Page 16 of Bitter Truths

Great, add it to the list of things I can’t outrun.

I’m back at school, staying in the house my parents insisted I buy. It was one more way to control my life, but in this, I gave in fairly easily. It allowed me the opportunity to be around Halsey.

Her painting mocks me from the wall, but I can’t bring myself to take it down. Even though I hung it to torture Halsey, it also reminds me of her. I assumed she painted it as a form of self-expression, with the woman curled into herself and looking over her shoulder with a soft look.

She created it after us, and the sick, twisted part of me keeps it because every part of her belongs to me, even the shit that shouldn’t.

When I found her on her knees before the matching piece, ripped to shreds, my heart jumped into my throat. Her thin shoulders jerked with her heavy breaths. Her body was curled forward, as though protecting itself, and the wild look on her face tore at my soul.

The Halsey I knew was fading away, and in her place was a feral animal clawing her way out of the abyss.

I didn’t understand it then, and I’ll never completely understand it now, but I wish I had seen past my own darkness so I could have reached her in hers.

I can’t verbalize the void that became my heart when Max lied, but it was so dark and ugly, I feared for my sanity at times. Is that what she felt, kneeling on the floor?

Moving my gaze away from the fucking picture, I sag into the couch and wince when the sound echoes in the empty space. My half-eaten sandwich, which tastes like sawdust, still sits on the plate before me with a single fly buzzing around it.

With a sigh, I turn on the television. Announcers argue on my favorite sports channel, but the noise does nothing to ease the void. It’s so fucking quiet that I can hear my thoughts, and I’m tired of my fucking thoughts.

Wherever I look, I see Halsey. Halsey walking down the hall with her bright blue eyes. Halsey in the kitchen with her tousled fuck me hair.

Shit. The first time I fucked her was here. And in my head, I can hear her declaring it being the last place too.

I’m trapped, and I wish I hadn’t bought the damn place because I can’t escape her. I was a fool. A fucking idiot. I wanted her to see me so badly that I forgot I was supposed to see her too. It’s no wonder she hates my guts.

Shit, I hate my guts.

I don’t know what the right answer is, but my instinct to bulldoze over her wish’s thrums under the surface, and I have to fight the urge.

It’s why I insisted on being her partner for that stupid assignment last year. And my demand to work on homework was a lie made up on the spot. As always, I had the incessant fucking need to pull her close even as I pushed her away.

Even in her hate, I sought her out because every time I felt the pull telling me I was falling, her gaze anchored me once more.

That day, when I found her in the pool, and she stepped from the water in her tiny bathing suit, that’s when I gave up.

Whatever she did, I didn’t care because I still wanted her, even if I hated her for it. The knowledge that she threw me away and still I was a slave to her ate at me like a cancer.

In my fucked-up state, I chose to take her back. I knew I would never trust her, but I could still fuck her. But I refused to be the dick she used again, and so I worked my way around it with infinite care.

Now I can only chuckle at my arrogance. The whole situation was messed up. And I had no idea. I dug myself a hole so wide I may never climb my way out of it.

It doesn’t matter, though, because she’s gone. Max is gone. And the eternal fucking silence is ringing in my damn ears.

Quiet, Griffin, I’m sleeping.

Grabbing my head, I groan into the universe and damn my fucking fucked-up head. No, fuck this. I will not sink again.

I have a thousand friends on social media, and I’m sitting here like a douche. Fuck it. I could fill this place in an hour.

Sending out a text, I rub my face before stepping into the shower. My head aches like a motherfucker, and my eyes burn, but I can’t sleep without dreaming of her, so why bother?

An hour later, the house is filled wall to wall with people, and the bass pump of music creates a backdrop for the low din of conversation.

Taking a deep breath for the first time in hours, I grab a beer and find a corner to lean against the wall. Although I filled the place on purpose, I’m not in the headspace to party.

With these dicks, it doesn’t matter though. They’ll party it up just fine without me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it free with a thump in my chest, sucking in a breath when I see Halsey’s response to my last text.

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