Page 5 of Bitter Lies

“Yeah, be in, in a sec,” he says, his growly tone sending shivers down my spine.

“Okay. Um, who’s she?”

Griff looks me over with a moody stare, his mouth curling in a frown before he turns away. “No one.”

Dick.

“Fuck off,” I say, stomping my foot when I hear him chuckle.

Apparently, when he looks at me, he doesn’t see anything at all.

Stalking after him, petulantly, I pause in the threshold of the kitchen where they’re standing and smile evilly before raising my eyebrows suggestively and saying saucily, “I’m his roommate and his first kiss.”

Griffin raises an amused brow, but I see the irritation behind his eyes, and with a small thrill, I think maybe I can still read him after all.

With my job done, although as far as payback, it was pretty pathetic, I escape into the bathroom with a sigh because although being a little bitch gave me a moment of twisted pleasure, my heart still hurts over his casual dismissal.

I’ve pined after this boy turned man for years, and for what? I’m clinging to something that can never be, and it’s not a pretty sight.

When will I ever move past him? Never if I have to see him every fucking day and once again, I curse my mom for trying to look out for me, vowing to blame it all on her if I end up back in crazy town.

∞∞∞

Thankfully, Sunday is quiet, with the boys gone doing god knows what. Griffin had someone come in and clean the house, to my relief, because I had zero intention of participating in that damn task.

I know football is vital to Griff, so he’s probably training with his team, lifting weights, or something else equally manly. He’s talked about playing pro ball since I met him, and in this his goal has never changed.

Back then, it was all he could talk about, and I was charmed by his passion if a little jealous. I mean, I couldn’t see past the thought of an exam, much less what I wanted to be when I grew up.

By senior year of high school, Max, who was held back in the second grade and graduated with Griffin and me, lost the passion and pursued sex and fun instead. I don’t know if it bothered him because by then we were long past sharing our feelings.

The one time I tried to ask, he shut me down so quickly I escaped the situation with a burning feeling in my chest. No matter how I tried to reach him, thinking we could have a relationship despite Griffin, I was rebuffed. Because it would seem whatever I had done to Griff extended to my brother, too.

This year, I’m sure our first on our own is Max’s idea of freedom, which means there may be a lot of parties in my future.

I spend the day in my room preparing for my classes, only emerging for a brisk walk where I glance around paranoid the entire time and get more of a workout from my panicked breathing than anything else. Still, I’ve chosen my course, and I refuse to lie down and die, so here I am, pushing myself once again.

It’s a complete mindfuck, but I don’t want to be a recluse while I long for the safety of my room with every step I take away from it.

Is this my life? Fuck, how did I get here?

Stupid question because I made the ultimate mistake in a moment of pain-filled weakness and ruined everything. Ironic considering, I wanted a way out of my life because that old life is gone, yet here I am, trapped with the same fucking characters.

Before all that, I was headed to a prestigious art school to hone my craft and make a career out of my passion. Now I’m at State, grimly pursuing a business degree because it’s the sensible thing to do.

Yes, I know I didn’t die, and I still have a gift, and I should be fighting through the trauma—my therapist’s words, not mine—because it’s cathartic or some shit. But when I sit before a blank canvas, I can’t see anything, and I’m terrified because painting was my identity, and if I don’t have that, who the fuck am I?

Out of the ashes of my lost friendship with Griff, art was the only piece of me that hadn’t formed in the wake of our relationship, and I clung to it as my lifeline. Now even that is erased, and I’m left with nothing to hold on to, creating a void in my world that is now filled with fucking nothing.

When I finally emerge the following morning, the boys are at the table murmuring between each other as they eat breakfast. The familiarity makes my heart clench as I relive the many times, we greeted a weekend morning together at a similar table.

Ignoring them, I open up the refrigerator and check out the food situation, stiffening when Max says behind me, “You didn’t eat yesterday.”

Rigidly, I turn to him with a raised brow, but he ignores me and continues. “I’m not your fucking keeper. Maybe you can figure out how to take care of yourself?”

Griff sits with his back to me, his head hung over his bowl, but obviously, he can hear the conversation, and once again, I’m resentful.

“I didn’t ask you to be that,” I mutter.

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