Page 35 of Bitter Lies

Snuggling into the cushions with a sigh, I grab the blanket at the end of the couch and pull it over me. Immediately, Griffin’s cologne assails my nostrils, and I smile sadly because the scent reminds me of days better left alone.

He started wearing this cologne during the eighth grade, and I wonder why he’s never changed it since I’m the one who helped him pick it out. Either he really liked it, too, or it’s another fucked-up way to mess with me.

Who knows? But shamelessly, I breathe deep before another perfume comes through, and with a sigh, I drop the damn thing.

When will the ridiculous need for Griffin end? Surely one person in a sea of millions can’t be the only one for me. I mean, I was a stupid, naive girl—what did I know about love? Shit, I don’t even understand it now.

It’s silly to say, but I thought he completed me, and I haven’t found anyone else who even compares. But maybe I haven’t tried, and I do need to put myself out there because I hardly need to be Griffin’s side piece, especially with the way he excels at torturing me.

But am I ready? I don’t know, because just a few weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I could even have sex without it being wretched and ugly. I guess Griffin has given me a gift, after all, even if it would probably kill him to know it.

My thoughts turn to our naughty fucking, and I battle my yearning for the moody asshole as I drop into a light sleep.

Coming to slowly, I watch through lidded eyes as Griffin emerges, shirtless, padding into the kitchen. It’s early morning, the sun shining brightly through the patio window, allowing me a full view of his gloriousness.

For he is an actual work of art, and if I were still painting, I’d be itching to capture this look. The dragon tattoo on his arm stands in stark relief against his tanned skin, flexing as he scratches his chest absently, his head bent as he fiddles with something on the counter.

I’ve never told a soul, but I have pages and books full of drawings of him. Happy, sad, grim, cruel, even desirous, although I had to make that one up. I captured it all, but it was not enough because I couldn’t show the vitality, the meaning, the brutal beauty behind the one-dimensional shot.

When he turns away from me, I gaze at his back, no less beautiful with rippling muscle as the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing fills the silence.

Max appears from down the hall, grunting as he stands in the threshold facing Griff, and grabs the doorframe as he says gruffly, “Hey.”

Although a few shades darker, Max and I have the same blond hair and blue eyes, his pale crystal cerulean hue far prettier, though. Over the years, many people have assumed we’re twins, and when we were younger, we loved the comparison, but now it only annoys him.

Griffin grunts but doesn’t turn, and Max says, “You still mad, bro? C’mon, it was funny.”

“It wasn’t funny to me. It wasn’t funny to her,” Griffin mutters.

Who? Me?

“Whatever. She’s a fucking Debbie Downer these days anyway,” Max grumbles as Griffin passes him with a bottle of water in his hand.

He doesn’t comment, and Max chuffs, watching him walk down the hallway before calling out to his retreating back, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous. Remember what I said, bro.”

Max disappears after Griffin, and I escape to my room, curious about who they were speaking about. Was it about me? Was Griffin upset?

Probably not. They were probably talking about the bitch with the big tits anyway. Still, my mind churns with the possibilities until I push it away because I’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter anyway.

∞∞∞

The following weekend, I closet myself in my room while a party rages around me, only emerging to pee.

Griffin’s all over some new chick, and I’m uninterested in watching, not that I want to hang out with his dick friends anyway.

Unbelievably, Jason is here when I emerge once more, and our eyes lock across the way before I narrow my own and stomp down to Griffin’s room because once again, the line for my own bathroom is ridiculously long.

When I’m done fuming over the whole ridiculous fucking nightmare that is my life and exit the bathroom, Jason is sitting on Griffin’s bed, and I stumble to a stop at the sight.

“Hey,” he says as I glance at the door with a trickle of caution, gauging the distance grimly.

“What do you want?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

I’d rather die than show him my fear, and it’s taking everything in me not to rush the door as he studies me curiously. “To talk… I heard about your…issue.”

“Which issue would that be?”

“Did you really try to kill yourself? Because of me?”

---