Page 64 of One Lovely Lie

I was basically dragged back home by my father who insisted that we had multiple events to attend. I would have just told him to fuck off, but I didn’t have any more fight left in me.

I haven’t spoken to Daniel in a month. I haven’t even seen him. I guess our friends figured out what happened and, unfortunately, chose a side. Avery is avoiding me, Carter will barely speak to me, and Ozymandias just gives me looks that could melt ice.

I don’t blame them. I kind of hate myself too right now.

I’ve wanted to reach out to Daniel too many times to count, but I couldn’t cave. I wanted to tell him that I made a mistake, that I lied, and that I love him more than he could ever imagine, but I’ve held back. I keep reminding myself that I did the right thing, that I need my inheritance, and that he is better off without me.

I did the right thing, but it’s getting harder every day to remember that.

I miss him.

I miss him so much.

I burrow myself deeper under my covers, wincing at my own bad breath as I sigh. I haven’t been taking the best care of myself. I just lay here, in the dark, under the covers, praying that I wake up from this endless, vivid nightmare I’ve created for myself.

I don’t have the energy or the motivation to do anything. Without Daniel, everything seems so meaningless.

How did I let this happen?

The covers are suddenly thrown off me and I flinch at the harsh and sudden light pouring in through my window. I closed the curtains earlier to stew in the dark, but my father’s made a point of violently ripping them open, furthering my own torture.

“Get up,” he demands, slapping the side of my leg.

I throw the covers back over me. “No.”

“Of course, only you would do the right thing but then bitch about it for the entire break,” he snaps, snatching the covers yet again.

I groan and hate the fact that I told them what happened between Daniel and me. I had to explain my sudden acceptance of the Germany plan. My mother, bless her heart, was too drunk to understand a word I said. My father didn’t even look pleased. I thought he would be. I thought he’d be even a little bit proud, but there was nothing there.

“I broke up with my boyfriend, Dad,” I bark, doing my best to not let any tears fall. I have no idea how I have any left in me. “Have some fucking sympathy.”

“No,” he states with a roll of his eyes. “God, I can’t even believe what it’s like to have to deal with you. Now, get up, you little shit. We have an event to go to and unfortunately, your presence is required.”

“I don’t want to,” I moan, wanting nothing more than to just stay here and let the mattress absorb my body.

Fuck, I miss Daniel.

“And I don’t care,” he says, throwing a suit on the bed and chucking my dress shoes so close to my head that they almost hit me. “You have ten minutes to get your ass up, get your ass cleaned up, and get your ass dressed, or I will drag you out of this room by your dirty hair.”

Oh, what’s the fucking point in fighting anything anymore? There’s no fight left in me. This is the cross I chose to die on, after all.

The party does nothing for me. Fancy people in fancy outfits speaking about fancy things. I’m too numb to enjoy the open bar I would usually hang around and I’m too tired to even try to pretend around my father’s friends.

I dressed in my nicest suit and I brushed my teeth, but I’m sure I still look like a wreck. I feel like one. I float across the party like a zombie. If anyone notices, no one cares. They make polite chit-chataroundme, notwithme, and I can’t find it in myself to be pissed.

I’m just about to escape to the bathroom when I see him.

Daniel.

Fuck, he’s just as perfect as I remember him. He’s wearing a dark gray suit that does sinful things to his figure, hugging him in all the right places, like his thick thighs and his toned arms. His blond curls are tamed today, slicked back like some sort of action-hero movie star. His eyes, they’re duller than their normal bright blue and my stomach twists in knots because I’m entirely sure that’s my fault.

He doesn’t see me but I see him. I want to call out to him. I want to see him. I want to touch and kiss and make love to him. I want to fall to my knees and ask for his forgiveness, but I’m rooted to the spot.

Maybe just one touch. I can touch him one more time, run my hand down his arm and tuck a slicked-back curl behind his ear. Maybe I can kiss him—please, God—kiss him one last time behind the catering area. Perhaps, just one more meaningful look. One more smile to make me feel alive. One more perfect minute is all I want.

But those minutes won’t be enough when he promised me forever.

“Dear God,stop it,” my father hisses, yanking me by the arm to our table and snapping my gaze away from Daniel. “You’re acting like a dick-whipped fool. Man up already.”

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