Page 41 of Bitter Truths

My gaze flies to him, and I lean back in my chair. “What? No.”

“Did he touch you? Stimulate you?”

“No.” Shifting in my seat, I glance away under his intensity, sweat gathering on my palms. Where is this coming from?

“Have you had sex since the incident?” he probes.

Searching his expression, I finally answer reluctantly when he raises an expectant brow. “Yes.”

“Did you climax?”

“Wh-what?” I stutter. What’s happening? Is this even appropriate?

“Did you find pleasure in the act?” he asks impatiently.

“Yes, why?”

“Because sex is an important part of your emotional journey, and if you can orgasm, that’s a good thing. Do you want to talk about it?”

“What?” I shift again, my pulse pounding in my head. He’s never had more than a kind tone, but now it’s as though I’m annoying him.

“The sex,” he says with a pointed look.

“No.”

I hardly want to share my intimate moments with my therapist, and I’m not sure I would go down this road even if it wasn’t Griffin, but because it is, it feels like a betrayal to consider it. What we did was special to me, and this feels . . . sordid to discuss.

“Hm, well, maybe next time,” he says, tapping his chin.

Smiling feebly, I welcome the end of the session and leave quickly, breathing in the fresh air as soon as I exit. But I’m thoroughly confused by what just happened.

∞∞∞

Griffin doesn’t show up to our art class. Miserably, I pull out my notebook and attempt to concentrate even though I’m sunk in confusion.

The irony is that I should be glad he’s not here. Instead, I feel like a bitch. Apparently, revenge isn’t my thing. All I want to do is take it back, but it’s too fucking late.

I’m still ruminating over Dr. Marks’ words and Griffin’s absence over the weekend. I can’t get Griffin’s cold as fuck look out of my head, and I can’t help but feel as though he’s dropped our shared class to avoid me altogether.

Even when Griffin was ignoring me and treating me like a dick, he was still there, and now I feel as though he’s truly gone.

Then there’s Dr. Marks. His interest in my sex life makes me feel itchy, causing me to wonder if it’s normal to talk about during therapy. His explanation made sense because intimacy is an important part of my journey, but the whole conversation felt off.

Aaron convinces me to go to a party, and because I’m completely fucked in the head, I go for the distraction. It’s at a frat house I’ve never been to before, and I stick close to Aaron’s side. I may have made progress, but I’m still gun-shy when it comes to groups such as this.

After a few hours of mingling and dancing to the music, I tip my head back and smile lazily, laughing when Aaron grabs my hip and grinds against me teasingly.

“C’mon, bitch, it’s getting late, and I have a test on Monday,” he says. With a silent sigh, I agree, grabbing his hand as he pulls me through the crowd.

For a while there, I was free of the thoughts that plague me day and night, the rage that pushes at my throat, the regret because I love Griffin and I’m miserable without him.

We’re ten feet from the door when I stop abruptly, spying none other than Miranda standing a few feet away, but I can’t believe my eyes when I see who’s she with—Griffin.

He’s looking the other way, but she’s standing next to him, with a drink in her hand. My heart stops at the sight before clenching so painfully I gasp out a breath. I can’t believe my eyes. I can’t believe . . .

Sensing my stare, she looks up before flinching away from my heated glare, but just as quickly, she firms her mouth and raises her chin.

So, it’s like that, is it? I guess he moved on quickly enough.

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