Page 69 of Bitter Truths

I stop at the door and spin toward her, ignoring Max, who shifts uncomfortably behind her. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“We’re all lying to each other, Griffin. You just refuse to acknowledge it, and if you think Miranda is fucking immune, you’re lying to yourself. But that’s okay, go to her, love her.”

With that, her voice breaks, and she turns away, walking down the hall and away from me. I let her go, my stomach in my throat, afraid I might say things better left alone.

Like I love you. I need you. I miss you . . . I hate you. But then I fucking change my mind because maybe she needs to hear me.

Following her into the bathroom, I push the door closed and lean against it.

She spins around and gazes at me with her wide blue eyes, and I rasp, “You’re the only fucking girl I’ve ever loved. But you don’t want me, Halsey. You want the memory of the boy who fell for a girl who doesn’t exist anymore. You’re clinging to the past and punishing me for it. You want me to grovel? I’ll get on my knees. You want me to hurt? Punch me. But don’t stand there and pretend that you don’t fucking care.”

“Excuse me,” she gasps, slamming her hand on her hip.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hard, but it’s a perpetual need when I’m in her presence. She’s beautiful in every way possible, from her soft creamy skin to the tits currently heaving at me high and tight.

“You’re a coward,” I say through clenched teeth, leaning into her face angrily.

“I am not!”

“Really? What’s holding you back, Hals? Me and what I did or fear? Because you’ve been telling me for years you still love me, and now that I’ve admitted I love you too, you’ve backed away.”

She looks at me incredulously, searching my gaze with bitter eyes before she says quietly, “When I told you I loved you, I didn’t know that you had made it your life’s work to fucking torture me. So yeah, there’s that. But here’s the thing, Griff. You told me you love me. You insisted I was the one and then fucking stepped back when I was angry, which I have a right to be. I waited for you for five fucking years. How long did you wait for me before you moved on? A week?”

Leaning in until our lips are touching, I say, “I’ve waited for you since I kissed you on your fourteenth birthday. Nothing that happened after that matters. Nothing. I haven’t fucked Miranda, I haven’t fucked anyone. You won’t hear me. You don’t see.”

I drop my gaze because the words are like a punch to my stomach. No matter what I do, I can’t make her see me, not like before. It’s gone. She’s gone.

“Whatever,” she whispers, scrubbing her face.

My heart tumbles in my chest and I clench my jaw against the primal scream pressing at my throat. She gazes at me with her wide eyes, and finally, I say, “Yeah, whatever. I’m fucking done, Halsey. I can’t do this shit anymore.”

I leave the room before she can say more, and all the way to the car, I seethe in my rage until I’m behind the wheel, and I slam my fist against it. No matter the circumstances, I can’t fucking move past the girl who made my world complete, and she can’t see her way back to me.

With a weary sigh, I back out of the drive and head home, ignoring the sting in my eyes because fuck if I know what to do now.

∞∞∞

HALSEY

With a shuddering breath, I watch him go. I don’t know what to do about Griffin, and my soul hurts at the expression on his face before he left. How can I make him see?

Being around him makes my skin tingle with need and my heart pump with life, but at the same time, I’m so hateful that I want to claw his face and mark him up the way he’s scarred me.

I want to move past this. I want to be with him. He’s my person, but until the rage is contained, I can’t.

As much as I cycle through these warring emotions, I can’t focus on Griffin now. I need to move forward with my plans, and he has no place in them. But maybe once I’m done, that fucking burn on my soul will abate. Maybe.

To my relief, Max is still waiting for me in the living room when I emerge. “Max, what happened?”

“I guess Jason didn’t appreciate my efforts,” Max says, turning his gaze from the door.

“I’m so sorry, Max,” I whisper, sitting down beside him.

He looks terrible, and I feel like a fucking jerk.

Shrugging, he smiles, but it’s a gruesome sight with his bruised and purpling lip. “We got what we wanted. Half the football team knows about it. That’s something, right?”

“Yeah, but . . .” I trail off because the victory tastes ashy on my tongue. “Who hurt you?”

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