Page 37 of Bitter Lies

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When Sunday rolls around, I bury myself in my pillow and refuse to emerge, sleeping through the day.

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but eventually, I hear the lock click on my door, and it swings open on silent hinges.

I’m lying with my back toward the door, so I’m safe in closing my eyes against whatever is coming for me because I’m not ready for this, but no one ever hears my pleas. I’m deep in the maelstrom of emotions that continues to pull me under because my past continues to be my painful fucking present.

Jason’s proposition the night before felt all too much like a threat, unless he just doesn’t understand, but how can that be? And if he was threatening me, what does that mean? What can I do?

And now Will? Will I ever fucking feel safe again?

Silence reigns for a few minutes before Griffin says gruffly, “You need to get up. You can’t stay like this forever.”

My sassy retort emerges before I can stop myself. “Technically, I can.”

“Yeah, well, you won’t,” he says before pulling the comforter and sheets clean off the bed.

Gasping, I turn over on the mattress, pulling my shirt down, but it’s no use because it’s not nearly long enough to cover my panties.

His eyes flare as he glances at my ass quickly before they grow cold, and he smiles rudely, “Don’t bother. I’ve seen it all before, remember?”

Rolling my eyes, I ignore him as I get out of the bed and find my sweats on the floor. Turning as I do, I shiver under the intensity of his gaze but ignore it because this is what he excels at, after all.

“Well? I’m up,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Whatever. Come eat.”

With that, he leaves the room, and I stare after him, bewildered. Why the fuck does he care? Why pretend when it doesn’t fucking matter? And when will I ever fucking have the privacy, my mother demanded when she added the lock to my door to begin with?

Ducking into the bathroom, I brush my teeth and my hair, but my efforts don’t change the dark circles under my eyes. I look like shit, probably because I feel like it, too.

Every day, I walk a tightrope, hoping my darkest secrets aren’t exposed while listening and being judged by the fuckers who have no right to know, even if it would make the situation bearable because they don’t deserve my fucking pain. No one does.

Unfortunately, I don’t see Max, and at this point, I’d even take Miranda if it meant I didn’t have to sit down across from Griff alone. No such luck.

He sits across from me with a forbidding expression, and doing my best to ignore him, as he has done to me for what feels like an eternity, I move my food around on my plate listlessly.

I can’t say I’m hungry with the tension lying so thick between us, but it doesn’t seem to be affecting Griff as he plows through his spaghetti quickly.

Idly I stare at the top of his head, remembering a time when he couldn’t look away from me because I was the center of his world, and he was the center of mine.

And with a pulse of sadness, I murmur before I can stop myself, “What happened between us?”

His entire body stiffens as he drops his fork and raises cool eyes to mine, and shivering under the cold, I set my fork down, too, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to lambast me with.

“You really want to know?” He raises a brow.

Sensing a brutal undercurrent to his tone, I nod feebly, although I’m already regretting the question. Maybe I don’t want to know, but that’s a lie. I do because he tore my heart out and left it bleeding on the ground, an aching fleshy mess of hurt and betrayal.

Sitting back, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets it down by his plate, precisely, smoothing it under his fingers, and I’m just starting to think he’s going to deny me when he speaks, and I lose all control of the conversation.

“You gave Bobby Moore’s sister the necklace I gave you—this after accepting it from me knowing you fucked Bobby the day before your damn birthday party. You kissed me with your big blue eyes and lied…”

“What?” I whisper. “Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. You gave away a family heirloom for dick, and this after I invested so much fucking time,” he says, shaking his head with a rueful grin.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him what I think of his tale, both hurt and hopeful that when I tell him the truth, he might see he’s been a fucking idiot.

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