Page 56 of Sour Lollipops and Sweet Nightmares
“You think?” I shot back.
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his shoulder against the wall. “No one’s happy when they get their bride, Issac.”
“Yeah, but they could still jerk off.”
“You could too, if you did your job.” He huffed out a sigh. “You’re the cause of your own suffering.”
My eyes rolled. “You sound just like my dad.”
He was always saying shit like that.And whose fault was that, Issac?How many times have I told you, Issac?and so on. I’d gotten the if you had listened to me speech from my dad so many times that I could recite it word for word.
“He happens to be right in this instance. Have you even thought about how you’re going to bend Georgia?”
Why the fuck would I do that? “Nope.”
“Did you forget that you have a deadline?”
“We have a deadline,” I sang and looked down at the contents I had laid out on my bed.
“You’re not hurting anyone but yourself.”
“Really?” I lifted my chin long enough to nod at Ravi’s obvious erection, gave him a grin when he shot me a dirty look, then returned to inspecting the items I found in Georgia’s purse.
The Bible in particular made me wonder about the girl. Was it something she took seriously, or just something she had? People liked to pretend that they were righteous and full of faith, but the only thing they were full of was shit.
Thou shalt not lie, or thou shalt not bear false witness to thy neighbor, was the ninth commandment, yet everybody lied, especially to themselves.
Take parenthood, for example.
Every parent out there insisted that their baby was a cute, pudgy-cheeked, little angel. In most cases, they were right. But there were some ugly babies out there. They were the ones people would pretend to smile over and say some cop outbullshit like,‘Isn’t he special,’or ‘Look at all that hair.’ Both of which were code for what the fuck happened to that kid?
In that scenario, both parties were lying. The parent, to themselves, and the friend to the parent. Some would argue that the friend didn’t want to hurt the parents’ feelings, but it was still a fucking lie.
Which kind of liar was Georgia? The type that lied to themselves, or others? And if it was the latter, did she only lie to spare their feelings, or was it for something else? These were important things to factor in when trying to figure someone out. And I had no idea what kind of person Georgia Pyne was.
Everything I’d observed her do was a contradiction. She stood her ground against us in the dean’s office but shied away when I talked to her in the cafeteria. She pepper-sprayed us but froze in terror when I touched her.
So, which one was she? The timid mouse, or the fierce lioness? Because she couldn’t be both. Who was Georgia Pyne? If I could figure that out, then maybe I could figure out what my father was hiding from me. That was more important to me than the claiming.
Ravi obviously knew more than I did, but there was no way he knew everything. Not that he would tell me anything. He would lose his advantage if he did that, and that was the problem. Ravi had more cards in this game than I did, and I didn’t like that.
Ravi walked over to me and tipped his head. “Are you going through her purse again?”
Sighing, I tossed the Bible back on my bed. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
If I was going to bring Georgia Pyne down, I needed to figure her out. A good place to start was determining what kind of liar she was. Was she the bleeding heart I can’t say that to them type,or the I’ll say what I need to type? And most importantly, what were her tells?
Some people were better at dishonesty than others, but there was always a tell. Fidgeting hands, a slight twitch in the corner of their mouth, or the way their eyes shifted when they spoke. The signs were there, even for pathological liars who believed the bullshit that came out of their mouths. Lying was not a flawless art, unless you were me.
I had no tells because I didn’t lie very often. Unless the outcome of said fabrication would amuse me, I didn’t see the need. I didn’t care what people thought or if I hurt their feelings. In fact I preferred to hurt their feelings. What I did give a shit about was getting what I wanted. Was that narcissistic? Absolutely. Was it sociopathic? Maybe.
Now ask me if I cared.
Ravi dropped down and sat on the foot of my bed. “You’re wasting your time with this crap.”
Crap was exactly what this shit was. But I couldn’t stop combing through it.
