Page 34 of Bitter Truths

Flushing, she nods and drops her gaze to the table, saying quietly, “I’m not proud of myself, but sometimes it’s easier to be a bitch than to wait for the other shoe to drop.”

And that’s us in a nutshell, trying to break free from shitty decisions that keep us grounded in the face of what could be because we both know the alternative is always worse.

Nodding slowly, I quirk my lips. “Well, if you’re not looking for drama, then you definitely picked the wrong house to try to join.”

She laughs out loud, her head tipped back and her pretty eyes sparkling. “No shit. You people are seriously fucked up. No offense.”

“None taken. I am most definitely fucked up,” I say dryly.

“Well, I should’ve known and left it alone, but I think I pick guys like Griffin for a reason, you know? I never have to worry about him catching feelings because he’s never really looking at me, anyway.”

“Guys like Griffin?” I ask with a weird pang in my chest because maybe that’s me too, picking the guy I know will never catch feelings.

Could it be? No, I’ve loved Griffin for years, long before the events that broke me, unless I’ve been broken all along. Shit, it’s too early for this type of deep-seated analysis.

“Yeah, it was clear from the start something was going on between you two, whether you admit it or not,” she says with a wry twist to her mouth. “And yet I kept coming back for more.”

Staring at her silently, I try to figure out how to put what I’m feeling into words, but nothing comes close beyond the obvious—we’re seriously fucked up.

“Listen,” I say hesitantly, “Griffin and I have a very painful past, and I—”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I’ve sworn off dick for a while anyway.”

Choking on my drink, I set it down with a thunk and swallow as I stare at her with wide eyes. “How’s that going for you?”

“Well, I’m horny as fuck.”

We both laugh, and the tight ball of nerves in my chest eases. I don’t want Miranda to be angry with me. I actually like her despite her self-destructive behaviors. Besides, who am I to judge? I tied Jason to a bed and tried—unsuccessfully, I might add—to make him a eunuch with a sharp pair of stilettos.

“Miranda,” I say hesitantly, and her eyes drop to the table. But I have to know, and I think in this, it’s better for both of us if we can at least acknowledge it to each other. Maybe sharing our past is another step in the healing process. I don’t know, but either way, I refuse to hide behind it with her.

So, I power through even though the words burn my throat like a hot fucking poker shoved down to my esophagus. “Miranda, right before I graduated from high school, I dated Jason, and one night I got seriously drunk, and when I woke up, Jason . . . well, he was on top of me, and his friends . . . th-they followed.”

Her glassy eyes shoot to mine with horror before she says shakily, “His friends?”

Nodding silently, I watch myriad expressions cross her face before she bows her head. “If I had only said something.”

Shaking my head, I try to speak through my thick throat because this isn’t about blame, but she cuts me off.

“If I hadn’t been so afraid, maybe . . .”

A curl of shame passes through me at her tearful words, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ll be saying this to some other girl someday. But no, I took back my power, and maybe it doesn’t make sense to others, but it makes perfect sense to me. I chose not to report it because I knew that doing so would be giving up the last piece of me I could never get back.

Leaning forward, I place my hand over hers and say, “Miranda, I never reported it either. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I can’t? Hm, maybe.” She smiles, but her eyes are dark with sorrow that I understand all too well. “I’m sorry.”

“I am, too,” I say quietly, leaning back when she sighs and stands.

“I should go. Talk soon, okay?”

I nod grimly, wondering if we’ll ever be friends. Some things you just can’t get past, and maybe for her, I’m a reminder of something she doesn’t want to remember.

With a heavy sigh, I rise from my chair and walk back to the house, thoughts of fucking up Jason’s world cascading through my brain because that fucker deserves to know pain and so much more.

Case in point, Jason showed up at Griffin’s party after blackmailing me, then proceeded to fuck my brother again. Which don’t even get me started on because the thought skeeves me out.

Maybe the best way to move forward is to show them all what they wrought. Or maybe I just need to cut them off at the balls. I don’t fucking know, but once again, I’m seething with emotion that I have no outlet for, and the intensity frightens me.

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