Page 127 of Bitter Truths

I haven’t told anyone about the fentanyl, and when asked, I said only that he tried to force me to drink the wine. I also had the foresight to pour another glass during that time, which I left on the table. With any luck, they’ll assume he accidentally drugged himself. It’s the least that he deserved.

Max shifts in his seat, raising his head, and I meet his gaze. Flinching, he looks away before whispering, “What happened, Hals?”

Stretching my lips into a smile, I say, “I killed the bad guy.”

“Sh,” he says, glancing toward the door.

Shrugging, I turn to my back and stare at the ceiling. Although I fought back, and it feels good, I’m empty, as though whatever was holding me down is gone, and I might float away.

“Maybe I should call Griff?” he says, and I shake my head, ignoring the dull pulse in my chest.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want him to see me this way,” I mutter, and he drops his gaze.

“Hals, I don’t think Griffin cares as long as he’s with you.”

“Not anymore,” I rasp, reaching out for the cup of water and taking a sip. The liquid coats my throat, and with a sigh, I lean back and close my eyes.

Max is silent beside me, and after a moment of dozing, I say, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t he stop when she said no?”

“Oh, Hals,” Max says brokenly.

Chapter Thirty-Six

I was lost, and you found me.

HALSEY

“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asks from the door.

“Yes,” I say tiredly, dropping the brush on the dresser and turning away. It doesn’t matter what I do with my damn hair. It’s fucking unruly anyway.

“Okay,” she says, fixing the sheets on my bed before kissing me on the cheek.

I watch her walk away with a frown before rubbing my perpetually aching forehead.

It’s been three weeks since Dr. Marks died, and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand how I completely missed that my therapist was broken. The only conclusion I’ve come to is that maybe I’m too broken myself.

I’ve been home recuperating since the incident. Once the news hit the masses, multiple women came forward, many having graduated long before me. Dr. Marks was a busy fucker. Thankfully, my name was kept out of the media, and only a select few are aware of the trauma.

The news that I’m not the only one doesn’t ease the sting. I’m tired of being the punching bag, and if nothing else, my fucking therapist taught me that.

In the aftermath, though, I’m also adrift because I’m still me, and Griffin won’t speak to me. He hasn’t allowed me to explain what happened, and I assume he hasn’t heard anything about it. I’m hesitant to go there because I don’t want to lie, but how can I tell him I killed a man?

Still, his refusal to respond to my outreach hurts, and I guess having my hate wasn’t better than nothing, after all.

Living without him is like having only one lung. It hurts to breathe, and I’m constantly sucking in air to remind myself I’m alive.

I’ll get through this because I have to, but it doesn’t mean I’m enjoying it much. I’ve lost out on another semester of school, and I’m contemplating going somewhere else because I can’t stand the thought of running into Griff, even as I crave seeing him just one more time.

I love him, but it’s not enough. Maybe it never was. He’s my everything, but I’m his nothing.

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