Page 68 of Bitter Truths

He’s wearing a sling, and I spy a bandage on his arm, but other than that, it’s hard to glean if he has any other injuries. But the fucker deserves every bruise he has and more.

“Are you okay?” she asks into the silence, and I look between them grimly.

“I’m fine, Hals. Just a few bumps and bruises,” he says softly, giving her a look before glancing at me.

I’m already fucking enraged but seeing them give each other secret glances pushes me to the edge. I don’t know what the fuck is going on but knowing Halsey has moved forward with Max but refuses to give me the time of fucking day is so excruciating that my blood is boiling in my veins.

“Are you on drugs again?” I ask brutally, and Halsey gasps, looking to Max for confirmation.

“No, bro. I’m not,” he says softly, passing an embarrassed look over his shoulder to where Aaron still stands quietly.

From the corner of my eye, I see him pass down the hall and go into his room, which is for the best. We don’t need any other people involved in our fucked-up mess.

“Then what’s going on? Why would you go anywhere near that fucker Jason?” I rasp.

Doesn’t he care about Halsey at all? Is there any humanity left in his fucking soul?

“I, it was a mistake,” Max says lamely, and I stand so abruptly Halsey jumps.

“You’re goddamn right it was! What the fuck, Max? Did you think about how Halsey would feel? Did they teach you anything in that fucking place?”

Max flinches, his pale face stricken. Halsey sucks in a deep breath, but I ignore her because I’m so fucking angry, I’m afraid I’ll say something I will regret, and I already have a lifetime of words that I can’t outlive.

“Griffin—” Halsey starts to say, but I swing toward her with a fierce look before curling my mouth in a cold smile.

Is she going to defend him now, too?

“Of course, Max can do no wrong. So, you’re okay with him going back for more? Fucking your rapist?” I demand, and she flinches, gripping her fingers tightly.

I know I’m being a dick, but I can’t see past why this fucker deserves forgiveness, and I don’t. We wouldn’t even be here like this now if he hadn’t spread his lies. We wouldn’t fucking be standing feet apart even though it might as well be miles. She can barely look me in the fucking eyes, and Max gets forgiveness?

“No, Griff, of course not,” she whispers, “but—”

“No fucking buts. I fucking hurt you. I did the most horrible fucking thing on the planet, but Max continuously fed the lies until all I could see was how horrible the person I loved was. And he gets a free pass? Can you please just tell me fucking why?”

Searching her pained gaze, my heart clenches brutally when tears fill her eyes. I’m a fucking piece of shit. I never want to see her in pain because of my actions again, but I continue to fucking do it.

“You hurt me,” she says softly.

Stepping back, I clench my hands at my sides. Yes, what I did was reprehensible, and most times, I’m crawling out of my skin at the thought, but can’t she see that Max created this fucking mess with his games and it kept my anger constantly simmering?

I was a kettle, perpetually boiling over, but as I stare at her standing before me with a tortured expression, I don’t know how to reach her. I want her, I always have, but she can’t see me. All she sees is the dick who tortured her, and maybe I deserve it. I know I deserve it, but don’t I deserve redemption too?

Fuck. My chest aches so fucking badly, and I rub it with my fist. Halsey steps toward me with a soft expression, and my heart stutters with a longing that I suck back in when my phone chirps in my pocket.

Her gaze drops to my hand, and I pull it out impatiently to find a text from Miranda. Of course, Halsey spies the screen when I do and turns away with a wry smile.

Fuck. Nothing I do is getting through to her.

“Halsey,” I say quietly, and she turns back to me with a blank expression.

Right, of course. Pulling my lips back in a wicked smirk, I wait for the blow and am rewarded when she says, “You should go. Miranda is waiting for you, no?”

Incredulously, I stare at her before I huff out a frustrated laugh. Fuck this. If she can’t see how much she means to me, if she can’t see . . . whatever.

Donning my most icy expression, I head to the door and say bitterly, “Yes, she is. And at least she’s not fucking lying to herself and me.”

“No?” she says wryly. “Isn’t she?”

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