Page 35 of Loving the Liar

“Stop scratching.” The order brings goosebumps all the way down my arms, making me fall under his spell.

I hadn’t even realized I was doing it, but now that he says it, I can feel the pain I’ve caused myself. His eyes hover around my jaw, his eyebrows drawing together in the most delicate way.

“What happened?”

Before I can even realize he’s talking about the mark on my jaw, Megan is right next to him, looking at me as she answers for me, and breaking through the obsessive tension between me and her boyfriend.

“I think some girls are ready to do anything to stay in Professor Reeves’s class.”

Chris’s entire demeanor switches. His stare hardens, his muscles tense. He suddenly appears taller, wider.

I have to open and close my mouth a few times before any sound comes out. Even then, I sound like an idiot.

“I-I didn’t… I don’t…”

The worst thing that could happen right now is everyone in this room thinking I’m a slut who sleeps with her professor regularly.

Okay, I did it once. But I was out of my depth.

He looks down at the paper I’m holding. “Is that for me?”

I nod, giving it to him.

“Go home, Ella.” And with that, he turns around, allowing Megan to take his hand and drag him out of the room.

The second they’re gone, I feel my lungs expand again.

“Oh my god.” It takes all of me to keep a steady voice and not gasp oxygen like I need to. “She’s terrifying.”

Rose turns to me. “That’s Megan for you. She’s top of her class in ‘Being a Bitch 101.’”

“She doesn’t even try to pretend to be nice,” I add.

“God, no. She doesn’t care what people think of her.”

We walk out together, but the second we split ways, the feeling of my body destroying itself from the inside comes back. I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder at a very young age, but I somehow manage to live with it if I take my medication and keep a calm rhythm of life. Since Chris transferred to SFU…nothing feels calm anymore.

No, I have a feeling it’s only the beginning of a whole new nightmare.

And I know I’m right when I get to my front door. My mom is there, standing on the porch and knocking.

“Mom,” I call out. “Sorry I wasn’t h?—”

My heart drops to my stomach as she turns around, a gasp cutting through the distance between us.

“Mom. Oh my god. Mom, what happened?” I run the last few steps that separate us and put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the chairs we have on the porch. Her face is bruised, lips swollen, a black eye.

And the second her body touches the seat, she winces.

I freeze.

I don’t have the strength to ask what happened again. I kneel in front of her, not daring to touch her. She stays silent for long minutes. So long I wonder if she’ll ever talk again.

When she does, I wish she never had.

“I tried to pay our debts.” This isn’t my mother talking. It’s a ghost who took hold of her soul.

My trembling hands come to my face. I hide in my palms for a few seconds while I process what she doesn’t say. She tried to pay our debts with her body.

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