Page 49 of Bitter Lies

“Halsey?”

With a bitter sigh, I turn to find my counselor standing at the door of the small coffee shop.

Although I managed to scrub the paint off my face, it still covers my arms, which thankfully he can’t see under my hoodie. But clearly, my fatigue and maybe even my crazy shows on my face because he stares at me with concern.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding my head yes, I whisper, “No.”

Glancing around cautiously, he says, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Grimacing, I, too, glance around. Do I want people to see me with him? Does it matter?

“Come,” he says, holding out his hand. “We can go to my office.”

Following behind him grimly, I fight the despair hovering over my vision. When will any of this ever be okay? How can it be? How can I walk through my life knowing I made the ultimate mistake, and it crawls beneath the surface of my skin like a fucking parasite?

Dr. Marks produces a wad of keys and opens the dark building before ushering me inside, and it’s so quiet, I look around uncomfortably, but I’ve come too far to back out now. Besides, he may send men with straitjackets if I don’t comply.

“Now then,” he says, flipping on the light in his office and gesturing toward the chairs before his desk. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Toying with the sleeves of my hoodie, I lick my dry lips and whimper, “I freaked out.”

With a gentle frown, he raises his brows and taps his finger on the desk. “Okay, what does that mean, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I…painted my walls black. Freaked out on my roommate.”

“Mr. Hathaway?”

Glancing up at his acidic tone, I nod, surprised, when he says, “I don’t think he’s a very healthy support system for you.”

This much is evident to me, but why does our professor think so?

“Why?”

“Because I sense a lot of tension between you two. He doesn’t appear to be terribly supportive. Besides, I would think he’d be a trigger.”

Shaking my head wildly, I say, “No. Griff is not a trigger. I’ve known him since I was twelve.”

“Yes, but isn’t he a football player?” He studies me carefully and I shrink under what he might see.

“Well, yes…”

“Halsey, statistics show that men who participate in sports of such a violent nature can take on aspects of the adrenaline in real life.”

“Meaning…what? That Griff could hurt me?”

“Maybe. Do you think he could hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper, fighting against the needle of doubt in my head because Griffin is many things, but he’s not violent.

∞∞∞

By the time I get home, it’s late. After leaving my counseling session, I wandered the campus until I couldn’t stand the cloying feeling of being out in the open any longer.

Still, it’s with a great deal of hesitancy that I enter through the front door, my stomach sinking when I hear a distinctly female voice giggle from the living room.

Passing down the hall, I avoid the sight because I just don’t have it in me to see Griffin’s disdain, but Miranda calls out, and I’m forced to turn, staring into the cool expression of Griffin wrapped around Miranda like a vine.

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