Page 62 of Bitter Lies

We’re home, and Max is grabbing our bags from the back while Griff greets my parents with a pretty smile. Douche.

Shaking my head, I follow behind them sourly, escaping to my room while they catch up. I know I’m supposed to be acting better, but me avoiding Griffin isn’t unusual, so whatever. And neither is his incessant need to hang out around my house and push his way into our fucked-up family.

I know his parents are distant, and it used to be cute how he wanted to belong. Now it’s a source of constant frustration.

Only later, while I’m helping mom bake pies, do I broach the topic of moving out.

“Honey, you’re wearing your boots, and they’re so cute on you,” she exclaims.

Smiling weakly, I rub my sweaty hands down my jeans. “Mom, I’d like to move into the dorms now.”

“Oh, honey. I don’t think you’re ready yet. It’s only been a few months.”

Curling my lip, I drop my head so she can’t see. If she only knew the depravity I’d already been exposed to, she’d be shipping me off to a school across the country.

Not a half-bad idea, actually.

“Mom, I’ve been going to counseling. I am taking my meds. I’m doing much better. The guys are, well, guys. They like to party, and that’s not my scene.”

She’s quiet for a moment before her soft Mom voice appears and I mentally cringe. “And I’m so glad you’re doing better, but I just think you should give it a little time.”

Taking a deep breath, I try to modulate my tone because I know this is coming from a place of love, but fuck, I’m being stifled here.

“Please,” I whisper, close to tears.

“Oh, Halsey. Maybe after winter break, we’ll reassess?”

“Fine. I, um have homework.” Holding back the tears, I escape only to run into Max on the other side of the door.

He grabs my arm with a frown, eyeing me with glassy eyes. “Trying to run?”

“You’ve been telling me to leave since I got there,” I mutter.

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I think you’re better off with us.”

Neither of us says it, but I’m sure it’s to keep an eye on me, and I’m not talking about my mental health.

“Whatever.” I have nothing left to give so I push past him, holding my breath against the urge to scream, but would any of these fuckers here me?

Chapter Seventeen

I guess in the end, we all get what we deserve.

Thanksgiving passes quietly, and the next evening I’m dumbfounded to find I’ve been invited to the annual party at the Hathaway house.

Every year the day after Thanksgiving, they have an evening in with drinks and appetizers. It’s a reasonably swanky affair that the first few and only times I attended I found fascinating.

This year, I’m fucking wondering what I’m doing standing on the front stoop next to my parents and Max, staring at the imposing front door.

The Hathaways live in a bona fide mansion a few blocks down from our house on a plot of land easily ten times our size. The home is stately, fancy, and not the least bit lived-in, except for Griff’s room, where he’s allowed to have his things and be himself.

When we were still friends, I actually felt sorry for him because although his parents are lovely people, they don’t seem all that invested in being actual parents.

Griffin never complained, although I could sense that at times, he was lonely. I think this is why he gravitated toward us at the beginning because we were the family he needed so badly. I guess even that was a facade, though, because there’s nothing familial about us, and apparently, we’ve been living a lie that’s slowly tearing us apart.

The last time I was here, we lay out beneath the stars down by our fort and made wishes, both foolish and juvenile, but at the time, I truly believed I would grow up and marry him one day. Just me and him against the world. Was the boy I loved lying to me even then?

I managed to find a nice black dress in the back of my closet, and just this morning, unknowing of my fucking fate, I died my hair a pale platinum blonde two shades lighter than my own.

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