Page 47 of Bitter Lies

He chuffs impatiently, his eyes dark. “It’s no secret. You fucked half the guys at school. Shit, your lies about Bobby Moore were pathetic.”

“I didn’t fuck half of anybody. And I didn’t fuck Bobby.”

“Don’t be stupid. I saw you,” he says impatiently, but his eyes are so black, I can no longer see the pretty irises.

“That’s not possible.” I don’t know what to say, because I don’t even know where this is coming from.

“Right. More lies. Whatever. I still can’t fucking figure out what Jason did to catch your crazy.”

Flinching, I pull my lips into a sneer. “You’re delusional.”

He steps into me impatiently and gets right in my face. “Yeah, well at least I’m not lying to myself. Jason? He’s a fucking douche.”

“Yes! He fucking did this!” I scream in his face, covering my mouth when he flinches, but the pain I thought I saw is gone so quickly I’m sure I imagined it when his face hardens, and he pushes me away.

“I’m fucking done. I can’t handle this shit anymore.”

“Done with what? You don’t fucking care,” I mutter, pacing away.

“Jason Macklemore is a fucking dick! And you’re going to ruin your life over him!” he bellows.

“I know he’s a dick!” I scream, grabbing a pillow and lobbing it at his head.

“Then what the fuck, Halsey!”

“This isn’t about him! It’s about me! I’m dead inside. I’m dirty, can’t you see?” I sob, dropping to the floor and pounding my fists against the wood.

Pain rockets through me so quickly that I can’t breathe, and into the silence I see Griffin reach out to me with a tentative hand. “Halsey?”

Sobbing, I slap the floor uselessly as he drops down beside me. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, itching at my skin, pulling at the dirt I can’t see, but I know it is just below the surface.

“Stop! Stop!” he growls, pulling my hands away from my body.

Falling forward, I wrench against his grasp, but when he won’t let go, I curl into myself and sob. The pain I can never let loose clenches around me like a vise and I can’t tell where one hurt ends and another begins.

“Enough,” Griffin says gruffly as he pulls me into his side and clutches me tightly. “Sh.”

Lying there, curled up in his treacherous arms, I cry until I can’t anymore, dozing into a fitful sleep as he strokes my hair.

Chapter Thirteen

Some stains just won’t wash away.

Turning over with a whimper, I open my eyes and glance around in a daze. I’m not in my room, and slowly the world comes into focus, revealing Griffin’s bed beneath me, the black bedspread reminding me of my freak-out last night. Shit.

Covering my eyes with a groan, I relive my entire shitty evening, starting with the party where I attacked Jason, which I don’t regret but for the dirty feeling that lingers in my mouth.

I destroyed my room with black fucking paint and revealed my torment to Griffin, the boy I’ve loved since I was twelve, even though he doesn’t love me back.

What a cluster.

With a sigh, I sit up, staring at the shirt, Griffin’s shirt currently covering my body. The remainder of the evening is hazy, but if I recall correctly, Griff helped me change out of my paint-soiled clothes, wiped down my arms and face, and put me to bed.

After that, I fell into an exhausted sleep, and I have no idea where he’s at, and I’d rather not face him again—ever.

I have no idea what he meant about supposedly seeing me with Bobby, but I find I don’t care. This is fucked up enough as it is. Although the pathetic part of me that still yearns for the boy he once was, clings to that statement as proof that maybe all of this is over jealousy. Except his assertions about his bet with Bobby erases that easily enough.

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