Page 4 of Bitter Lies

In high school, her name was Marissa Ross, and she hated me passionately. Why, I don’t know for sure, but in my many moments of torturous speculation, the only conclusion I came to was that she was jealous of the friendship Griff and I had before, but by the time they were hot and heavy, that relationship was long since dead.

And still, she treated me cruelly, while Griff and even Max watched on indifferently.

You’d think after four years of being iced out, largely ignored, or treated brutally, I’d have gotten over it, but what you have to understand is those boys were my whole life, and when they moved on, they had each other.

I had no one.

I was the weird loner in school with crazy dyed hair, heavy goth makeup, and no friends, and it’s where I found my passion for painting and where it all died a violent death.

College is supposed to be about reinventing yourself, but how the fuck can I do that when I’ve got my past sitting across from me eating cereal every day?

By 2:00 a.m., I’m crawling out of my skin because sleep is already hard to come by, and this only adds to my issues. Finally, the sounds of the party die down, and I turn over on my side with a sigh of relief, my eyes fluttering closed in exhaustion.

Only to pop back open when the distinct sound of moaning comes through my wall, the very same wall that connects my room to Griffin’s. With a fierce longing I didn’t know still lived inside of me, I clench my jaw and bury my head beneath my pillow, but the sounds only grow louder until their whole fucking bed must be vibrating because the thump thump thump is making my own damn headboard shake.

Sitting up in my bed, I growl with frustration, slamming my feet against the headboard roughly, and the sound quiets for about ten seconds before the moaning turns into cries, and I swear Griff is fucking her against the wall just to piss me off.

I pull on my sweats with a frustrated huff and leave the room, but not before unlocking the dead bolt Griff installed. Maybe I was bitter about my mom’s constant need to hover protectively over me, but I was grateful when the masses started piling in and panic clenched my heart in an icy-cold fist.

I guess the doctors were wrong when they deemed me healthy because the minute I was faced with my greatest fear, I hid behind the walls my mom carefully constructed for me.

The house is a mess, with beer bottles, food, and garbage strewn from one corner to the other and I sneer as I pass because I’m not going anywhere near the cleanup.

Bypassing it all and a few stragglers passed out on the couches, I let myself out the back door and wander into the yard.

The pool light still glows a deep blue, making the small space light up romantically, if you can call a kegger romantic anyway. Tiki torches, now muted, line the edges of the space, the acrid smell of oil still burning the air, but it’s blissfully peaceful out here.

Grabbing a lounger, I pull it over to the tiny stretch of lawn spared from the pool and drop onto it, staring at the sky.

The stars twinkle above me brightly, soothing the inner beast pacing below the surface, and for the first time in hours, I relax, allowing the thoughts racing through my brain to rest.

Once upon a time, the boys and I would lie beneath these same stars and make wishes with childlike innocence, not understanding that even when your wish comes true, it’s not always what you bargain for.

∞∞∞

“Wake up.”

With a gasp, I sit up rapidly, my heart beating out of my chest, as the residual dream that haunts me, no matter the fucking therapy or medication it would seem, fades from my consciousness.

“Huh?” I mutter through dry lips, staring stupidly at Griff standing over me.

He’s frowning as he looks me over quickly before turning his head. “What are you doing out here? Go sleep in your bed.”

Glancing around, I shiver, reminded of my desperate escape the night before, and stand dourly, praying he doesn’t notice the way my nipples pebbled under his dark stare.

Of course, he’s standing before me shirtless, his abdominal muscles practically singing they’re so fucking beautiful, but I refuse to take a peek, even if it takes a tremendous force of will.

Griffin Hathaway is beautiful, and he knows it.

His mouth quirks up at my silence, and he scratches his pec before running his hand over his chest. I frown, hating that he can still read me so well when I can no longer see behind the mask.

That while my body liquefies at the sight because even though he’s teasing me, I still want a taste, and it’s this that tortures me.

What does he see when he looks at me? The girl I used to be? The one he kissed so softly while he gazed into my eyes?

“Baby? Do you have any creamer?”

Griffin’s brows twitch as I swing my head toward the door, my mouth souring at the woman standing there because she’s clearly his fuck buddy from the night before. She’s wearing nothing but a shirt, his shirt, her long—you guessed it—dark hair cascading over her giant tits easily visible beneath the thin material.

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