Page 120 of Bitter Truths

HALSEY

Once I’m home, I go straight to my room and drop into bed before curling into a ball. I sobbed the entire way because lying to Griffin was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s ironic because I wanted so badly for him to feel my pain once upon a time, but it hurts so fucking much that I honestly don’t know what I was thinking.

I’m an idiot for my past misdeeds. It was time I wasted. I can never get it back. And now we have so few sweet memories together.

Ironically, I’m back where I started, staring at a fucking wall with any progress I made gone. Oblivion is what I seek, but the pain rolling around in my chest won’t ease. Apparently, even oblivion is too good for me.

Chuffing out a hysterical laugh, I keen my sorrow like a dying fucking animal, and when that doesn’t make it go away, I rock back and forth, back and forth.

I don’t know how much time passes before I give in, rise, and pull out my paints. Impatiently, I find the first canvas I see and brush the picture onto the page with a ferocity that might scare me if I weren’t fucking hysterical.

The images emerge under my desperate strokes, and when I’m done, I stare with horror.

Griffin stands at the forefront of the picture with a cool look on his face. Miranda is at his side, and I’m behind them. My face is blank once again because I refused to fill in the features. I’m holding the beating heart of the only boy I’ve ever loved with my hand clenched. My nails pierce the bloody organ, and his essence seeps between the cracks of my fingers.

Blankly, I stare and stare, my painful fucking future before me until I can’t stand the visage, and I rip into it with my hands. I welcome the pain as the canvas fights back, and I scream in frustration when the damn frame won’t budge.

Dropping the painting at my feet, I search out scissors, but I can’t find them, and eventually, I drop back down to the floor in my room and smile sadly because I can’t make this image go away. It’s permanent, just like my dead fucking soul.

∞∞∞

Time has no meaning for me as I lay in bed staring at the fucking wall and not even Aaron checking in on me has an impact. Not until he stands over me and threatens to call my mother do I pull myself from the bed wearily.

I only have enough energy to make it to the couch, where I collapse, and Aaron sits beside me with a cautious frown.

“What’s happened?” he asks softly, his pretty brown eyes drawn down with concern.

Staring into nothing, I say blankly, “I killed it.”

“Killed what?”

“Love. Redemption. Life. Take your fucking pick,” I say bitterly before leaning over and clutching my aching stomach.

“It won’t go away,” I whisper.

“What?” he asks softly, touching my back.

“The pain,” I wail. “It hurts so bad.”

“Sh,” he says, pulling me into his arms and rocking me gently.

“It hurts. It fucking hurts,” I scream, and he holds me tighter as I squirm and cry, the pain burning through me so awfully that I contemplate my end. Would it be so fucking bad?

“It’ll be okay,” he says, breaking me from my thoughts.

“No, it won’t. It will never be okay again,” I say harshly, pulling away from and stalking back to my room before closing the door.

Leaning against the wood, I heave for air before clenching my hand so tightly the pain overrides the panic. But nothing can make the pain go away, fucking nothing.

With a resigned sigh, I turn my head to the mirror and stare at my reflection.

I came here a year and a half ago, broken but trying to heal. I’ve come a long way but have been forced backward too many times to count. Do I want to give up? Do I want another fucker to use me?

I don’t. And frankly, I have nothing left to lose. Stretching my mouth into a smile, I turn away from my wretched expression with resolve.

If I can’t fucking win, I might as well go out with a fucking bang.

∞∞∞

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