Page 122 of Bitter Lies

“No! At the lake, why did you steal the necklace?”

Gasping, I step back, my pulse pounding so hard in my throat it’s a wonder I’m not fucking seizing or some shit.

“I—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he thunders, and I flinch away. “Who gave you the bruises on your arms? What’s going on?”

Wiping a lone tear from my cheek, I say shakily, “Is that what this is about? Pretending to want me so you can have the answers.”

He huffs and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m pretty sure fucking you is about just that.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Neither is yours. What are you going to do with the necklace? Sell it? Keep it? Hide it from me?” he demands, clenching his hands at his sides.

Slumping, I turn away because I’m tired of this shit. Griffin doesn’t fucking care about me, and I’m hiding behind lies because, yet again, I’m holding out for something that doesn’t exist.

When will I ever fucking learn?

“I have the necklace because Max asked me to get it.”

He chuffs, his tone like velvet. “Lies.”

Snorting, I laugh out a response. “You want the fucking answers or not?”

“Fine,” he says, stepping up behind me, “but I’m tired of the lies.”

“Me too.”

“Why would Max want the necklace, then?”

“That’s his story. You have to ask him.”

“Whatever. Max has been a shit to you for years. Why steal from me for him?”

“Why not? You hate me,” I say sourly.

“You already had the damn necklace. Why give it back, then?” With each damn question, his voice rises until I can hear the frustration bleeding through the calm façade, he’s trying to portray.

“I don’t want the damn necklace. Max does. I needed something from him, and that was his demand. For the record, the damn thing is in my room, and you can have it back.”

“What did you want from Max?”

“None of your business!” I exclaim, swinging back around and poking him in the chest.

“I’m this fucking close to calling your damn mother and telling her you’re psycho. Just tell me the damn truth!”

“You wouldn’t!”

His nostrils flare as he leans into my face and says against my lips, “Try me.”

“Money. I needed money, you asshole!”

“For what? What could you possibly need money for that you couldn’t ask your parents? A damn abortion?”

With that, his eyes widen, and he steps back, clutching his chest. “Are you fucking pregnant?”

“No!” Fuck. To be clear, I haven’t exactly been paying attention to my period, and now I’m reeling.

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