Page 31 of The Lies We Tell Ourselves

A snarl curved his lips, and he leaned into me, chest to chest. His taut nipples brushed against mine, and his hot breath danced over my lips. His knee slipped between my legs as he caged me in, with only the thin layer of our clothes separating us I burned up inside. “No,” he breathed, lips almost brushing mine. “You need to leave.”

“No.” I shook my head as much as I was able but it barely moved. My strength faded as the darkness around me closed in.

“Get out of Briar U before I hurt you so badly, there will be no coming back.” His words sliced right through me and carved agony into my bones. But his eyes. Oh, they told another story, one from a lifetime ago. I saw an echo of the love I had for him reflected back at me.

“I… c-ca…”

Dillon growled and bared his teeth while his fingers pulsed around the column of my throat. My heart stuttered, and everything faded to black.

Scorching heat seared my face, abrasive and demanding. I sucked in a breath when the pressure relented, and my eyes flew open. It took a few seconds for my brain to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. With what my body was feeling.

Dillon’s fingers sunk into my hair, controlling the angle of my head. The hand that had squeezed my throat until I blacked out was now teasing the skin along my thundering pulse. A groan reverberated through the air, surrounding us as unyielding lips slammed down on mine. His tongue demanded entry to my mouth, pushing past the seam of my lips.

I gasped at the intrusion as he invaded my mouth, and his tongue wrapped around mine. A shudder worked through me as liquid heat filled my veins. I couldn’t reconcile how something that should be so intimate, so tender, made me feel owned and dirty. I loved him, but he didn’t love me.

Dillon lapped at my tongue, tasting and teasing me while simultaneously breaking me to pieces. Tears burned in my eyes and collected along my lash line, but I refused to let them fall. His hips rolled against me, and the rigid hardness of his length pressed against my stomach. Our height difference had never been more apparent to me than it was at that moment.

I was helpless to do anything but let him defile me. To allow him to take what he wanted and sate the thirst he needed to quench. Every brush of his lips was a rusty nail driven into my heart by his bare hands.

“Jamie,” he whispered as his lips slipped from mine. The reverence in his tone stole what little air from my lungs there was left. For a split second, I saw the boy I once knew before the cold mask of hate settled over him again. I wanted to reach out to him and beg him to stay, but the iciness of his glare silenced me.

The static buzzing in my ears nearly drowned out the sound of our ragged breaths. “Dil?—”

“Shut the fuck up! Get away from me, you fucking little faggot. I don’t want to ever see you again.” Dillon shoved me, and my knees hit the floor, the carpet burning through my jeans. My shoulders hunched up to my ears, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I crumpled inwards, my heart shattering into a million pieces. A blanket of coldness wrapped around me, chilling me to my core.

The first tears fell as I watched the boy I’d loved since I was eight, walk away from me like I was nothing to him.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

DILLON

Iwas a piece of shit. I knew it, but I had never been more disgusted with myself than I was right now. My heart was hammering its way out of my body whilst simultaneously breaking. I was a fucking mess. His soft cries sunk into me like claws, ripping me open and bleeding me dry.

“Fuck!” I ground out, making a table of students jump in their seats, their books and laptops flying. Normally, I’d find that kind of shit funny, but tonight, it made me feel hollow and worthless.

I punched open the doors so hard they crashed into the brickwork, and the glass panels shook as I exited the library. A group of kids dived out of the way as I stormed towards them. I couldn’t breathe as the suffocating vise around my lungs grew tighter and tighter.

My legs felt shaky and uncoordinated as I tried to block out the sounds of the world around me and focus on the rise and fall of my chest with each inhalation. I needed to trust in my body, that it was doing what it was meant to. Otherwise, I would spiral too far, and I wouldn’t be able to bring myself back. There were far too many people around for a Friday evening. Didn’t these people have lives they could be off living, instead of being here pushing me closer and closer to the point of no return?

The smell of damp soil saturated my senses as I fell to my knees under the cover of the trees, far from prying eyes. My fingers dug into the earth, gouging tracks into it as I braced myself on my elbows. The first garbled cry tore its way out of my chest, dragging my shattered heart with it. Maybe it would be a good thing if I killed that useless muscle now as it would save me from suffering this kind of torment again. I wasn’t a masochist. I didn’t enjoy pain, but I understood it. I understood suffering and faking it every day.

Hargraves didn’t do therapy. The one time I told my dad I thought I was suffering from panic attacks and anxiety from Mr. Abernathy’s attack, he laughed in my face and called me weak.

“What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” he ground out and grabbed me by the front of my Henley. “Real men don’t cry like little pussies, do they?” His stale breath made me want to vomit, but I swallowed it down.

“N-no, sir.” I sniffled.

“Then what’s all this on your face?” He wiped away my tears, looked at his glistening fingers with disdain and smeared them across my face. “Are you a little girl? Or are you going to be a real man?”

“I’m a man,” I choked out, my throat feeling like cut glass as the anxiety inside me swelled like a savage storm. “B-but, Dad, it keeps happening.” A fresh wave of tears spilled down my face as shame set in.

“You’re a man, are you?” He shoved me back and laughed, mocking me as I stumbled over. My skin was crawling, like a million needles were sinking into my skin. “You’re weak,” he spat. “Pathetic. No son of mine.”

“No… Dad.” I crawled after him, latching onto his pant leg. “Please, mom said maybe I should talk to someone.”

“What the fuck?” His fingers sunk into my hair as he yanked my head back so he could stare into my eyes. “Listen to me, and listen good. Hargraves don’t do therapy. It’s a load of poppycock.”

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