Page 125 of Bitter Lies

“How?”

Resisting the urge to itch my skin, I fight off the desperation in my fucking soul. “I was drunk and stupid, and I allowed them to do disgusting things to me.”

“Did you ask them to stop?”

“Yes?”

“Did they?” he asks pointedly.

“No.”

“Then it seems to me, they made a choice, and it was to continue when you were no longer willing,” he says gently, to which I smile through my tears.

“Yeah.”

∞∞∞

After my session, I wander through campus, feeling simultaneously light and weighted down, but this is a mark of my progress, and I’ll accept it if it means I’m moving forward.

I can’t continue to blame myself. It happened, and maybe I did ask for it in the beginning, but I eventually said no, and the dicks didn’t stop. Maybe if they had the itchy feeling crawling through me wildly wouldn’t hurt so fucking badly.

Maybe I wouldn’t walk this earth hating myself. Maybe…I don’t know. But I have to let it go, or the only person who suffers for it is me because Jason doesn’t fucking care. Will doesn’t care. The others, they don’t care.

I’ve contemplated contacting Miranda, but I don’t know what I would say beyond apologizing because I pulled her into my madness over a guy who probably doesn’t want either of us in the end.

Thoughts of which bring me back to Griffin, and I can’t help but wonder if he doesn’t believe me even now. And even if he does, how does he see me? I don’t know, and as much as I long to reach out to him, I stay away because we’re both too fucking broken.

Although, at night, when I can’t sleep for the thoughts that swirl through my brain heavily, I hold close to my chest his confession that he loved me. Because at least I have the past and those memories that were real to hold close.

The way he would brush my hair behind my ear and look at me with a single-minded intensity as though I was the most important person in the world, creating a havoc of butterflies in my stomach.

Or how he always brought me a soda after school, knowing my penchant for the sweet drink, presenting it with a wide smile and a twinkle in his brilliant eyes.

Although my favorites were when we gazed at the stars, and he pointed out every constellation, telling me the stories behind each one.

Now I can rest easy in the knowledge that our past was true, even if our present can never be anything more than a fucked-up mess.

My phone buzzing in my pocket brings me away from my gloomy thoughts, and I answer the unknown number with a frown.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Moore?”

“Yes?”

“This is Mark Lowery with Lowery and Lowery. I’m calling about the injunction you want to file against, uh, Mr. Jason Macklemore?” he says, rustling papers in the background.

“I’m—how did you get this number?”

“Mr. Hathaway put me on retainer, Ms. Moore.”

“Oh,” I say, licking my lips.

Did Griffin hire an attorney for me? Holy shit.

Fumbling, I say, “Yes? Um, do we need to meet or?”

“Yes, I’ll need full details. Could you come to my office?”

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