Bitter Lies

by Nina Lincoln

  His eyes are dark pools as he smirks at me and grabs his shirt off the floor, but I spy the grimace as he grabs his keys and wallet. “Let me know when you have the itch again.”

  Snarling in my head, I stand from the wall and silently smirk when he turns and runs his heated gaze over me once more.

  “I thought you refused to fuck me?”

  With a flicker of his eyes, he says, “Pussy is pussy.”

  Ignoring the surge of heat that suffuses my cheeks at his casual disregard for what just happened, I smile instead. “And dick is dick.”

  His back stiffens as he turns and gives me a level look, but I merely raise a brow. “What?”

  He doesn’t speak which is just as well, but his look of distaste leaves me deliciously sated but annoyed as he goes, presumably back to the party.

  I collect my clothes with a sigh and after dressing collapse on the sofa, falling asleep to the image of his face when he came, and the feral need displayed there. For me.

  Maybe Griffin isn’t as immune to me as he insists, after all?

  Chapter Ten

  Betrayal tastes like acid on your tongue.

  I feel good during my counseling session, and even Dr. Marks’ gentle cajoling doesn’t bring me down. Strangely, knowing Griffin desires me has opened a new sense of hope because perhaps I’m not as ruined as I thought myself to be.

  Griffin’s already in class when I arrive, and following his lead, I ignore him even though the asshat insists on sitting right next to me.

  “Hey, Halsey,” Hogan says with a bright smile, to which I squirm in discomfort.

  Although he seems like a nice guy, he clearly didn’t get my juices flowing, and now I have to figure out how to let him down nicely.

  Which, as I’ve established, is not easy since simple greetings stick to the roof of my tongue like molasses as it is.

  Thankfully, Dr. Marks interrupts to begin the lesson, and the class is interesting enough to keep my attention, delving into trauma, and although I try to listen with an open mind, I can’t help but secretly compare myself at times.

  I recognize his words in the prickling sensation under my skin, and I don’t know whether to be comforted that it’s normal enough to be in a textbook or appalled. Truthfully, the emotions that circle below the surface feel too intimate to be discussed in this setting.

  But I refuse to ruin my good mood, grabbing my things to leave when it’s time and sailing along on the tide, checking out Griffin’s ass on the way, until we breach the doors and I stutter to a stop outside.

  “Hey, watch it,” some guy says behind me, inadvertently pushing me toward the stairs.

  Numbly I watch as they come closer, and I stumble, smacking my palms on the pavement as I go down like a clumsy oaf.

  “Hey, asshole!” Griffin growls, but the guy is long gone as he reaches down and grabs my arm to help me up.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, glancing at my skinned palms with a scowl. I nod woodenly, moving away from him and the guy standing by, who greets Griffin with a nod.

  “Jameson,” Griffin says in his deep voice, tugging on my arm. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I whisper, wrenching away, but he just holds on tighter as Will Jameson says in amusement, “Halsey? I didn’t know you were going here. I thought you got into some fancy art school?”

  “Yeah, well, things change.” I smile harshly, resisting the perennial fucking urge to scratch at my skin.

  “True that. Looking good,” he says, but I refuse to look at him, shrinking into myself as Griffin stiffens beside me, looking between us in suspicion.

  Taking advantage of his distraction, I pull away, saying over my shoulder, “See you around.”

  But I hope I never see Will Jameson again, and not for the first time, I wonder why I convinced myself I would be safe at this fucking school.

  By the time the boys come home, I’ve shaken myself out of my funk, but it lingers beneath my skin like a festering wound—which I guess it is. You just can’t see the damage because it’s on my soul.

  How many more of Jason’s buddies go here? Will I forever be faced with the specter of my mistakes?

  “Dinner,” Griffin says behind me, and silently I sigh, dropping my pencil and following him to the table.

  Max is already seated and grunts at me when I join him. Gazing at him warily, I eat silently as Griffin sits between us at the end of the table.

  “Yo, did you see that chick Jameson had on his arm last night?” Max says, to which I hunch into myself once more.

  “Long hair and big tits?” Griffin rumbles, and when I glance at him, I see he’s got his familiar cruel sparkle in place, but his mouth is set in a grim line.

  Narrowing my eyes, I smile, but it’s icy as he plays his game because apparently, he’ll never tire of it.

  His eyes light with unholy fire at my expression before they too narrow in thought, causing a shiver of both arousal and dread to wash through me.

  Here it comes. Am I prepared for what he’s about to spew this time?

  “You know Will, then, eh, Halsey?”

  Rigidly, I smile but its halfhearted. “Yes.”

  “Hm,” he says.

  Avoiding his gaze, I glance up to find Max now looking at me with a speculative gleam. “That’s right. I think I heard something about that. Didn’t you fuck him?”

  Flinching, I stare at him incredulously because up until a few days ago, it never occurred to me he or they might hear about it, and now it’s coming at me from all sides.

  This is the truth I’ve been trying so hard to hide, and I feel dangerously exposed.

  “What?” I demand.

  Max’s mouth curls into a nasty smile. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”

  “No!” I exclaim, but a glance between the two with their twin expressions of skepticism says they don’t believe me. “What?”

  “That’s not what he said,” Griffin says, his eyes burning dangerously.

  “Who? What did they say?” I whisper, caught between the shame clenching my stomach and the rage making my fingers tremble.

  Griffin raises his brow, his tone brutal as he searches my eyes. “That you were a wildcat.”

  Does he see what he’s looking for? Probably not since there’s a void in my chest so fucking wide it’s a wonder I can still breathe.

  “Yeah, and that you fucked like a little whore,” Max chimes in, smirking.

  “And it never occurred to you to defend me?” I push roughly back from the table and press my palms to the wood.

  “Why would I?” Max asks, and frankly, he seems genuinely bewildered.

  Curling my hands into fists, I slam them against the top. “Because the fucker was spreading rumors about me!”

  “Is it true?” Griffin asks, raising his brows over his ice-cold eyes.

  “That he fucked me? Yes. That I’m a wildcat? Debatable,” I mutter, brushing past him to my room and locking myself inside.

  I’m not sure who to be angrier with—my dick brother for not defending my honor or Will Jameson for having the balls to brag about what he did, either way, I’m so fucking enraged that I’m shaking.

  But on the tide of this emotion is fear clenching my gut because I’m splayed wide open, and this time there’s nothing I can do to hide.

  Fuck this. Grabbing my jacket, I exit the room and head toward the door, ignoring two sets of eyes watching me the entire way.

  ∞∞∞

  By the time I return, having walked the block about twenty times, I’m tired and still seething, but what can I do?

  I walked into a nightmare, and when I couldn’t pull free, I made the choice to pretend it didn’t happen, and even now I have to stick with it because I can’t imagine confessing my truth. Frankly, the thought is so reprehensible that I puked in a bush, and the burning bile still rolling around confirms it.

  This means I have no choice but to parade around as the wildcat while my brother laughs, and Griffin judges me.
/>   He probably thinks I slept with Will just to forget him, too. Asshole.

  Staring at the ceiling blankly, I scroll through the memories, thankful they’re not as harsh as they could be before rolling out of bed. If I go down this road, I fear it will be brutal and resolve myself to another sleepless night.

  I’d like to shower again, but I know it will only leave me scalded because what’s beneath can’t be washed away with soap and water.

  The house is quiet when I plop down onto the couch and turn on the television with the sound set to low. I’m exhausted, but I can’t rest, and I’m hoping the low din in the background will soothe me.

  Snuggling into the cushions with a sigh, I grab the blanket at the end of the couch and pull it over me. Immediately, Griffin’s cologne assails my nostrils, and I smile sadly because the scent reminds me of days better left alone.

  He started wearing this cologne during the eighth grade, and I wonder why he’s never changed it since I’m the one who helped him pick it out. Either he really liked it, too, or it’s another fucked-up way to mess with me.

  Who knows? But shamelessly, I breathe deep before another perfume comes through, and with a sigh, I drop the damn thing.

  When will the ridiculous need for Griffin end? Surely one person in a sea of millions can’t be the only one for me. I mean, I was a stupid, naive girl—what did I know about love? Shit, I don’t even understand it now.

  It’s silly to say, but I thought he completed me, and I haven’t found anyone else who even compares. But maybe I haven’t tried, and I do need to put myself out there because I hardly need to be Griffin’s side piece, especially with the way he excels at torturing me.

  But am I ready? I don’t know, because just a few weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I could even have sex without it being wretched and ugly. I guess Griffin has given me a gift, after all, even if it would probably kill him to know it.

  My thoughts turn to our naughty fucking, and I battle my yearning for the moody asshole as I drop into a light sleep.

  Coming to slowly, I watch through lidded eyes as Griffin emerges, shirtless, padding into the kitchen. It’s early morning, the sun shining brightly through the patio window, allowing me a full view of his gloriousness.

  For he is an actual work of art, and if I were still painting, I’d be itching to capture this look. The dragon tattoo on his arm stands in stark relief against his tanned skin, flexing as he scratches his chest absently, his head bent as he fiddles with something on the counter.

  I’ve never told a soul, but I have pages and books full of drawings of him. Happy, sad, grim, cruel, even desirous, although I had to make that one up. I captured it all, but it was not enough because I couldn’t show the vitality, the meaning, the brutal beauty behind the one-dimensional shot.

  When he turns away from me, I gaze at his back, no less beautiful with rippling muscle as the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing fills the silence.

  Max appears from down the hall, grunting as he stands in the threshold facing Griff, and grabs the doorframe as he says gruffly, “Hey.”

  Although a few shades darker, Max and I have the same blond hair and blue eyes, his pale crystal cerulean hue far prettier, though. Over the years, many people have assumed we’re twins, and when we were younger, we loved the comparison, but now it only annoys him.

  Griffin grunts but doesn’t turn, and Max says, “You still mad, bro? C’mon, it was funny.”

  “It wasn’t funny to me. It wasn’t funny to her,” Griffin mutters.

  Who? Me?

  “Whatever. She’s a fucking Debbie Downer these days anyway,” Max grumbles as Griffin passes him with a bottle of water in his hand.

  He doesn’t comment, and Max chuffs, watching him walk down the hallway before calling out to his retreating back, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous. Remember what I said, bro.”

  Max disappears after Griffin, and I escape to my room, curious about who they were speaking about. Was it about me? Was Griffin upset?

  Probably not. They were probably talking about the bitch with the big tits anyway. Still, my mind churns with the possibilities until I push it away because I’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter anyway.

  ∞∞∞

  The following weekend, I closet myself in my room while a party rages around me, only emerging to pee.

  Griffin’s all over some new chick, and I’m uninterested in watching, not that I want to hang out with his dick friends anyway.

  Unbelievably, Jason is here when I emerge once more, and our eyes lock across the way before I narrow my own and stomp down to Griffin’s room because once again, the line for my own bathroom is ridiculously long.

  When I’m done fuming over the whole ridiculous fucking nightmare that is my life and exit the bathroom, Jason is sitting on Griffin’s bed, and I stumble to a stop at the sight.

  “Hey,” he says as I glance at the door with a trickle of caution, gauging the distance grimly.

  “What do you want?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

  I’d rather die than show him my fear, and it’s taking everything in me not to rush the door as he studies me curiously. “To talk… I heard about your…issue.”

  “Which issue would that be?”

  “Did you really try to kill yourself? Because of me?”

  “What? No!” I say, tamping down my rage as he looks me over with a smug expression.

  I’d like to punch his stupid face, but even that is superseded by my impulse to get the fuck out because just being alone with him is pulling me under.

  Everything hurts. Please. No.

  “Oh good. I mean—”

  Shaking my head to knock loose the images dancing macabrely before my eyes, I exclaim, “Look, you dick! I didn’t try to kill myself at all.”

  “Okay, okay,” he says, standing from the bed and stepping toward me.

  Glancing at the door rapidly, I sidestep around him, but he’s quicker than me and grabs my arm as he presses against my back. Frozen, I stare at the door blindly, his breath on my neck sending a riot of goosebumps over my skin, and not the good kind.

  “Maybe you wanna get together? For old times’ sake?” he asks, running his hand down my hair. “Mm, you were crazy that night, Halsey.”

  “Get away from me,” I say on a shaky exhale, my dirty skin crawling at his touch.

  “No?” he chuckles, stepping back, “Still hung up on Hathaway?”

  “What?” I pull away and grab the doorknob. I need to leave. I need out. I can’t fucking see beyond the black dots dancing over my vision.

  “Yeah, you know, panting after the dick who couldn’t give a fuck?”

  “Fuck off,” I snap, opening the door to Griffin’s thunderous face.

  Although I’m relieved because I’m no longer alone with Jason, I’m still intent on escape, and I go to step around him, but he grabs my arm.

  Looking between us, his eyes so cold I shudder, he drills me with his stare. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Jason says smoothly, “just catching up.”

  Griffin raises a brow, his hand spasming around my arm before he lets me go and I stumble back, shivering under his unnaturally soft tone. “Is that right, Halsey? Were you…catching up?”

  Clearing my throat, I lift my gaze to his chin, the bronze skin smooth and peppered with stubble. I hate Jason but I hate the thought of my secrets coming to light more, which means I’ll accept the lie, but I don’t necessarily like it.

  Lifting my lips in a small smile, I nod silently as Griffin frowns, his mouth curled at the edges as he dismisses me and turns back to Jason. “Well, I’ll thank you not to fuck in my bed, hm?”

  Chuffing, I pass him by, turning back when he says, “Halsey?”

  “What?” I whisper.

  “What’s going on?”

  I stare at him blankly, my skin fucking crawling. It’s on the tip of my tongue to let it all go, and finally be fu
cking free, but I can’t tell him anymore than I can look at my fucking reflection in the mirror. Instead, I smile, because maybe he deserves my fucking lies…he doesn’t care about me anyway.

  “Just catching up.”

  His icy hazel eyes trace my form as his mouth lifts into a moue of disgust, and I wilt, my chest clenching wretchedly. “Hm.”

  Raising a brow, I stare him down as his jaw tics in a painful display of his displeasure before finally, he drawls, “Will says hi.”

  Stunned, I stare at him blankly, the juxtaposition of my former love saying Will’s name causing a bubble of hysteria to pop in my chest. Laughing out loud, I slap my hand over my mouth and giggle as Griffin eyes me warily before turning away.

  And with one last glance at Jason standing in Griffin’s door with a strange smile, I escape back to my room and collapse on my bed.

  How did Jason know about my unrequited feelings for Griffin? And why the fuck would he ever think I wanted a repeat of what he did?

  Scratching my skin helplessly, I lie on the bed and squirm because all I can concentrate on is the feel of his disgusting hands on my dirty skin, which will never really wash away because I’m damned.

  ∞∞∞

  When Sunday rolls around, I bury myself in my pillow and refuse to emerge, sleeping through the day.

  I don’t know how long I’m out for, but eventually, I hear the lock click on my door, and it swings open on silent hinges.

  I’m lying with my back toward the door, so I’m safe in closing my eyes against whatever is coming for me because I’m not ready for this, but no one ever hears my pleas. I’m deep in the maelstrom of emotions that continues to pull me under because my past continues to be my painful fucking present.

  Jason’s proposition the night before felt all too much like a threat, unless he just doesn’t understand, but how can that be? And if he was threatening me, what does that mean? What can I do?

  And now Will? Will I ever fucking feel safe again?

  Silence reigns for a few minutes before Griffin says gruffly, “You need to get up. You can’t stay like this forever.”