Page 62 of Bitter Truths

She pauses, and I nod, wiping my hands down my pants.

“Yes, that one,” she continues, stalking toward me. “I should have pressed that damn pillow over your face, Griffin.”

My stomach freefalls, and I catch the sob in my throat, but a strange mewl escapes.

“If I had stolen your breath, then maybe I could breathe.” She slams her hand against her chest, and I cringe, watching in fascinated horror as her breasts jiggle.

Her brows slam over her eyes, and she drops her arm, studying me carefully. My stomach burns, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

Cocking her head to the side, she says, “You naughty boy. You like looking at your mother?”

“No,” I whisper, turning my head rapidly and blinking to dispel the vision surely burned into my retinas.

“Hm, you’re just like your father. Aren’t you? I tried. I tried to make you a better fucking person, but how could I when you’ve got his blood running through your veins?”

With a sob, she steps away, and I scoot along the floor while her back is turned.

“I tried,” she says again, rubbing her forehead.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them, and I clench my mouth closed to stop the tide.

Raising her head, she stares at me with her weepy red eyes, pulling her mouth back into a sneer. And I cringe, feeling my bowels loosen.

Shoot. Please, not now. Clenching up tight, I squirm.

“Sit still. How many times do I have to tell you?” she says.

Nodding, I freeze, but my stomach is cramping, and my behind is on fire. Shoot.

I have no time to react before her palm rebounds off my cheek, and I fall back, raising wide eyes at her.

She stares at me blankly, her lips a thin line before she turns away, wobbling to the door.

The stench hits my nose, and I swallow back bile as warmth fills my pants.

Please, please let her just go.

But she stops at the door and grabs the jamb, tipping her head back and sniffing the air.

A low keen escapes my throat, and I curl around myself as she swings on her heel and stomps toward me, hysteria written across her features. “What did you do?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, writhing on the floor.

Grabbing my hair, she lifts my head, her chest heaving. “I’m tired of your fake fucking tears!”

I nod rapidly, willing them back, but it’s no use. The dam is broken, and as I stare into her wild eyes, I think maybe I’m broken too.

Chapter Eighteen

Maybe the evil prince really did love the princess, but he just didn’t know how to show her.

GRIFFIN

It’s cold and rainy. The chill pervades my bones as I watch the casket lower into the ground. Father shifts beside me while I stare blankly at the wet soil.

Where do people go when they die? Is her soul in heaven? Or is her essence about to be buried under six feet of earth? Does it matter?

She’s not here anymore. Fuck.

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