Page 50 of The Last Kind of Kiss
“I’d never try and change your mind. One, because you scare me. And two, because accountability is kind of this new thing I’m endorsing.” He glances at his fiancée, and they share this lovey-dovey look that’s disgustingly adorable.
Hayes knows all about taking accountability. He confessed to the entire world how he broke Aeris’ heart and lied about reshaping his image. He groveled, of course, and things were amended, but the difference between Hayes and Bristol is that Hayes made a one-time mistake. Bristolkeepsmaking mistakes.
Though I will admit an evil part of me preens at the fact that I’ve got Hayes by the balls in case Aeris ever needs backup. “Good. Then skedaddle along before I ask these overworked and understaffed employees to escort you out of here.”
I can tell he wants to argue, but all he does is stand up. “All I’m going to say is that you don’t know the full story. There aretrust issues on both sides here, and you two will never reach an understanding if you aren’t completely honest with each other.”
You still have to work with him, Lila. The whole world’s been tricked into believing that Hollywood’s new “it” couple is nothing but perfect. As much as you hate him, you love your job even more, right?
“What story could youpossiblybe talking about?” I scoff, displaying a visage of nonchalance when on the inside, my heart begs for the truth that will finally end this near-constant pain.
Hayes extends an olive branch—or more appropriately, his car keys. “Maybe that’s something you should ask him.”
17
AND THE TRUTH COMES OUT
LILA
Idon’t know why I felt compelled to take Hayes’ car. And Ireallydon’t know why I felt compelled to drive over to the Reapers’ mansion. I’m not interested in talking things out with Bristol. This may sound petty, butheshould be the one showing up atmyhouse—preferably with a bouquet of roses and a lifetime supply of Little Debbies.
Talking with Hayes was like shoving a finger into a still-fresh wound. I’m not in the right headspace to have a level conversation. Hell, I’m one fuse short from blowing completely, but I need answers. I need to know if it’s really my fault for driving Bristol away…or if this is something that’s bigger than the both of us. And once I get my rightful explanation, I’m done with him.
I rap my knuckles on his bedroom door as an unshakable malaise swirls in my stomach, and I absently pull my sleeves over the palms of my hands. All kinds of thoughts stew in my head, some of sound mind and offering comforting respite, while others scream at me for being a dumb girl racing back to a man who seemingly wants nothing to do with her. My wholebody is dewy with sweat, my heart’s somersaulting in my chest, and regret assumes a bitter note on my tongue.
Seconds pass with no response, and I’m about to scrounge up the last of my dignity and leave when the door swings open, revealing Bristol in a rumpled shirt and baggy sweats, looking about as awful as I feel. His hair is roughed up in unruly spikes, his eyes are red and puffy like he’s been crying, and his febrile cheeks glisten with tears. This is the first time he’s ever looked so…vulnerable…and it’s like I’ve been pistol-whipped with the long-hidden truth.
“Lila?” His voice croaks from disuse, his eyes the size of platters as they regard me with shock and apprehension.
I don’t bother with pleasantries as indignation champions inside me. “We need to talk.”
He doesn’t move aside to give me clear passage, so I shoulder my way past him.
“I was going to tex?—”
“Save it, Bristol. I’m not here to listen to any more lies. I’m not here so you can cover your fucking ass.”
When I barge into his room, I’m met by the alarming sight of dirty dishes and a floor scattered with unclean clothes, a far cry from the organized, well-oiled machine he portrays himself to be. It’s as if a cyclone came crashing through his roof, cluttering every flat surface with piles of junk. I don’t even know what to say. This is the warning sign of a depression room, and I would know seeing as I’ve been rotting in my own.
What could’ve possibly happened in the span of a week to affect him like this? And why didn’t he feel like he could talk to me about it? I’m almost more hurt by that than the fact he’s been keeping shit from me this entire time. My lack of breath blights me, making my bleary vision bounce, and I’m running furnace hot as all the anger seeps out of my pores.
“What thehellis going on with you?” I thunder, nearly flinching at the cold detachment in my tone.
Bristol shrivels. “I…”
I know I should give him a chance to speak, but oh, I’m so mad at him! I’m so done with being taken advantage of when he sees fit, then being thrown aside whenever he gets bored of me! I’m so done with constantly questioning my self-worth because the man I have feelings for is emotionally unavailable. I’m so done with the endless cartons of ice cream and the wasted days sleeping and the questionable hygiene routines.
I’ve barely said anything, and yet tears sear my eyes. “How could you do this to me? How could you do thisagain? I trusted you. I—God, I can’t believe I fucking trusted you. You ghosted me, Bristol. You ghosted me after we hadsex. Do you know how that looks?”
His face flushes, his mouth opening to say God knows what, and then he thinks better and closes it. He doesn’t dispute. He doesn’t retaliate in defensiveness. He doesn’t try and invalidate my feelings. He doesn’t really do anything at all. He trundles over to his bed, sits down on the unmade mattress, and runs his hand through his hair.
If I don’t get everything out now, I’ll lose my gall. So I lock and load that shit on my shoulder like a bazooka. “I’ve always given you all of me when we were together. Always. I never hid anything from you, and yet you only gave me half of you. I feel like I don’t even know you. That’s not how a relationship should work—whether it’s romantic or not. I shouldn’t have tobegyou to be all in. You should want to be all in on your own, and I’m the idiot who gave you a second chance when you didn’t deserve it.”
My heart’s in the goddamn shredder right now. A wretched sob streams from my raw throat as tremors terrorize my body. I can barely even see him through the veil of mist in my eyes. Ifeel myself sway, feel a headache skewer my cranium, and I’m going to give myself a few minutes before the waterworks flood the scene.
It’s never really your enemy who hurts you the most, is it?
Bristol, as always, has nothing productive to add to the conversation. He just sits there, staring at the floor with his eyes glazed over.
