Twisted Hate (Twisted, 3)

Remember when I said I forgive you? I lied. 

I stumbled toward the metro, Josh’s words echoing in my brain like an endless taunt.

Remember when I said I forgive you? I lied. 

When I said I forgive you? I lied.

Forgive you? I lied.

I lied.

I lied.

Tears blurred my vision, and I wasn’t sure if I was going in the right direction, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get away.

From Josh’s cruel words, his cold eyes, and his vindictive touch.

From the knowledge that I’d fucked up and had no one to blame except myself.

People said to have loved and lost was better than never having loved at all.

They never said a damn thing about what it was like to have the person you loved and lost look at you like they utterly loathed you. Josh had never looked at me like that, not even when I thought he hated me.

I swiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand, but it was like trying to sweep water back into the ocean. Utterly futile.

I knew there was a chance Josh would react badly to the truth. I just hadn’t expected him to react that badly.

The worst part was, he was right. I hadn’t trusted him to take my side after learning the truth. I’d been so blinded by my insecurities, so terrified of destroying one of the few beautiful things in my life, that I turned its destruction into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Josh hadn’t cared about the sex tape or the stupid painting. He’d only cared that I lied to him.

I was such a fucking idiot.

If you’d asked for the painting, I would’ve given it to you. I would’ve given you anything you wanted.

Fresh needles of pain pierced my chest. My heart burned like someone had raked it over hot coals, and I couldn’t drag enough air into my lungs. Maybe it was because every breath hurt.

Every breath, every heartbeat, every blink. Normal bodily functions that all just hurt.

Even my body hated me.

I wiped my face again as the metro came into view. I’d made it, sort of.

Six stops until I reached the station near my apartment, then a five-minute walk to my building.

Six stops. Five minutes.

I could survive for that long.

“Get yourself together,” I hiccupped. “Before people call the cops on you.”

I was already attracting a mix of alarmed and concerned looks from passersby. Talking to myself probably didn’t help.

Luckily, the train arrived right as I entered the platform, so I didn’t have to wait. I chose the emptiest car and curled up in the corner, watching the dark tunnels rush by outside. My crazed reflection stared back at me from the opposite window—hair wild, black tracks of mascara running down my face, skin covered with blotches of bright red like I had a nasty case of hives.

Did you really think so little of me that you thought I’d judge you for things you were manipulated into doing? That I wouldn’t have been on your side and took that fucker down with you?

I closed my eyes, wishing with everything in me that I could turn back time and redo all my decisions regarding Max.

I was supposed to be a lawyer. Logical, reasonable, strategic. But when it came to Max and Josh, I’d been anything but.

How had I fucked up my own life so badly?

I opened my eyes again, not wanting to spend too long in my thoughts. They would just torture me.

Instead, I watched the metro stops pass by with a detached awareness.

Tenleytown. Van Ness. Cleveland Park. Adams Morgan/Woodley Park.

By the time I reached my stop and made the short trek from the station to The Mirage, my sobs had given way to a cold numbness.

I walked through the dark, silent apartment, my steps unnaturally loud against the hardwood floors. Stella wasn’t home, so I didn’t have to field questions about why I looked like such a hot mess.

All I wanted was to sleep the night away, but I managed to take a quick shower before I climbed into bed. My movements were stiff and mechanical, like I wasn’t truly there.

I wish I weren’t.

Despite the exhaustion pulling at my eyes, I couldn’t fall asleep, so I just stared at the ceiling and listened to the silence.

Maybe it was my imagination, but a whiff of Josh’s cologne from the last time he slept over lingered. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend he was there, his face buried in my neck and his strong body cradling mine.

You know, you’re the first guy I’ve been with in my room.

First and last, Red.

Possessive much?

Damn right I am. I don’t like sharing.

Sharing is a virtue, Josh.

I don’t give a flying fuck. I don’t share. Not when it comes to you.

Something warm and wet trickled down my cheek. Its saltiness teased my lips, and I realized I was crying again.

Unlike my earlier sobs, these tears didn’t make a sound. They were quiet screams trapped in my chest, burrowing into my bones and suffocating me.

I didn’t bother wiping them away. I just lay there, staring into the darkness and letting it eat me alive.