’t care what you did - what we did - to my sheets. They can be washed.” I make a quick mental note to wash them myself so my mother can’t see the evidence of what we did here today.

  Lara relaxes against me, and I nuzzle into her neck. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask her.

  “I’m wonderful,” she says, and I feel her smile against my forehead.

  “Wonderful,” I repeat her words and tighten my hold around her tiny frame. She feels fragile in my arms, and all I want to do is protect her, never cause her pain or discomfort again.

  “I love you, Daxton.” Her words grab my heart and squeeze.

  “I love you,” I quickly respond so there isn’t a doubt in her mind. “I’ll always love you.”

  “Always?” she asks and curls into my side.

  “Forever,” I say without hesitating. She briefly tenses in my arms, and I can’t help but wonder how much pain she’s really in.

  THE FRONT DOOR FLIES OPEN, and Alex strides in followed by my mother. Lara and I exchange worried glances as they enter the kitchen. Our school books are scattered on the table, and we only just began the project we were supposed to have been working on for the past four hours. “Looks like you two got a lot done,” Alex says, barely audible. His mouth is packed with bloody gauze because he just had four wisdom teeth pulled. His eyes glaze over as he sinks into the couch in the adjacent den. “I need Advil,” he moans.

  My mother rushes into the kitchen and grabs the painkillers from the cabinet while swiping a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Here, Alex. Take these and get some rest.” Her stress is obvious. She hates seeing any of us in pain, ever.

  “I’ll just get some rest, right here,” Alex slurs. He makes eye contact with me and attempts to wink, but both eyes close awkwardly, and he looks cross-eyed. He knows what Lara and I were planning to do today. It was his idea since he knew he’d be at the oral surgeon for several hours, and my mom had to stay with him. My dad is out of town so I had the house all to myself. It was the perfect time for Lara and I to do what we’ve been talking about doing for months. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and a pang of guilt once again grabs me. “Are you okay?” I whisper, and she quickly nods and smiles.

  My mother joins us at the kitchen table, and she sinks into the chair next to Lara. “What a day,” she says and stretches her legs. “How’s your position paper coming along? Have you two decided on a topic to debate?” Lara’s eyes widen, and she slowly nods. The project we’re working on is for our debate club.

  “Yes, Mrs. Anderson. We’ve decided to debate the right to die with dignity.” I shake my head and look away. I did not want to write an opposing position paper on this topic, and Lara is fully aware of that. She knows my opinion on this already, and she also knows the topic that I wanted to debate.

  “Oh? That’s interesting,” my mother says. She turns to me, “I thought you were planning on debating the space program and what the benefits were in investing more into space exploration.”

  “Apparently, that’s not what we’re debating,” I snap as Lara looks guilty, smiling apologetically.

  “Well, I’m sure whatever the two of you decide
to do, it’s going to be fantastic,” my mother says, reassuringly.

  Lara scribbles some notes onto a piece of paper. “I can’t wait to discuss this paper in Debate Club. I think it’s an important topic and something the majority of our country is far behind on. Oregon, Washington, and Vermont are much more progressive when it comes to this.”

  “It’s killing yourself. Suicide, Lara. There’s nothing good about that.” I tense up as Alex groans from the couch.

  “Some people should be able to kill themselves,” he mumbles. “It’s a better world without them, trust me.” Gauze hangs from his mouth, and his eyes roll back into his head. The anesthesia must still be in his system.

  My fingers click louder on the keyboard as I continue to write about my position. I hate that we’re even having this discussion in front of Alex. His father killed himself, but I wish he didn’t. I hate that fucker for what he did to my best friend, but he deserves a lifetime of punishment, not the escape of death.

  “Alex, that’s different and you know it,” Lara chimes in. “When someone is so sick, with no hope, they deserve the right to choose to end their life. They shouldn’t be subjected to the endless suffering that’s ahead of them. They should be able to die in peace and with dignity. I’m not talking about psychopaths or criminals.” She takes a deep breath, and her hands begin to shake. She quickly swipes a tear from her cheek and looks around.

  “It sounds like you two are going to have a very healthy debate,” my mother says. “This is certainly one topic that can polarize close friends and an entire country.”

  Alex mumbles something incoherent from the couch, and then starts snoring loudly. My mother quickly rushes to remove his Chuck Taylors and arrange a blanket over him. She pauses to smooth his hair and places a soft kiss on his forehead. She loves him as if he was her own.

  Lara sniffles and begins to gather her books and papers. “I think I’ll email you my paper tonight,” she says as she shoves her things into her backpack.

  “What?” I ask, surprised.

  “I have to go. I’m not feeling so good.”

  I tense up. What if she’s still bleeding? Is that even possible? What if she’s in so much pain that she can’t sit still?

  “Are you okay?” I whisper, trying not to let my mother hear me.

  She furrows her brow and nods quickly. “I’m okay, I’m just feeling a little lightheaded and nauseous. It has nothing to do with that.” She wobbles when she stands up. I rush over to her. Her hand is cold and clammy.

  “You’re not okay, Lara.”

  My mother is suddenly next to us. “Honey, you look pale. Sit down and let me get you some water.”

  Lara nods and sinks back into the chair. Her eyes are glassy, and she has a dazed look about her. “What’s going on?” I ask. “You were fine just five minutes ago.” I’m terrified that I really hurt her. Fuck.

  “I’ll be okay,” she says and looks up. “Thanks, Mrs. Anderson, water will do the trick.” Her shaky hands reach for the glass, and she raises it to her lips, closing her eyes.

  “Take as long as you need to relax,” my mother says. “I’ll drive you home when you’re ready.”

  Lara shakes her head and says weakly, “I can walk, really.”

  “Nonsense, it’s over a mile, and no offense, but you don’t look like you could walk a block.”

  I slide my chair closer to hers, so our knees are touching. “Please tell me you’re okay,” I whisper as I place my hands on her knees and rest my forehead against hers.

  “I’m fine,” she says.

  “You’re lying,” I say immediately.

  She doesn’t respond, but her eyes tell me that I’m right.

  Giselle

  Past

  Age 17

  MY PHONE BUZZES on the night stand, indicating there’s an incoming text message. I drop my highlighter and close my English book. There are only two people who text me often, and I cringe at the thought of one of them. I slowly walk over to pick up my phone and see the message on my locked screen. Bile rises in my throat, and I vow to get my number changed. I unlock my phone and read his message.

  Troy: Why on earth did you wear those sneakers to school today?

  What the hell?

  Me: Because they’re comfortable.

  Troy: You shouldn’t wear them anymore. They’re ugly. You don’t want to be ugly, do you? ;)

  Why am I even engaging with him? He’s been badgering me ever since he stole my virginity last summer on the golf course. After he lied to me. He told the entire school that I was a frigid lay, and he only took me to that party because he felt sorry for me. I can’t believe what I let him take from me. What he stole.

  Me: I’m changing my number this weekend. So, do me a favor and delete me from your contacts.

  Troy: I won’t ever delete you. We’re tied together. You know you can’t forget about me.

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. If he thinks he’s intimidating, he’s insane. There’s nothing tying us together. I’m not his property.

  Me: It’s over. It’s been over for months. Leave me alone.

  Troy: Never.

  “Giselle? Are you here?” My mother knocks lightly on my door. I tuck my phone under my pillow, hiding the text conversation I’m having with Troy. She has no idea the hell he put me through and the constant badgering I’m subjected to every single day.

  “Yes, Mom. Come in.”

  The door opens, and she comes in carrying a basket of my folded laundry. “You left this in the dryer. I had some time, so I folded it all for you.” She slides the basket on the floor next to my closet.

  “Thanks,” I say. My mom’s pretty amazing.

  “Are you tired?” she asks, looking concerned. I realize that I’m still on my bed, so it must look like I may have been napping.

  “A little,” I lie and feel the bed vibrate with more text messages.

  “Your father is coming home early today and thought we’d take a ride out to the shore and have dinner and maybe stay in that bed and breakfast we love in Spring Lake.” We may live in Pennsylvania, but we spend a lot of time at the New Jersey shore, and I love it. “We’re planning to meet with a realtor tomorrow to look at several rentals for this summer.” That’s the best part of our excursions, especially when we’re looking for our summer rental. My mother and I love walking through quaint beach houses, imagining ourselves spending warm summer evenings on the porch. That’s a must, any house we consider must have a porch.

  I almost forget about the douche under my pillow until it vibrates again.

  “Sounds good to me,” I say. “I need to finish a few things for school before we leave. Should I pack for one day or two?”

  “Just tonight. We’ll be coming home after dinner tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I say, shifting uncomfortably on my bed. My phone keeps vibrating, and I’m worried about what nonsense Troy is spewing now.

  My mom backs out of my room and closes the door. I quickly grab the phone from underneath my pillow and see that I have twelve missed messages.

  Troy: We need to talk.

  Troy: I’m calling you in five minutes.

  Troy: You can’t avoid me.

  Troy: Are you there?

  Troy: Dammit, Giselle. Stop playing games with me.

  I can’t read any more of this crap. I stop reading and swipe left to delete the entire thread. As soon as I hit delete, the phone rings, and his name appears. My hands are sweaty, and my heart is racing. I need to end this insanity.

  “This needs to stop, Troy.” I shout as I answer the phone.

  Silence. But I can hear him breathing.

  “Troy. Please stop this.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says in a tone I haven’t heard in a long time. He sounds sincere. Sweet, almost. But I’m not buying it.

  “This ends now. I’m tired of this. We’re over. We’ve been over for months. Do you understand?”

  “No,” he says simply and takes a deep breath.
/>
  I’m ready to unleash on him. It’s been a long time coming. My confidence builds, and I let go.

  “Accept it. I mean, how could you possibly think that everything you’ve done to me is acceptable? You’ve tortured me for months. You treat me like a piece of shit. Jesus, you raped me, Troy. You fucking raped me. What do you think I’m going to do? Forgive you? Date you? You’re a sociopath. Take a minute, and Google the word. You’re a fucking sociopath.”

  He remains silent, and I continue to pounce. “What is it that makes you think that you have some sort of power over me? Huh? I certainly didn’t give you permission to take anything from me. And I don’t give you permission to keep bothering me. It ends today. Forever. Do you understand? Because so fucking help me God, I will destroy you if you continue to do this. I will wipe your squeaky clean name all over this town. So don’t push me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice straining. “I didn’t realize… I mean… I didn’t rape you.” He chokes on those words, and his breathing becomes erratic.

  “Yes, you did. I told you “No.” I said the word. I told you to stop, and you didn’t. That’s rape.”

  “But, you are, I mean, you were my girlfriend. That’s not rape, Giselle.”

  “It’s rape when the other person says no, and I fucking said “NO!”” My heart is still racing, and I feel my cheeks begin to burn with rage. Why did I wait so long to do this? Why did I allow him to abuse me for so long? Why did I let him rape me?

  “No, Giselle. Oh my God,” he says, his voice trailing off.

  I don’t relent. “Let it sink in. Think about it. You’re a fucking criminal.”

  He gasps and begins to stammer. “I–I’m so sorry… I didn’t– wouldn’t… God…”

  Is he sobbing? Crying? I can’t tell, but he doesn’t sound so good, and this makes me happy. I want him to shed tears. Lots of them. I want him to feel the pain of what he did to me physically, emotionally, and socially. His buddies mock me. Other girls call me a slut. Even some of my close friends questioned the truth. What really happened on the golf course that night? I’ve never told anyone my side of the story, and now Troy is afraid of what may come. He should be.