Page 109 of Bitter Truths

It’s true. Once the words were spoken, I couldn’t take them back, and they hung in the air like a bad stink. Every piece of Halsey is mine, and to share it was unusual for me.

Shit. I never even spoke about how I felt with Max beyond a few terse words. How could I possibly explain the depth of the horror I felt? And why would I want to?

Miranda caught me at a bad time, and I was a moody asshole for a week afterward while she pretended otherwise and never brought it up again.

“Hm. Why did you keep the paintings, Griff?”

“Why? How could I not? It was about me and you and everything. They’re so beautiful, Hals.”

Last year, after Halsey painted her walls, I snuck into her room while she was in class and walked through the images. The artistry blew me away. Her talent was impressive, but what held me spellbound was not her amazing recreation of a fairy tale but how I might learn our story through her eyes.

Over the summer, I sat before those paintings again and dissected each piece in the hopes of understanding her, but I’m pretty sure I never did, and maybe that’s where this all went wrong. I loved her for loving me, but maybe I never fucking saw past that need and understood who she really was.

The words aren’t enough, but I’ve spent countless hours sitting before them and studying each brushstroke. Maybe now she’ll tell me if my interpretation was anywhere near what she was trying to say.

She frowns and I tilt my head, searching her eyes. How can I make her understand?

“I’m sorry. I am,” I say.

A weird expression crosses her face before she leans in and kisses me. Her moan when I stroke her tongue lights a fire in my heart as I pour all my need into the kiss until finally, we pull away, breathless.

These last few days have been torturous without her, and I almost lost my fucking mind. I should never have shared my pain with Miranda, and I regret it, but it wasn’t born out of anything but my loss. And if Miranda ever bothers to show her fucking face again, she’ll feel my wrath.

I don’t care about me but hurt Halsey, and it’s game fucking on. I guess I never made myself clear, but it should be now because I sent her a text and told her to never contact Halsey or me again. She never responded, which is just as well.

“They’re yours,” I say gruffly, speaking of the paintings, “but I’d like to keep them.”

“What would you do with them?”

“Hang them,” I say simply. Halsey doesn’t understand, but her art speaks to me on a level that I can’t explain. It’s our story, and it’s painful and ugly, but there’s a spark of hope that I see, and it’s what I’ve clung to with every day we’ve been apart.

“Where?” she asks, her blue, blue eyes lighting my chest with need.

“For now, in the spare room but someday in our forever home,” I say simply.

“Ours?” she whispers, a smile trembling on her lips.

“Yes, sweet. Ours,” I say, pulling her into my arms and dropping a kiss on her mouth.

She grabs my dick through my jeans and pushes me to the bed before straddling me. Fuck, it’s so sweet that I buck into her, needing to show her with my body how she makes me feel every single fucking day.

With a raised brow, she shucks her pants, and I follow behind quickly.

Slowly, carefully, she drops down my length as we stare into each other’s eyes, and with a heartbreaking smile, she bucks on top of me until I’m a quivering mass of need.

Pushing her to her back, I shove her knees to her waist, and she clenches around me with a cry. I bottom out with a growl, emptying into her warm space with a dizzy smile.

“I love you,” she says after, and with an uncontrollable smile, I say, “I love you, too.”

∞∞∞

HALSEY

Settling into my chair across from my counselor, I push away the roiling feeling in my gut and try for a calm I don’t feel. Already my throat is closing with panic, and he’s only staring at me speculatively.

I don’t know how to do this, but I’m afraid to say no, and the entire situation fills me with rage. I didn’t escape one hell for this, and the trapped feeling is weighing on my chest like an anvil.

Dr. Marks drops in his seat across from me with a curious expression, but I turn my face away, no longer interested in sharing my pain. Where once I felt safe, now I feel fucking violated and stuck, neither of which fills me with warm fuzzy feelings. But what can I do?

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