Page 20 of Bitter Truths

Still, there’s a catharsis in recreating his form, even if I can’t show the passion that lives within him. Maybe it’s not meant to be shown because how can you harness such hunger anyway?

I never could, and I wonder if maybe that isn’t part of the problem.

Griffin: I don’t want a dog, I want you

Hals: How’s it feel to want what you can’t have?

∞∞∞

Mom devised a new tortuous way to keep us around. As promised, we are continuing our weekly family meetings via a video chat, which is awkward as fuck.

Although I’d rather be anywhere but here, I grudgingly listen as Mom prattles on, recognizing her desperate need to bring us back to the family we once were.

I suspect she blames herself for Max’s and my issues, although she shouldn’t. I think we walked into our crazy for reasons that have nothing to do with her.

Still, I know I have to do this because it makes her feel better, and I don’t want her to hurt—ever.

I’m sitting on the front porch, taking in the sunshine. I can’t contain my covert eye roll, though, as I damn the gods who inspired my mom to set up her version of a support group in the guise of a family event.

“Well, Hals, how’s your new place?” Dad asks, his tone tinny across the line.

I glance at Aaron, who’s sitting behind me on the porch, with a smile. His face is buried in a book. “It’s good. Peaceful.”

Aaron glances up and grins, and my heart warms because he’s part of my peace too, although he doesn’t know it. I haven’t been able to give him the entirety of my story yet, and maybe that’s hindering my progress, but I crave the serenity I see in his eyes, knowing he doesn’t see the broken me but the one I pasted back together with secrets and lies.

“How’s Aaron?” Mom asks.

“He’s good. He’s here if you want to say hi.”

Aaron is my mom’s new favorite person, and although I feel bad that Griffin is no longer part of the fold, because I think he craved my mom’s adoration in the wake of his parent’s rather cool outlook on parenting, it’s not something I can control.

Griffin made his choices, and now he has to live with the lonely-ass consequences.

“No. Maybe next time. Tell him I said hello. Max, what about you?” Mom asks.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, and I grimace at the pathetic response, turning away from the ache in my chest. My vivacious brother is gone. And it’s true, none of us are the same, especially me, but I’m healing. Who knows what will emerge when I’m done.

Will I be a better version of myself? I sure hope so, but the problem is, I’m still hiding behind the pretense, and pretending everything is okay gets harder and harder to do.

∞∞∞

“Halsey, how was your summer?” Dr. Marks asks me with his signature kind smile.

“It was okay,” I say lamely, glancing around the room at the now-familiar scene, the potted fucking plant still mocking me from the corner.

Although I’ve become used to sharing all my secrets with this man, my assigned counselor, all last year, there are still days when I dread coming here. I can only talk about the memories so much before I wonder if I’m really supposed to move past them. How can I forget when he keeps fucking asking me?

“Good. Any triggers?”

Other than having to live with a brother who attacked me after exposing his diabolical plan to ruin my entire teen years? Or enduring Griffin’s calls and texts and his new weird as fuck attitude and his part in my greatest shame? No.

“No, the summer was quiet. I worked, relaxed,” I say as I stare at that potted fucking plant.

“I see you went inpatient again. According to the notes, this had something to do with your brother and a friend. Would that be Mr. Hathaway?”

Once again, I just wish I could be free of this because I have no desire to rehash it. What does it even matter? I did my time, took my meds like a good little patient, and I even made fucking noodle art in group therapy. If that’s not the work I needed, then why was I there to begin with? What a racket.

“Well, my brother got into drugs, and he was messed up,” I mutter, shifting uncomfortably under his expectant gaze.

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