Page 60 of Bitter Lies

We have just weeks left for our project, and Griffin hasn’t asked, not that I’d sit down with him if he did, and it’s far too late to switch partners despite Griffin’s angry tirade. So, I went ahead and wrote my paper. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea about what’s going on in his psyche anyway, and it’s not pretty.

The guys are gone, and I’m packing up my shit for the four-day weekend when I hear the faint sounds of laughter come down the hall.

Rolling my eyes because I don’t have it in me to see Griffin with another damn chick, I go to close the door when Max steps into the threshold.

For a moment, I’m relieved because I’ll be spared the fucking sounds of sex through the wall, until I get a good look at his face, the telltale tic around his wild eyes confirming that he’s high again. Fuck.

Behind him is the weird friend I met weeks ago and never really needed to see again because his freak meter is off the charts.

Frankly, he looks a little rough around the edges, and I wonder how I didn’t realize before that this must be his dealer.

“Well, well, if it isn’t little sis,” his friend says with a smirk.

When I don’t respond, he steps up to Max’s back. “You giving my bro issues, baby?”

“Max?” I ask, turning back to my brother. What the fuck is going on?

“Don’t you worry about Max, baby. He’ll be just fine. How ’bout you step back and stop giving him such a hard time?”

Cautiously, I look between them, the hair on my neck standing on end as I say, quietly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Max here says you’re a little bitch. I don’t like people who mess with my crew,” he says, looking me over with glittering eyes.

He’s not bad looking, even as rough as he seems, but the menace emanating off him is hardly friendly, and it’s pushing against me in waves.

“Max,” I whisper, to which he grimaces but says nothing, looking blankly over my shoulder.

“Listen up, baby bitch. If you bother him, you bother me. You understand?”

Nodding my head, I gaze between them mutely, my palms sweaty with fear as he says silkily, “Use your words.”

Swallowing the fear stuck in my throat, I whisper when I want to fucking shout. “Yes.”

“Good. You’re a little skinny to fit my taste, but a hole is a hole, hm?”

Clenching my hands at my sides, I look to Max for assistance, once more as my heart pounds wretchedly in my chest, and icy-cold hatred flows through me on wings of terror.

But he shifts beside his friend, laughing uncomfortably, before half turning to go and saying, “C’mon, bro.”

His friend merely rests his hands on Max’s shoulders, to which Max freezes, and numbly, I watch this jerk caress my brother’s neck, the intimacy both awkward and weird.

“Now then, I think we understand each other, hm?” he says, and my eyes fly to him as he lifts his brow and leads my brother away.

I’m immobile as I stare after them before I close the door, lock it, and shove the dresser in front of it.

It’s not enough, though, and I’m frozen to the core as I sit before my bed and stare at the barricade. It would seem I escaped one nightmare for another, and I’m fucking terrified I won’t live through this one.

Jason and his douchey friends are mere boys compared to this guy, who looks like he eats puppies for breakfast.

What did you do, Max?

∞∞∞

I’m numb, and for the moment, I welcome it because the shit keeps falling on my damn head, and I’m not in the right headspace to deal. But if I’m going to convince my mother to let me live somewhere else, I have to present a coherent front.

So, I style my hair and put on makeup, wearing my nice jeans and a festive top, before pulling out a pretty pair of boots my mom bought me for Christmas but I refused to wear at the time because they didn’t match my dark soul appearance.

Now, as I admire them in the mirror, I admit they’re cute and shrug because these days I don’t have a style, I don’t even have a personality.

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