Page 7 of Bitter Truths

That’s where it all went impossibly wrong. I loved a boy who didn’t know the fucking definition of the word, and he broke me.

I don’t care who you fuck as long as it’s not me.

The last time I saw him, he reached out to me with his pained stare and ripped the world out from under me. And I know what he did wasn’t designed to end in my rape, but it didn’t change the outcome just the same.

I gave my love to a sneaky, conniving, cruel fucker who threw it in my face until he learned the truth, and then he lied to me again.

I want to say I was strong enough to withstand the onslaught, but clearly, that’s not the case because here I am, back in the one place I vowed never to be. Sometimes, oblivion is the only answer when your soul hurts so fucking badly that your body wants to curl up and die. At least that’s what my fucked-up psyche says.

“Here,” the nurse says, holding out a little white cup.

Dutifully, I down the pills, and when she raises a brow, I stick out my tongue, the caustic aftertaste like chalk in my mouth.

If only my brother, Max, hadn’t spilled the bitter beans. Maybe I’d be living in blissful ignorance. Of course, if he hadn’t been a complete psycho to begin with, we’d likely all have been spared what came next.

But his obsession got him in the end, and now he’s living with his own hell, just like the rest of us.

Mom visited me last night and said he’s doing well in his treatment, and although I nodded and smiled as expected, I didn’t give a fuck. Because in this, I’m giving him exactly what he gave me, a fuck ton of nothing.

At least now he knows how it feels to lose. We truly are twins in spirit, even if he hates the comparison. We were both fucked over by a boy turned man with a soul of ice.

“Halsey? Dr. Morris will see you now.”

I suppress the eye roll because I’m sure it’ll go in my file as a mark against me. But what can my doctor do? Nothing. Whatever happens next is all on me.

I was damned the day I met Griffin Hathaway, and I’m a hair’s breadth away from accepting that nothing short of total annihilation will do.

Chapter Two

I was lost, and you found me.

HALSEY

My phone buzzes and spinning away from the mirror, I glance at the screen, noting Griffin’s name again.

My stomach swoops, an ache forming at the base of my throat, and I reach for my phone. At the last minute, I pause before turning away.

Why bother? It’s the same damn message he’s sent a million times.

I’m sorry. I was wrong. I fucked up.

He sure as fuck did, but admitting to being wrong and apologizing won’t take away the burn. It only makes it blaze hotter. I was a fool to think he was my one because he showed me in the cruelest way possible that I’m most definitely not his.

The question is, what do I do now?

Dropping to the bed, I clutch my head and groan. The girl who depended on Griffin to make her smile is fighting the woman who hates his fucking guts. I’m caught between a past I no longer cherish and the ugly-ass present.

Griffin’s excuses are just that, and so are mine. I can’t explain away his actions, and I have to stand strong as a result.

I haven’t spoken to Griff since Max revealed the extent of his depravity. It’s hard enough coming to terms with the fact that my brother orchestrated the events that led not only to losing my best friend but also, in a roundabout way, to my rape.

But add Griffin and the dare gone wrong into the mix, and I’m surprised I didn’t lose my sanity altogether. Would this qualify as temporary insanity in a murder defense? In my darkest dreams, I like to think so.

Despite Griffin’s outreach, I’ve never responded. Frankly, I don’t know what’s left to say. Maybe he’s sorry, and perhaps he didn’t want me to hurt in the way it all played out, but that’s not the problem. No, the problem is that he wanted to hurt me at all.

What kills me, though, is that even after all the machinations, my heart still jumps into my throat every time a message from him comes through . . . followed by the dread that he has the gall to reach out at all. I’ve craved his attention since he came into my world, and I know I’m fucked up, but I’m sure getting excited because the jerk who crushed you not once but over and over, texts has to be a new level of insanity.

For the record, I’m pretty sure there are no fucking meds to fix that.

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