Page 10 of Bitter Truths

Today was my last day at work as we’re gearing up to head back to State, and I wandered through the day like a zombie, the new medication I was discharged with creating a mental fog that I can’t see past.

I loathe it, but I can’t refuse to take them because, as usual, no one wants to hear my words. They just want me to be okay. Worse, I can’t exactly explain my pain because it worries my mom too much.

She already knows more than I wanted to share because she found my damn diary and read about every shameful, dirty deed. At times, it feels like nothing about my story is sacred as it continues to be shared with the masses.

“Yep, I’m ready to go now,” I mumble, pasting on the same fake fucking smile as before.

Dad rumbles a response I ignore, and I turn away with a pulse of rage, only to meet Max’s calculating stare with an equally sad rendition of his own fake smile.

Whatever.

∞∞∞

GRIFFIN

Griffin: You can’t ignore me forever

Hals: Wanna bet?

Griffin: Plz just hear me out

Hals: Like you did me?

Griffin: I know I have no right to ask, but I need to see you

Hals: You need your head examined

Griffin: I was broken, Hals

Hals: Yeah, and you broke me

Setting the phone aside, I cross my legs at the ankles and shift on the uncomfortable floor with a huff. This used to be so much more exciting when I was fucking twelve. Now the boards dig into my shoulder blades, and my ass is fucking numb. Whatever.

I’m in the fort that used to be our oasis, lying in the same spot reserved for Halsey. Shit, I still have her favorite sleeping bag rolled up in the corner. I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with that one, but I don’t need to pay someone to dissect this particular illness.

I spent years orbiting around her, and I guess deep down, I was waiting for her to come back. Fuck, maybe it is deep-seated crazy I’m working with.

It’s been a long fucking summer. Halsey refused to meet with me, and the one time I showed up at the Moore house, Mr. Moore met me at the door.

The interaction was painful, to say the least. I could barely meet his gaze, knowing I’d see the familiar fucking disappointment looking back at me.

It’s not undeserved. I’m not delusional enough to think I didn’t ask for this in spades. I just thought maybe in the Moore family, I found my peace, but eventually, the thin veneer had to crack, and I lost everything.

Still, I stood on that doorstep, wishing for nothing more than for Halsey to greet me with a smile I don’t deserve, and stared at the man who treated me as his own.

Inexplicably, a memory of the time he took me to my first professional football game crashed through me. I’ll never forget sitting next to him while he screamed like a maniac and nitpicked every damn play like he was on the field himself.

Halsey, uninterested, played on her phone while Max and I watched the game, munching on popcorn. Through it all, I had a lump in my belly as I stared wide-eyed at the huge stadium.

The cries of the rabid fans boomed across the space as the players tossed that damn ball on the field. Every play, every scream of the audience, danced in my chest, and to this day, I can still smell the salty popcorn and taste the excitement on my tongue.

So yeah, looking into Mr. Moore’s disappointed gaze was not a moment I want to relive—ever.

“It’s not a good time, son,” he said, and my mouth twisted.

I craved that word from him when I was stupid enough to believe, but now the damn moniker was another knife to my fucking chest.

I’m not your son, am I?

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