Page 128 of Bitter Lies

With a pulse of resentment that makes me itchy, I clench my fists to hold back the hateful words trembling on my tongue. “Why? Just tell me why?”

“He had a right to know!” Max says, pacing away.

“Max, that’s fucked-up. You see that, right?” I ask desperately, hoping to see a hint of fucking remorse on his face.

“Whatever. Now he fucking hates me because of you.” He runs his hands through his hair, leaving the strands standing on end.

I can’t contain the resentment burning in my heart any longer, and I don’t fucking want to. “If he hates you, it’s because of you.”

Once again, I’m being blamed for shit I had no part in, and the pretense is getting old. When will Max get it? He’s responsible for his shitty actions.

“Fuck off!” he bellows, and I glance around wearily because Max hardly seems contrite, and now his pathetic sobs over the phone are markedly absent.

“Why am I really here?” I step back and hope the closed door across the way doesn’t mean I’m fucking alone with my brother.

“You thought I’d really call you for help?” he sneers, stepping toward me.

“What? Max, what about treatment?”

“You’re such a fucking idiot. I’m not going to treatment. I don’t fucking have a problem!”

“Seriously? Look at yourself.” He grabs my arm roughly and I flinch, turning my head away.

“Damn you.” He seethes, shaking me fiercely, my neck wrenching painfully at the brutal movement.

“Max!”

“Fuck you. Where’s the necklace?”

“Seriously? The necklace,” I rasp.

“Yes, I need the fucking necklace!”

“I don’t have it.” I pull from his grip and turn to the door, but he trips me, and I fall, hitting the ground with a thud.

“Bitch! I know you didn’t give it back to him.”

“Yes, I did!”

Kicking out at him, I crawl away, but he grabs my leg and turns me over. “You ruined everything!”

“No! You ruined it. You! This isn’t my fault,” I scream, kicking him in the balls.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his hold to grab his package. Scrambling away from him, I tumble into Griffin’s room before closing and locking the door behind me.

Heaving for air, I lean against the wood with a sob, rubbing my aching arms. I’m a fucking moron for coming here. Idiot.

Max slams against the door, and with a gasp, I step away, searching my pockets for my phone, but it must have fallen loose during the struggle.

Shit. Flipping on the light, I turn toward the window, only to stutter to a stop in shock.

What? Turning in a circle, I look around in wonder because my paintings from the wall in my room are now framed and leaning against Griffin’s walls. Each picture is cut into pieces that allow the story to show through without losing the integrity of the scene, and brushing my finger against the nearest one, I marvel at what he did.

It must have cost a fortune to have these life-sized paintings cut from the wall and professionally framed.

Why? How?

Tears fill my eyes, and I breathe deep, wishing I could see into Griffin’s heart and know definitively what he feels, but I guess I won’t know unless I ask.

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