by Nina Lincoln
My heart pulses at her devastation because once again, I can see her perceived failure in her eyes, and looking at Max, I hesitate because despite everything, I love my brother until he raises his head and glares fiercely at me.
Turning away with a deep breath, I say, “Max. He did this.”
There’s a shocked silence after my statement as Mom and Dad look at me silently until my dad roars, “Did you hit your sister, son?”
Max shrinks under his disapproving glare but says sullenly, “She’s not my sister. Right?”
Dad pauses, his head swinging toward my mom, and her face falls even as she steps forward with a firm look of disapproval. “Why would you hit your sis—Halsey?”
“Because she wouldn’t fucking give me what I want!”
“Max—”
“No,” he screams. “You lied to me. You lied. I’m not your kid.”
Looking between them desperately, he begs with his eyes for answers he may not be ready for, especially in his fucked-up emotional state, but sadly, I realize we’re going to be forced to talk about the adoption now.
Griffin shifts behind me, and I meet his confused stare with a small smile, to which his face softens as he caresses me with his eyes, creating a gentle warmth in my heart.
“Honey,” Mom says softly, “we wanted you to live a life without thinking about the past. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but we thought it would be at the time. And I’ve loved you as my own, no matter what.”
“Why? Can you just tell me why?” he pleads.
“Because, well, my sister, Kathy, she had a baby—you, my son,” Mom says with a gentle smile, “but she couldn’t take care of you. And we agreed to take you, but she made us promise never to tell, and well, we wanted you so badly, Max…”
“She was afraid for you, son, because of whoever the father was,” Dad interjects quietly.
Max looks between them with tears in his eyes, and when he sees nothing but love and affection shining back at him, he bows his head and weeps. “I’m in trouble.”
“How?” Dad asks, pulling out the chair across from Max and sitting in it heavily.
“I made a deal, and they’re gonna kill me, Dad,” Max sobs.
“Oh, honey,” Mom says as Griffin steps up and grabs my hand.
Stoically, we listen to Max reveal his sordid story, most of which isn’t a surprise to me, and gratefully I clutch onto Griffin like a lifeline as my brother slowly falls apart.
“I made some friends, and it was cool. We partied, you know. But then I did some blow, no big deal, but I wanted more and more until I couldn’t carry the cost. So, they fronted me money.”
“How much money?” Dad asks gruffly as Max sniffles pathetically.
Max raises his head and glances around warily. “10 g’s.”
“Max!” Mom says.
Glancing at Griffin out of the corner of my eye, I wonder just how much the necklace Max was desperate to have is worth. Surely not $10,000? There’s no way Griffin would give me such an expensive gift, especially not at fourteen years old, but Max’s next words prove me wrong.
“I was going to give him the necklace. Sorry, bro,” Max says gruffly, his head in his chest.
“The necklace I gave to Halsey?” Griffin asks, looking at me questioningly as the light dawns in his eyes.
Flushing, I smile weakly, for despite the circumstances, what I did was wrong, even if I did confess, and he chose not to believe me.
“Where is it?” Griffin asks, and Max’s head shoots my way with a heated glare.
“I knew you were lying to me!” he snarls.
With a pointed look, I say, “Max, it wasn’t ours to give.”
“Actually, it is,” Griffin says, “because it’s your necklace, Halsey. It always has been.”
Swinging my head his way with narrowed eyes, I search his expression with a bloom of hope. “Then why was that chick wearing it at the party?”
“I don’t know. I brought it to give back to you. She must have found it in my things,” he says with a frown.
With a shaky smile, I squeeze his hand, tears building in my eyes as Max interjects, “I found it and gave it to her, just like I gave it to Bobby Moore.”
“Oh, Max,” I whisper, turning away from Griffin with an aching heart.
“Whatever. It wasn’t fair. It was always you,” he sneers.
Griffin’s jaw clenches, his familiar tic come out to play. “You lied to me? You’re the one who did this?”
Max raises his head to the ceiling, his face contorted in an ugly smile. “Yes.”
Into the quiet, as my parents look between us with confusion, Griffin turns away but not before I spy the darkness behind his eyes. “Do you know how much damage you’ve done?”
“I know it worked,” Max says slyly. “What’s the matter, bro? Feeling guilty about the bet?”
“There was no bet,” Griffin says, turning back with jewel bright eyes.
“No? You didn’t bet Jason Macklemore that he couldn’t get into Halsey’s pants?”
The silence is deafening as my mom gasps behind me, and my dad asks into the silence, “What now?”
But I barely hear them as I turn to Griffin with confusion and stop up short when I see the shame and devastation behind his eyes.
“Tell me you didn’t make a bet. Tell me you didn’t invite that fucker to hurt me,” I say, already knowing the truth as pain blooms in my chest.
“I can’t,” Griffin whispers with a tortured expression, and I step back with a gasp. “I can’t, sweet…but I will regret it for the rest of my life.”
∞∞∞
Once upon a time, a girl loved a boy, but that love was ripped from her by jealousy and greed. Now she’s a ruined girl, and that boy, well, he’s ruined, too.
There is no redemption for them because he took his hurt and twisted it into something ugly and cruel, and she broke under the weight of it.
Now, there’s nothing left for it, but to make him see she’s twisted, too.
Note From The Author
I hope you loved this story as much as I did. I cried, I raged and I loved…it was an emotional journey.
Please consider leaving a review…although it’s cool if you’d prefer not to. (Review Here)
Book 2 – Bitter Truths is coming soon!!
In the meantime, if you haven’t read The Hate Series, turn the page for a free chapter, available on Amazon now!!
Finn and Colt’s story of love and eventual redemption will break your heart and mend it together albeit with a few scars. Finn’s a transplant to this new school in a new world, but she stands out like a sore thumb the minute she steps on campus. Worse, she attracts the attention of Colt, gorgeous bad boy who takes an immediate dislike to her. One altercation ruins her world and now he’s bent on pushing her out but she’s no wilting flower and she refuses to leave!
The Hate Series – Order Here
(Turn the page for the free chapter – you won’t regret it!)
Hate So Bad - Chapter One
Slumping against my car, I stare wide-eyed at my new hell while the slow fade of the engine tick, tick, ticks below me. The decrepit school building looms over me ominously, the old stone walls peeling off in chunks, with weeds growing in tufts against the base. I spy a cracked window or two, although they’re so grungy it’s hard to tell. I think I just witnessed a drug deal, and I’ve been in the parking lot for 3.5 seconds.
Girls wander by in ripped jeans and slashed tops with their bras hanging out. They wear their hair in long waves that sway to the waist, colored in shades of pink, aqua, and purple with eyes painted in dark makeup. Glancing down, I stare with dismay at my neatly pressed jeans, button-down shirt, and loafers, smoothing my hand through my slicked back blonde ponytail with a heartfelt sigh.
We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
If I thought the girls were odd, the boys saunter by in slouchy jeans, tight T-shirts, and leather jackets, straight out of a scene from West Side Stor
y. Intermixed is the occasional small, skinny boy who slinks by, avoiding the big bruisers with hard eyes and wide sneers. The place reminds me of a zoo, with the lions projecting their dominance while the gazelles try desperately to avoid their thousand-yard stare.
My stomach plummets at the thought. I suspect I’m the gazelle in this scenario. I don’t belong amongst the hard looks and even harder personas. Does everyone here have an ax to grind?
My head whips around when shouting rings out behind me, spying two such tough guys circling each other while a ring of salacious students forms around them, hooting and hollering eagerly.
“Yeah man, fuck him up!”
“You got this Theroux, show him who’s the shit!”
“Make him cry like the little bitch he is!”
The guy facing me is a bruiser with huge arms, large meaty fists clenched before him, and dark angry brows lowered over thunderous eyes. I’d back down in a heartbeat if he looked at me like that.
But his opponent shows no fear, skipping on his feet, equally tall, but slimmer, less steroid meathead and more lean, sleek muscle.
I can tell, because he’s shirtless, with his back to me. I watch his muscles flex and release as he takes jabs at the meathead, giving as good as he’s getting. His slim physique and rippling muscles are a sight to behold and I stare probably longer than I should, watching him dance around his opponent like this is a game.
Meathead pops him in the mouth, and I gasp when he staggers back a step, but he’s back on him in the next second, pumping his fist into meathead’s face in rapid succession. It’s like watching an MMA fight, or what I assume that would look like anyway. I haven’t exactly spent a lot of time enjoying the sport.
The sheer brutality makes me shiver and I turn to go but stop dead in my tracks when the slimmer, fiercer fighter turns my way. If his back was nicely muscled, his front is the Mecca of definition. His chest is smooth with yummy pecs leading to a defined six-pack which trails into his jeans, slung low on his hips sexily.
The muscles in his arms flex with each jab, showcasing his strength. He’s lightly tanned with a single tattoo gracing his right pec. All of which inspires drool-worthy speculation. His body is hot, but his face, oh his face, would make angels weep.
Dark, silky hair hangs to his shoulders, swinging around his ears every time he pulls his head away. Thick brows lowered over eyes, the color of which I can’t see from this distance, create a deep v in his forehead, making him look fierce - positively gladiator-like. A long nose, high cheekbones, dimpled chin, and a thin mouth, curled into a grim expression complete the picture.
I’ve never seen such physical perfection and the sight does strange things to my insides, as tingles erupt all over and slide around to join the band of butterflies whooping it up in my stomach.
He screams bad boy with his fierce eyes and raised fists, and the look is dangerously seductive.
The fight comes to a crashing end, literally when the meathead takes a fist to the jaw and lands none too softly on the ground. I wince in sympathy but that’s all I can muster for him, caught up in watching his opponent smirk, sexily I might add. He grabs his jacket and shirt from a girl standing by with stars and no doubt lust in her eyes. I can’t blame her. I may need to check for evidence of drool on my face before this is over with.
He barely spares her a glance as he pulls his shirt over his head. I definitely have drool now as his body flexes in all the right places while he pulls the white tee over and covers his perfection in one easy tug.
The movement lights a fire in me, and I’m left breathless and aching in places best left unmentioned. The hapless girl stares after him with a sigh, before following quickly behind him. Joining a group of guys who snicker and nod, he accepts high fives and slaps on the back for his efforts. Before I can turn away from the spectacle that is him, his gaze lands on mine, where I stand frozen.
Looking me over curiously, his bright eyes blaze a trail down my body, starting at my toes curling in my leather loafers, sliding up my legs and burning through my chest as my nipples tighten in my shirt, creating havoc in my system as every nerve ending zings with his attention.
It all falls flat when his mouth curls in amusement as his gaze reaches my button-down, a pretty pink shirt that sticks out like a sore thumb. Flashing back to my eyes with his amused stare, he smirks before dismissing me altogether. Heat suffuses my cheeks, and I look away as he saunters by. The girl who held his shirt and jacket for him gives me a wretched glare before she too looks me over, her eyes narrowed nastily. Her accompanying laughter is annoying but not nearly as embarrassing.
And then it’s just me, staring at the monstrosity that is my new school once again. With a sigh, I pull my backpack over my shoulder and follow the masses inside.
Just six short months ago, I was gearing up for my senior year, partying with my friends as a last hurrah before we ended our year and broke for summer.
Now, I’m in a living hell, a nightmare I can’t wake from, with no thought for my future in sight. There’s no room for such things when I’m firmly focused on surviving the present.
Wandering the halls, I sigh with frustration. I’m lost. Aunt Maggie signed me up for classes last week, so I have my schedule in hand, but the school for all its lack of sophistication, with clawed up linoleum floors, beat up lockers now unused, and blaring fluorescent lighting is still massive.
I panic when the first bell rings because I’m no closer to finding my classroom. I’m too scared to ask a student because they all look like they might chew my face off.
Instead, I’m five minutes late and enter with a flushed face and sweaty hands. I hate being late, I hate getting in trouble and the prospect makes me practically break out in hives.
Of course, the entire class turns my way when I interrupt the teacher, an ancient guy with old school spectacles and a noticeable hunch, mid-sentence, slinking inside quietly.
He turns to me with a confused expression before his bushy brows, like caterpillars’ crease over his eyes.
“Yes? Who are you?” he asks brusquely.
Shrinking at his displeasure, I ignore the titters from the students and clear my throat.
“Um, sorry. I couldn’t find the room.”
He stares at me for a protracted period, for the sole purpose of making me uneasy. I know, I’ve been on the receiving end of this very tactic from my dad, who used to use it on me all the time. Nothing makes you squirm more than the expectant gaze of a parent, especially mine.
Finally, he asks, “And your name?”
Right. Heat surges in my cheeks, surely my face is on fire, “Finn, um, Finn Hu-Hart.” I fumble over the name because I only decided to change it in the last month, and I’m still unused to speaking it out loud much less while being humiliated in front of my new peers.
“Well Finn Huhart, take a seat and don’t be late again,” he says grumpily.
Nodding, I search out the desks, spying an empty one nearby and slinking toward it, but before I can drop into it and hopefully disappear, a large foot slides through the seat back and a husky voice proclaims, “This seat’s taken.”
Glancing up, I spy the beautiful guy from the lot, the one who took down his opponent easily. The same one who mocked my button down on his way by, his laughing perusal leaving me feeling distinctly lacking.
Meeting his eyes, a wintry grey, I note the warning, loud and clear, ‘walk away’ they say. Those eyes, the clear, pale color are striking against his dark hair and tan skin, it’s stupid but I shiver under their intensity wondering if he can see clear into my soul.
Staring at him stupidly, I wish the ground would open and swallow me up, the inferno in my cheeks spreading to my chest. He looks me over again, his mouth pulling into a cruel smile, “Where’d you come from? Preschool?”
The class snickers behind him and I move my gaze away, sweat trickling down my back. To be clear, where I left to come to this infernal school, I knew all my classmates and had been in s
chool with them since kindergarten. I’m aware people get harassed, but it’s never been thrown my way. I was actually considered fairly popular.
The teacher tuts behind me, “Today, Ms. Huhart.”
With a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, I pass down a row of staring students noting their scorn, and seat myself in the only other available space, slouching down in my seat. Relegated to the far corner, next to the radiator, the ticking sound pulses in my head through the entire lesson.
The next two classes are much the same, I get curious looks and derision wherever I go, but at least I find my classes without being late and the jerk with beautiful gray eyes is nowhere to be found.
I’ve lucked out and managed to skip gym this year and believe me, I’m not sad about it. This leaves me with a free study period, and I search out the library to get started.
Homework before was an afterthought, something I did at the last minute to pass but never my focus. It’s ironic to be pulling it out now on the first day no less, yet here I am.
Study hall is peaceful, with only me and one other student splayed out in the library. He gives me a half-smile but goes back to his work. I glance at him but look away quickly. After my abysmal start, I need some time to compose myself within the hushed walls of the space.
He’s in a wheelchair, huddled up to the table, a laptop open before him which he’s tapping away on studiously.
Dropping my stuff, I hunch over my own table and daydream about my life before, but since that’s only a recipe for trouble, I concentrate on my work instead and try to organize the projects already piled on us. It’s going to be a long academic year.
Lunch rolls around and I contemplate sitting in my car, I’ve no desire to meet up with my new set of peers in such a large, crowded place. But this is my new normal for the next nine months, I might as well get the horror over with.
The cafeteria is noisy, like rock concert levels and I’m overwhelmed by the din as I stare at the food selection, which leaves a lot to be desired. My options include overly processed, oily, fried foods with zero nutritional value or limp lettuce. I’m disappointed but resigned, making a mental note to bring lunch tomorrow.