Page 6 of Bitter Lies

Shoving back from the table, Max grabs his bowl and tosses it in the sink before turning to me with a wicked frown. “No, but our fucking mother did. Maybe you should stop being so fucking selfish, Halsey. It’s not all about fucking you.”

“Fuck off! I’ve never said anything is about me!” I exclaim, slamming my hands on my hips.

“Yeah? Where did we spend our senior vacation? In the Bahamas? Oh, that’s right, we didn’t go because Halsey had a fucking meltdown.”

“I didn’t ask them to keep you home.” The familiar flush of shame heats my cheeks as he continues.

“Right, because they were going to let me leave the country while you laid in your own stink for five days and refused to speak or eat! I’m tired of your shit, Halsey. Now grab your stuff so I can drop you off at the clinic before my class.”

One of my discharge stipulations is that I follow up with a therapist here at the school. Not only that, but I had to sign a contract promising I wouldn’t hurt myself, and much like everything else I have no control of, an appointment was set up before I even got here.

“I can take myself,” I insist.

But he just snorts. “Get your shit and let’s go.”

Watching him go, I can’t decide whether to stalk after him and tell him off or acquiesce, but either way will end the same. Max doesn’t see me anymore, and I’m starting to wonder if he ever did.

Chapter Three

Pride kills.

Before we came here, I dyed the top half of my blonde hair a deep purple color and the layers beneath a cool gray hue. At the time, I was trying to fix what couldn’t be mended, and now I don’t care for it so much.

It’s pretty, accentuating my blue eyes, but it’s another charade I’ve been perpetuating for too long. The truth is I don’t know who I am, and I don’t know how to find it, which may be why Max and Griffin don’t truly see me because there’s nothing there to find.

I’m lost, and as I stare at my reflection, I can’t help but wonder if I ever truly had an identity. Before Griff, I was Max’s sister, and when he came along, he became my world. So much so that when it was ripped away, I was lost.

Perhaps this is why I crashed and burned because there was nothing holding me down.

With a sigh, I pull my hair into a messy bun, don some slouchy sweats and a T-shirt, and grab my bag. This is another transformation for me because I no longer care to be the loner goth girl with dark makeup and curled hair. Nope, I just don’t have the energy.

Max is waiting impatiently for me by the door and exits as soon as I appear, stalking to the car aggressively. Trudging after him stonily, I’m caught by surprise when Griff stops me at the door with a banana and granola bar in his outstretched hand.

But before I can get any wild ideas, like he might care, he smiles coldly. “Wouldn’t want your mom to worry.”

I pull my lips back in a grotesque smile, grab the proffered items without comment, and stuff them in my bag before Max can see because he’ll only give me grief about this, too.

The ride is stonily silent, and I quietly brood as he drives. Max received a used car for his graduation gift; it’s not fancy, but it’s freedom. The caveat was that he had to chauffeur me around in it. I received a check for five thousand dollars, which I only have access to if I ask. I’m assuming my parents are worried if I have a car, I’ll drive off a cliff in it because no matter how many times I’ve tried to explain I’m not suicidal, no one believes me.

I didn’t lie in bed for five days, practically catatonic, because I wanted to die. I didn’t even plan it. I just got stuck and couldn’t find my way out of the darkness but try telling that to your terrified parents.

Instead, Max has another reason to hate me as he drops me off without a word at the clinic, and I’m trusted with basically nothing. The irony is I feel like I’m being punished when fuck if I haven’t been punished enough.

∞∞∞

“I read through your file. Is there anything in particular you want to focus on during your time here?”

My new counselor is younger than I expected, maybe late twenties, with burnished gold hair gelled back over his high forehead, kind blue eyes, and a strong chin. Absently, I note, he’s not bad looking for a man who now holds all my secrets in the palm of his hand.

“Not really,” I mumble, wondering not for the first time why these asshats always ask me what I need. Don’t you fucking know? You’re the supposed professional.

Even the room makes me itchy, the fake palm in the corner and tufted chair I sit in at odds with the darkness lurking at the recesses of my vision.

“Okay, let’s start with what sent you to the hospital,” he says, looking down at his notes. “You were diagnosed with severe depression, PTSD, and catatonia.”

He glances at me expectantly, and I nod dumbly, licking my dry lips. We can talk all day long about my diagnoses, but they’re just words on a piece of paper that can never portray the actuality of the shadows I found myself in.

If sinking into a hole, where you can’t feel your limbs, and your soul feels like an empty husk in your chest is depression…well, I guess there you go.

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