Page 89 of Conflicted Lies

“Is that the only evidence?” Dad asks.

“Yes.” We all look to Braxton as his breaths come in shallow pants. “I’ve covered the ressssst.”

His head becomes heavier in my hands, and tears stream down my face. “Drive faster!” I scream.

“Don’t go. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this to me. I’m sorry.” I press kisses to his forehead. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you were going to take me in. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” I kiss and kiss and kiss him, hoping it’s enough to keep the Grim Reaper away.

I can feel my aunt and father looking at me, but my aunt no longer interrogates me. But I hear her quietly say, “It brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

I look away from Braxton for only a moment to catch my father’s gaze in the rearview mirror, watching us. I’d heard my father had almost died once protecting my mother. I wonder if my aunt and father are reliving that memory now.

I silently beg him, the man whom I’ve known to be capable of so many things, to help me save Braxton. To save this man I stupidly love and will do anything to protect. For him to somehow fix all my problems like he always has. But when he looks away, that’s when it hits me that sometimes, not even my parents are capable of impossible things. Life and death can’t always be controlled.

CHAPTER44

Hope

The evening is a blur. My mother is confused as we pull Braxton’s bleeding body from the car, and a wild storm rages in her gaze but is quickly taken over by the need to help. We arrive at the same time as the doctor, and although they try to take him into the spare room, I’m adamant he’s taken into mine.

I hold his hand the entire time the doctor works on him. Phone calls are made, and my mother’s voice becomes increasingly louder as she demands answers from my father. Some questions he answers, others he tells her she’ll have to ask me.

I don’t care about any of that right now. I just focus on Braxton, praying he makes it through the night. Grateful for my family, who are so quick to clean up this mess I made. If I hadn’t lost faith in him, if I hadn’t freaked out and called my father, none of this would have happened. It’s all my fault.

There’s so much blood on my bed, on my white carpet. But I don’t care. I don’t care about any of those things.

I’m exhausted, and at some point, I must fall asleep. When I wake up, it’s because my mother puts two glasses of water down on my bedside table. Braxton is hooked up to an IV drip, and I rub my tired eyes, shocked I was even able to doze off.

I immediately look at Braxton, who still isn’t awake. “The doctor said he should pull through and just needs some rest,” Mom says. I know she was supposed to leave in the early hours for a flight, but looking at the time on my alarm clock, it appears she has chosen to stay. “You need some rest, too.”

“I’ll rest when he wakes up,” I say adamantly, taking a sip of the water she offered.

She nods once, and I can sense my father looming at the door.

“We have much to discuss, it would appear,” she says as she goes to pull over a chair. My father, however, is quick to do it for her, and she tries her hardest not to smile. He’s in trouble because of me. But I know the argument won’t last long; it never does between my parents. She takes a seat, and my father stands behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

The doc patched my father’s arm up while he was here, and we’re both certain that at the last moment, Braxton adjusted his aim.

“How much do you know?” I ask quietly. My mother looks up at my father, but he says nothing. He might’ve told her everything or nothing at all. But it’s not up to him to tell her my secret and shame.

I swallow hard as I look at Braxton thoughtfully, rubbing my thumb over his hand and asking him to give me support. No… strength.

I can’t even look at my mother. What will she think of me? How will this change us?What if she disowns me?

“Hope,” Dad says, grabbing my attention. “It’s time.”

My eyebrows furrow, and I know he’s right, but confessing to this amount of sin isn’t easy, even if he and my aunt accept me. Hell, even if Braxton accepts me. It’s my mother who I look up to most, so being anything but the perfect daughter to her is crushing.

I take another sip of water to moisten my dry mouth, then clear my throat. But the thing about lies is they seem easy at the start, but when they become too deep, too bold, they begin to take a form of their own. Into something ugly, even if they were told for self-preservation. I became conflicted by these lies, thinking I was doing it to protect her and others’ opinions of me, but deep down, I was scared to face it myself.

“I kill people for art,” I confess quietly. She takes in a sharp breath, and my father’s fingers dig into her shoulders as if grounding her. “It started when I was twenty, and I’ve been doing it ever since. Lately, it’s been increasing, and it inspires my glass sculptures.” She looks confused. “Everything started piling up recently. I felt like I couldn’t breathe with so much happening. I thought quitting college would help, but it didn’t. What I do is an outlet for me. I know it’s not right. I only target men who have hurt women, not that it justifies it.”

“Did someone try to hurt you?” she asks carefully.

That question catches me off guard. Is that the first question she has to ask through all of this? But I’m being honest now. “The first man I killed.”

“Good,” Dad says with a curt nod.

My mother stares at Braxton, but I’m quick to assure her. “Not him. Never him.” Although, I suppose, in many ways, he does hurt me, but I like that type of pain. “I actually met Braxton when I was eighteen. We only spent one night together back then.” My father looks like he’s about to murder him all over again. “I didn’t know at the time he was a cop. The night I was arrested was the first time I’d seen him since. I know it doesn’t make sense. I still don’t know what to make of it all. But I know I love him. I know I can’t stay away from him. And I’m certain tonight I learned that he’s been covering for me this whole time and making sure no one catches me.”

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