by Nina Lincoln
Clearly, there’s a fucking beast hiding behind my lies, and I’m terrified of what that means. Am I more fucked than I thought? Truly crazy?
Is it lingering below the surface? Fuck.
Pushing my door open, I come to a halt to find a couple fucking on my bed, and I stare incredulously at some dude’s ridiculously hairy ass pumping away.
“Out!” I shout, black spots dancing behind my eyes, startling them enough that they turn to me with wide-eyed stares.
“Get the fuck out of my room!” I rage, swinging my arms around wildly.
The dude pulls off the chick, and I huff as she covers her tits and searches out her shirt, which I grab from the door handle and toss in her face as the dude escapes, still pulling up his pants as he goes.
She follows behind him with her shorts in her hand, disappearing behind the bathroom door, and with a huff, I slam my door closed and stare at my room.
The walls are blank, everything is white, the bedspread, the throw pillows, the fucking rug by the bed. All bought after everything because I couldn’t stand to look at my yellow one anymore.
Every single piece of me that was me is missing, and now there’s nothing. I have nothing. I am fucking nothing.
With a violent pulsing behind my eyes, I pull the box from the closet, the ones with all the paint I didn’t want to bring, and find the can marked with a black dot. Prying it open with my fingers, I ignore the ache as the nails bend back at my efforts, wrenching on that fucking lid with a sob until finally, it pops open.
Heaving out a shaky breath, I stand on trembling limbs and stare at the white walls, the white covers, the white fucking lies, and scream, heaving the can of paint at the wall.
Black paint sprays across the floor, creating strands of dark lines over the pale wood, like a Rorschach of colors only I can see.
Laughing bitterly, I walk around the bed and heave the can again, watching greedily as the black paint coats the pristine walls with its grotesque sheen.
But it’s not enough, and in my haste, I trip over my feet, and the can slips from my fingers as I fall to my ass, causing the lamp beside me to topple to the floor.
Staring at it absently, I pick it up, transferring the paint to the shade before dropping it and raising my hands, now covered in blackness, my fingers shaking with the adrenaline coursing through me wildly.
On impulse, I run my fingers down my face, from my forehead to my cheeks, over my neck, and down my bare arms, leaving streaks in their wake, but it’s not enough because the itchy feeling still writhes below my skin. It’s there, and no one can see it but me, but maybe, just maybe, if I paint my fucking world black, they’ll see it now.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Griffin says from the door, closing it behind him rapidly as he looks around in horror.
“You don’t like it?” I ask dully, rising to my feet and kicking the can.
His eyes rake over me harshly before he marches forward and grabs my chin. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“I think we established that weeks ago,” I mutter, pulling away from his grip.
“Why?” he says, glancing around wildly. “Just tell me fucking why, Halsey?”
“Because maybe now you’ll see,” I say, running my hands over my arms, goose bumps breaking out in the wake of his horror.
I truly am fucked in the head.
“See what? What the fuck is going on? Is this to get back at me?” He swings his arms wide and I huff out a breath.
“Not everything is about you.”
I scratch at the paint drying on my arms as he drops his and steps forward. “Then what? Jason fucking Macklemore? This fucking shit again!”
Cocking my head to the side, I say quietly, “You don’t understand.”
He grabs my arms and shakes me, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re fucking right. I don’t! You’re losing your shit over that fucker! Of all the fucking douches, its him?”
“What are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Halsey. How many dicks have you ridden and it’s Jason that you’re stuck on?”
Blankly, I stare at him as he pants before me with an ugly scowl. “Dicks? I haven’t…what are you talking about?”
He chuffs impatiently, his eyes dark. “It’s no secret. You fucked half the guys at school. Shit, your lies about Bobby Moore were pathetic.”
“I didn’t fuck half of anybody. And I didn’t fuck Bobby.”
“Don’t be stupid. I saw you,” he says impatiently, but his eyes are so black, I can no longer see the pretty irises.
“That’s not possible.” I don’t know what to say, because I don’t even know where this is coming from.
“Right. More lies. Whatever. I still can’t fucking figure out what Jason did to catch your crazy.”
Flinching, I pull my lips into a sneer. “You’re delusional.”
He steps into me impatiently and gets right in my face. “Yeah, well at least I’m not lying to myself. Jason? He’s a fucking douche.”
“Yes! He fucking did this!” I scream in his face, covering my mouth when he flinches, but the pain I thought I saw is gone so quickly I’m sure I imagined it when his face hardens, and he pushes me away.
“I’m fucking done. I can’t handle this shit anymore.”
“Done with what? You don’t fucking care,” I mutter, pacing away.
“Jason Macklemore is a fucking dick! And you’re going to ruin your life over him!” he bellows.
“I know he’s a dick!” I scream, grabbing a pillow and lobbing it at his head.
“Then what the fuck, Halsey!”
“This isn’t about him! It’s about me! I’m dead inside. I’m dirty, can’t you see?” I sob, dropping to the floor and pounding my fists against the wood.
Pain rockets through me so quickly that I can’t breathe, and into the silence I see Griffin reach out to me with a tentative hand. “Halsey?”
Sobbing, I slap the floor uselessly as he drops down beside me. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, itching at my skin, pulling at the dirt I can’t see, but I know it is just below the surface.
“Stop! Stop!” he growls, pulling my hands away from my body.
Falling forward, I wrench against his grasp, but when he won’t let go, I curl into myself and sob. The pain I can never let loose clenches around me like a vise and I can’t tell where one hurt ends and another begins.
“Enough,” Griffin says gruffly as he pulls me into his side and clutches me tightly. “Sh.”
Lying there, curled up in his treacherous arms, I cry until I can’t anymore, dozing into a fitful sleep as he strokes my hair.
Chapter Thirteen
Some stains just won’t wash away.
Turning over with a whimper, I open my eyes and glance around in a daze. I’m not in my room, and slowly the world comes into focus, revealing Griffin’s bed beneath me, the black bedspread reminding me of my freak-out last night. Shit.
Covering my eyes with a groan, I relive my entire shitty evening, starting with the party where I attacked Jason, which I don’t regret but for the dirty feeling that lingers in my mouth.
I destroyed my room with black fucking paint and revealed my torment to Griffin, the boy I’ve loved since I was twelve, even though he doesn’t love me back.
What a cluster.
With a sigh, I sit up, staring at the shirt, Griffin’s shirt currently covering my body. The remainder of the evening is hazy, but if I recall correctly, Griff helped me change out of my paint-soiled clothes, wiped down my arms and face, and put me to bed.
After that, I fell into an exhausted sleep, and I have no idea where he’s at, and I’d rather not face him again—ever.
I have no idea what he meant about supposedly seeing me with Bobby, but I find I don’t care. This is fucked up enough as it is. Although the pathetic part of me that still yearns for the boy he once was, clings to that statement as proof that maybe all of this is over jealousy.
Except his assertions about his bet with Bobby erases that easily enough.
Still, he’s said more than once that he can’t resist me. Is it because deep down beneath the hate lives the same feelings I can’t let go of? Or something else?
Opening the door quietly, I tiptoe down the hall, but no one is here. I’m alone. Taking a quick shower, I dress quickly, intent on escaping the house after observing my room with no little horror.
Black paint covers the beautiful hardwood floors, my bed, and the walls, creating a new age look that, for all its artistic charm, does not match the theme Griff was going for.
I vandalized his place, and I’m going to have to reimburse Griff for the expense, which means dipping into my five thousand dollars and having to tell my parents why.
Not good news.
Not only that, but I’m knee-deep in shame at my actions, the roiling in my gut reminding me that I’m a phone call away from crazy town, and after the first and last experience, I vowed to never go back.
Opening my door quickly, because my heart is pounding with the urgent need to leave, I gasp to find Griffin standing on the other side, and I step back hastily.
“Griffin,” I whisper.
He looks me over quickly, the tension around his eyes easing before his mouth pulls into a thin line. “What happened last night?”
Shit. It’s bad enough that I have to look in the mirror and see my own disdain, but seeing Griffin’s, too—the prospect is devastating.
Shriveling, I bow my head and cast around for anything that will save me from having to admit my painful truth, but Griffin is having none of it.
“Halsey?”
“It was, um…I had too much to drink,” I lie, staring at his chest.
“You destroyed your room and fucking lost it because of alcohol?” I can hear the disbelief and maybe even censure, but I prefer it, even as my cheeks flame awfully.
“Yes.”
This is what I wanted, right? It’s better this way…so why does it feel so fucking bad? I’m drowning in my own damn lies.
“Why? What is this all about?”
“My treatment—”
“For what?” he demands.
Raising my chin, I clamp my trembling lips together and stare at him mulishly.
He runs his hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end as he eyes me closely. “Why can’t you just be fucking honest?”
Biting my lip against the surge of tears, I smile tremulously. “I am.”
His brows drop over his eyes as he searches my expression, before he visibly cools, and his eyes shutter. “I suggest you don’t fucking drink.”
Nodding, I watch him go with an ache in my chest, wishing the truth trapped in my throat would break free, but the possible consequences continue to choke me, and now the lies piling up might just bury me.
“Halsey,” he says, stopping at the front door.
“Yes?”
“When you told me you loved me, was that a fucking lie, too?”
He doesn’t wait around for my answer, and with a wretched sob, I wait until he’s gone before leaving myself and walking toward campus blindly.
I’m still riding the uncomfortable high of attacking Jason and the fallout after, not to mention worried about whether Griffin plans to tell my parents. He clearly doesn’t believe me, and he shouldn’t since it was a lie, but I didn’t have much choice.
Baring my ugly to him is quite a painful prospect, and I’m already writhing in shame at what he did see. I painted myself in black, for fuck’s sake.
“Halsey?”
With a bitter sigh, I turn to find my counselor standing at the door of the small coffee shop.
Although I managed to scrub the paint off my face, it still covers my arms, which thankfully he can’t see under my hoodie. But clearly, my fatigue and maybe even my crazy shows on my face because he stares at me with concern.
“Are you okay?”
Nodding my head yes, I whisper, “No.”
Glancing around cautiously, he says, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Grimacing, I, too, glance around. Do I want people to see me with him? Does it matter?
“Come,” he says, holding out his hand. “We can go to my office.”
Following behind him grimly, I fight the despair hovering over my vision. When will any of this ever be okay? How can it be? How can I walk through my life knowing I made the ultimate mistake, and it crawls beneath the surface of my skin like a fucking parasite?
Dr. Marks produces a wad of keys and opens the dark building before ushering me inside, and it’s so quiet, I look around uncomfortably, but I’ve come too far to back out now. Besides, he may send men with straitjackets if I don’t comply.
“Now then,” he says, flipping on the light in his office and gesturing toward the chairs before his desk. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Toying with the sleeves of my hoodie, I lick my dry lips and whimper, “I freaked out.”
With a gentle frown, he raises his brows and taps his finger on the desk. “Okay, what does that mean, exactly?”
“I don’t know. I…painted my walls black. Freaked out on my roommate.”
“Mr. Hathaway?”
Glancing up at his acidic tone, I nod, surprised, when he says, “I don’t think he’s a very healthy support system for you.”
This much is evident to me, but why does our professor think so?
“Why?”
“Because I sense a lot of tension between you two. He doesn’t appear to be terribly supportive. Besides, I would think he’d be a trigger.”
Shaking my head wildly, I say, “No. Griff is not a trigger. I’ve known him since I was twelve.”
“Yes, but isn’t he a football player?” He studies me carefully and I shrink under what he might see.
“Well, yes…”
“Halsey, statistics show that men who participate in sports of such a violent nature can take on aspects of the adrenaline in real life.”
“Meaning…what? That Griff could hurt me?”
“Maybe. Do you think he could hurt you?”
“No,” I whisper, fighting against the needle of doubt in my head because Griffin is many things, but he’s not violent.
∞∞∞
By the time I get home, it’s late. After leaving my counseling session, I wandered the campus until I couldn’t stand the cloying feeling of being out in the open any longer.
Still, it’s with a great deal of hesitancy that I enter through the front door, my stomach sinking when I hear a distinctly female voice giggle from the living room.
Passing down the hall, I avoid the sight because I just don’t have it in me to see Griffin’s disdain, but Miranda calls out, and I’m forced to turn, staring into the cool expression of Griffin wrapped around Miranda like a vine.
I guess we’re going to pretend nothing happened, which is just as well because I wasn’t sure how to look into Griffin’s eyes after he outed my lies. Now I know, it doesn’t fucking matter.
And apparently, the gang’s back together again—yay. I think Miranda may be just as fucked in the head as I am, which is definitely saying something.
“Hey, I missed you after you left the party. Some crazy shit went down,” she says, her mouth curling into a wry smile.
“Oh?” I ask through numb lips, reeling under the agony I still fucking feel because Griffin’s dispassion hurts. But why am I surprised?
“Yeah, Jason—oh yeah, you know Jason, he came downstairs half-naked and insisted some chick tied him up and assaulted him.”
Studiously avoiding Griffin’s gaze, which I’m pretty sure is boring a hole in my skull, I back away with a weak smile. “Oh, wow.”
Before she can continue, I escape to my room and sit on the ruined bedcover, staring at the walls helplessly. I’m going to have to clean the mess, but my heart’s not in it.
Although I didn’t expect undying declarations of love, I also didn’t expect Griffin to igno
re what I said last night completely, and I admit his cavalier attitude hurts me. I guess some part of me thought if he knew the depths of my trauma, he might actually care.
Why, I don’t know—I think his behavior all the way up until now shows just how he feels, and it’s not warm and fuzzy. He hasn’t shown a shred of decency toward me since apparently, he was wooing me for my virginity. So, yeah, holding out for a tiny bit of compassion from him is insanity.
With a sigh and a curious tingle, I pull out my paints and sit before the wall, spreading the colors in an arc as I create the shapes in my head onto the black stripes and white landscape.
When I’m done, a withered tree stands before me, the branches cold and dark as they stretch toward nothing, the barren stalks empty and sad.
Chapter Fourteen
When will it fucking end?
The first time I realized I liked Griffin as more than just a friend, we were out back at his house, lying on the ground, staring at the stars.
I don’t remember where Max was, but he wasn’t with us as we lay side by side, our hands touching, the cool grass prickling the palms of my hands. My fingers tingled at the contact, and I turned to stare at him as he spoke, seeing his beauty with new eyes.
When he smiled, that tingle in my fingertips surged to my belly, where a swarm of butterflies whooshed through me uncomfortably, and I wondered what it would be like if he kissed me.
“Are you listening to me, Hals?” he asked with a grin, and slowly coming back to the conversation, I smiled slightly and nodded my head.
But sitting stiffly beside him, I battled an acute bout of shyness, my world tilted on its axis as he obliviously pontificated about his football game earlier, his eyes shining with his passion.
Back then, it was an adolescent crush for the boy that all the girls loved, except he only had eyes for me, and I basked in his attention.
He was my first true friend, my first and greatest love, and my fiercest protector until he wasn’t, and I’d like to say there was some seminal moment that points to the change, but there’s nothing.