Page 116 of Bitter Truths

I’m afraid to so much as look at his face, staring at my clenched hands instead. He rounds the desk after shutting the door and the thin squeal of his chair moving as he sits is ominous in the silence.

“Halsey?” he asks.

“Yes?” I whisper, refusing to look up. My stomach is clenched so tightly, there’s a physical ache, and I fight back the shudder quivering in my spine.

“I received your request to transfer. Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

His tone is even, and I glance up to find him looking at me curiously, but there’s no malice, and I relax slightly, saying, “I’d just feel more comfortable with a woman. After everything that’s happened.”

“I see. Well, I only want you to share your journey, and if you think that would be better served with a woman, I am glad to step away.”

“Thanks, I—”

“However, this doesn’t change the fact that we need to address your other disorders. I expect we can do that in a venue with which you’d feel more comfortable, hm?”

“Wh-what?” I bumble, “I don’t—”

“Halsey, need I remind you that this is for your own good? You think fucking Mr. Hathaway is going to solve your problem? No, you will continue your treatment, and I will help you,” he says firmly.

“No,” I say softly, clenching my trembling hands in my lap.

“No?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. Ducking my head so he can’t see the tears welling in my eyes, I repeat it. “No.”

“I don’t think you understand. I’m not asking. You can continue your treatment, as I recommend or I can speak to your mother. I’m worried about your mental state, and I believe that only intense treatment in the hospital will be therapeutic. Perhaps . . . shock treatment,” he says silkily.

“Um, what?” I raise my head and gaze into his calculating stare, shrinking under the darkness staring back at me.

“Halsey,” he says, raising a brow. “This is for your own good. Once you’re healed, you can do whatever the fuck you want, but until then, you will listen to me. You will end your relationship with Mr. Hathaway, and you will meet me on Friday at my home. Do you understand?”

“No,” I say, staring at him blankly. End it. Why?

“You will break up with Mr. Hathaway. Today. You will be at my home Friday at nine p.m.,” he says firmly. “And Halsey, if you tell anyone, I will make this worse for you.”

∞∞∞

All the way to Griffin’s house, I’m numb. Every single bit of hope I felt while with him is gone, and in its place, a dead space that feels concave in my chest.

I have no choice. I never did. I’ve never had a fucking choice, and Dr. Marks is just another fucking man in a long line of them taking the reins from my hands. I can defy him, and he’ll hurt me because he holds the fucking strings.

It’s for the best, though, because I don’t want Griffin to see me like this. I don’t want to come home to him after whatever Dr. Marks does. As it is, I can’t stand the thought of looking him in the eye, and this is only after an awkward conversation that makes me want to die—for real this time.

Griffin is watching television when I enter, and I pause at the door, taking a deep breath and summoning everything I have in me to pretend. Pretend this isn’t killing me inside. Pretend that when I walk from this house for the last time, it won’t kill the last tiny sliver of my soul still living in this barren chest.

When I’m ready, I plaster a smile on my face and step into the living room. “Hey,” I say with a soft smile, eating him up greedily.

This may be the last time I look into his beautiful hazel eyes, and I commit them to memory even though they’ve been emblazoned on my brain since I met him all those years ago. Next, I study his lush lips, squeezing my thighs together at the promise he exudes just by breathing.

He’s shirtless, and my eyes roll over the gleaming muscle and sexy dragon tattoo before staring at his happy trail, another vestige of the pleasure I crave. Whatever that fucker Dr. Marks says, this isn’t about being submissive. This is about Griffin because I crave what only he can give.

He’s the one, and I’m about to crush his fucking soul. I know if I don’t, nothing else will send him away. He’ll never give up unless I make him think I’m the ultimate bitch, and even then, maybe that won’t be enough. I don’t know. But I have to try.

It’s all I have left.

“Hey,” he says quietly, his eyes bright as he runs his gaze over me. I revel in his need, striding toward him with a sultry smirk, before climbing into his lap and running my hands down his chest.

“You’re so fucking hot, Griff,” I whisper, and he groans, thrusting into me.

My core tingles at the contact and I buck against him. He exhales sharply and, with a slow smile, runs his hand down the side of my neck, over the swell of my breasts, and down my sides.

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