by Nina Lincoln
“Ohh, Griff,” a high-pitched voice giggles.
Stuttering to a stop, I lean my head against the wood, cringing when I hear another giggle. Shit.
Please tell me he isn’t about to get it on while I’m trapped in his bathroom.
Unable to resist, I crack the door open and peek into the room, acknowledging I must be in hell when I spy Griff with some chick who is not Miranda, although all I can see is the back of her damn head.
He’s leaning against the door as she sucks him off, and it’s simultaneously hot and fucking grotesque. His eyes are closed, his mouth open as he holds her hair in his hand and bucks into her mouth.
Sucking in a breath, I squirm, my core throbbing at the sight of his need—fuck, but this is insane, and I can’t turn away as he groans and pulls her head back, spraying her face. Simultaneously, he opens his eyes and looks right at me through a half-lidded stare with his damn diabolical smirk.
For a breathless moment, I take in the look, such pleasure anathema to me, before I close the door, my cheeks on fire, and lean against it, my heart pounding out of my chest.
Was this for my benefit? Another cruel maneuver to remind me of what I can’t have? He’s forever fucking punishing me, but I don’t know what for.
Now I have to face the dick eventually, knowing he knows I watched him get sucked off. I mean, could the universe throw me a fucking bone?
“Ohhh.”
Opening my eyes, where the image of Griffin’s face as he orgasmed are seared into my retinas, I spin to the door and lean my forehead against the wood once more.
“Yes, baby,” the chick squeals, and with a huff, I damn my life as Griffin proceeds to fuck her while I’m trapped in the fucking bathroom. Fucker.
Don’t guys need a recovery period or some shit?
“Ahh,” Griffin’s deep voice rings out, and I sigh, wishing for the billionth time that he wasn’t my weakness because even after everything that was said and cruelly done this evening, my chest still pulses with agony that it’s not me in there with him but some other chick.
Completely ridiculous, but there you go—I’m not taking crazy pills because I’m normal. After an interminable time later, in which I squirmed uncomfortably through the entire fiasco, the sounds end, and I peek out once more, sighing to find it finally empty.
I’m torn between hunting Griffin down and begging him to fuck me and kneeing him in the nads because although curiously warm at the spectacle I was forced to endure, I’m fucking enraged by his ridiculous and, frankly, juvenile behavior.
The party’s starting to die down, to my relief, but my slight adrenaline buzz from listening to Griffin fuck some bitch like a porn star drops when I spy him standing in the kitchen doing shots with Jason Macklemore.
The irony isn’t lost on me because my former best friend is standing in the kitchen celebrating with the guy who broke me—literally. And the sight makes my heart clench so painfully with despair that for a moment I can’t physically breathe.
Griffin’s eyes catch mine, and they darken as he searches my gaze before the expression disappears altogether, and he smirks, raising his glass to me and tossing it back.
Thankfully, Jason does the same with his back turned to me, but visions I can’t escape fly across my eyes anyway. The fucker is standing in the only sanctuary I’m supposed to have.
Try feeling safe now.
Miranda appears at Griffin’s side, and my eyes narrow because I’m tired of the fucking torment, and Griffin’s all too pleased with himself. You wanna play with me? Bring it.
Searching the crowd, I find the bimbo Griffin just fucked and approach her with a gleam in my eye as he watches me with furrowed brows from across the room.
Dropping down to whisper in her ear, I smile viciously when her head shoots to Griffin in the kitchen, a thrill rushing through me to find his glacial eyes on mine in a warning that I don’t heed.
His angry stare follows me back to my room, and raising my finger in salute, I lock myself inside, smiling when a commotion breaks out, and the sounds of two shrieking women emerge.
All of which fades at the remembrance of Jason fucking Macklemore standing in my kitchen.
With a sigh, I lie on the bed and shove my face into the pillow, screaming my rage into the soft downy fabric, but it does nothing to temper the feeling stinging my veins. Instead, I stare at the ceiling, resigned to another sleepless night.
Chapter Five
Who are you but the lies you tell?
Feeling strangely light after my therapy session on Monday morning, I sit down in class and pull out my things. Today we discussed ways to redirect my emotions, such as the urge to sleep the agony away, and it’s given me a direction I’m hoping will make a difference.
And for a moment, a brief moment, there’s a sense of peace I haven’t felt in a long time, but it melts when Griffin sits down beside me silently.
We haven’t spoken about his little show over the weekend, and despite my ire, I’m consumed with heat at the image of him orgasming on that chick’s face.
I’m sure he’s annoyed by my petty act of revenge, but I feel no remorse. Giving him a sideways glare, I huff but otherwise ignore him, gnashing my teeth when a cute girl sits next to him and proceeds to talk his ear off.
From the corner of my eyes, I watch as he smiles at her, and the slight curl to his lip sends a cascade of tingles down my spine in remembrance of that same look when he kissed me for the first and only time. Oh, how I loved that smile.
Clenching my fist on the desk, I turn blindly to the front and hope for a peace that’s long gone. This is why when Hogan sits down beside me, I turn to him desperately and, to his surprise, give him my best flirty smile.
It’s probably grotesque, but he’s a dude. All he sees are tits and ass, so he eats it up.
“Hey, Halsey, how was your weekend?” he asks, with a friendly smile.
“It was good. How about you?”
“Great! Hit a couple of parties, you know.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, twirling a lock of hair around my face.
Truthfully, the pretense makes my skin crawl, but the air around Griffin is cold, and I smile triumphantly until he leans into me and whispers, his lips so close to my ear, I shiver at his breath caressing my face, “Your bitch is showing. Remember the last time you tried to make me jealous?”
Unfortunately, I fucking do, and it’s like ice down my spine. Fuck. Rigid, I turn back to the front and stare blindly at the board.
I don’t care who you fuck, as long as it’s not me.
Dr. Marks begins his lesson, and I listen with a single-minded intensity, fighting off the memories that threaten to pull me under because this is my penance for being stupid and foolish.
Griffin’s silky words are a reminder, and I’ve continued to ignore the writing on the wall, clinging to something just out of my reach because there’s no redemption here, not for any of us. Griffin is cold and closed off. Max is angry and drowning. And I’m…broken.
We’re not who we were, and the cord that held us together has been severed. So why do I continue to cling to the rope?
“For your term project, you’ll need to choose a partner. Choose wisely. I want one paper each, a case study of your partner. Use the information you learn from the textbook and tell me a story of the person you interview.”
We wrap up, thankfully, because I’m too disturbed by the notion of sharing my secrets with anyone to take notes. The crazy rolling around in this head could fill twenty term papers, which would just be the start.
“Do you want to be—” Hogan says, but Griffin butts in, “She’s my partner.”
I’m pretty sure the bimbo next to him sighs in disappointment, but I pay her no mind as I stare at Griff incredulously.
He gives me a glacial stare when I don’t respond, beyond proper speech, and when he tilts his head toward the door, I follow aloofly. He must be out of his mind. He can’t even look at me without scowling, and he wants to be my partner? Mo
re likely torture the shit out of me.
When we reach the steps outside, I start in already with a head of steam. “We are not going to be partners.”
“Yes, we are.” He doesn’t even bother to look at me after his statement, his shoulders tight with tension as he walks before me.
“No! Griffin, why do you even want to be?” I mutter, trying to keep up with his long strides.
“I don’t.” His hand slashes in the air before he drops it to his side, now clenched in a fist.
“Then, what—” I sputter.
Swinging around so abruptly, I step back with a gasp, he leans into my face and says, “You’re a thorn in my fucking side, sweetheart. Never forget it, but we’re stuck with each other, so suck it the fuck up!”
Bewildered, I watch him walk away, torn between psychoanalyzing his endearment and his insistence we’re stuck together. What does that even mean?
∞∞∞
The following morning, I head to class grimly, thankful both of the guys are already gone when I emerge because I’m still brooding over Griffin’s insistence on being my partner but also majorly confused.
He’s actively avoided me for years and now wants to cozy up and share secrets?
It doesn’t make sense, which means I’m missing something, probably to do with watching over me as the crazy bitch on the edge of ending it at any given moment.
I can just see my mom pulling him aside and begging him to take care of me or some shit, although I think his efforts would have a more significant impact if he’d stop fucking anything with tits and ass, but whatever.
I’m halfway to my class when I spot Dr. Marks coming up beside me, to which I smile uncomfortably. I know he’s my professor, and this is probably normal, but he’s the dude who knows my dirtiest secrets, which means I can’t ever have a regular relationship with him. It’s bad enough spilling what’s inside me across a desk. Try acting normal when it’s in full view of the world.
“Hey, Halsey, how are you?” he asks with a friendly smile.
“Oh, um, fine,” I mumble, ignoring the heat singeing my cheeks.
Get a grip, Halsey.
“How’s the week going?”
“Good.” I avoid his gaze because I can’t shake the feeling that he can see behind the mask, and I’m terrified of what he knows.
“How do you like your courses so far?”
“Okay. My Poli Sci class is kicking my ass, though,” I grumble, smiling when he laughs.
“Yeah, well, you either love politics, or you don’t,” he chuckles.
“Halsey?”
Whipping my head around, I meet the stone-cold stare of Griffin, who’s standing beside a buxom brunette I don’t recognize and of whom he stalks away from, heading straight toward me.
“I’ll see you later, Halsey,” Dr. Marks says, walking off, but I’m caught in Griffin’s icy stare and can only mutter halfheartedly, “Later.”
Griffin glances the way of our professor before stopping before me and demanding, “What was that about?”
“What?” I glance around confused.
“You and him? Halsey, what were you doing with him?” he asks harshly, curling his hands into fists.
“Dr. Marks?” I raise my brows as his jaw clenches tightly.
“Yes.”
“Chatting. Griffin, what is your problem?”
“Are you fucking him?” he asks roughly, his eyes blazing into mine.
Shocked, I step back and look him over scathingly, ignoring how hot he looks in a tank and shorts, that same tattoo blazing across his arm, which I note absently is a dragon.
“Right, of course. I’m fucking my professor,” I say tartly.
His eyes narrow to thin slits, his nostrils flaring as he leans into my face and says in a deadly, cold tone, “That better be a fucking joke.”
Narrowing my eyes right back, I put on my best sassy expression. “Or what?”
He rears back, his eyes flickering before his mouth flattens into a thin line. “You can be kicked out for fucking the faculty, but maybe you don’t care? Maybe this is another fucked-up way to get attention, hm? When are you going to grow up, Halsey? When are you going to stop acting like a little brat? You’re worrying your parents, Max—”
“Please, Max doesn’t give a shit,” I say, breaking into his rant, my cheeks stinging with humiliation.
As if I walk through every day choosing to feel like this, as if I have a fucking choice at all. Fuck him. Fuck them all.
“What I do or don’t do is none of your business. You think you can lord your shit over me? You? How about you back off because dicks like you who get off on getting off probably shouldn’t be giving life lessons!” I say heatedly.
He smirks and crosses his arms over his chest, and I do not stare at it or them, even if I want to so badly my eyes are fucking watering.
“Is that right? Well, at least I don’t fuck people to find my own self-worth. You know why Jason fucking dumped you? Because he doesn’t want some chick hanging off of him over pussy,” he sneers.
Laughing, I step away and nod, whispering, “You’re right, but tell me how that’s okay? Tell me how you can fuck anything with a hole and it’s okay? But if I do it, it’s because I’m a fucking stage one clinger?”
“Because,” he says silkily, “you can’t fuck anything without deciding you’re in love.”
“Whatever.” I cast my eyes to the sky before turning to go, my stomach roiling with disgust.
“By the way, I’m hurt that you would profess your undying love for me and then fucking drop me for a douche like Jason.”
The reminder of my confession is a low blow, mainly because he threw it back in my face like yesterday’s trash, but I screw my expression into nonchalance and turn to say, “I guess I was wrong. You weren’t the one, after all.”
I don’t wait around for a response, and I refuse to entertain his cold-as-fuck expression as I hightail it to class and miss the entire lecture for the brooding I can’t hold back.
Why does Griffin care about Jason anyway? He as much as pushed me into Jason’s arms, and now he’s all caught up in the aftermath?
Unless he still thinks I’m about to off myself over the jerk. Ugh. What a nightmare. I’m not sure which is worse—him thinking I killed myself at all or that he thinks I did it over Jason.
Well, if there’s a silver lining, it’s that he doesn’t believe me about loving him anymore. Maybe that pathetic piece of me can reform out of the garbage of this fucking nightmare.
∞∞∞
I force myself to get out of bed the following morning, recognizing the pull of desire that wants me to stay there and wallow, but it will be that much harder to get out of bed tomorrow if I give in.
Griffin’s assertions about me rolled around in my head all night and into this morning, making sleep nothing but a wish, especially when he started up fucking someone last night around 11:00 p.m.
The unbelievable gall to accuse me of sleeping with our professor as he mounts someone in his room isn’t lost on me. Besides, gross. I would never ever sleep with the dude who knows my worst secrets. And I’m still baffled by his statements surrounding Jason.
Since it’s still warm enough to swim, I don a suit and head out back, rationalizing that this is exercise and getting out of bed is enough for today. I’ll go back to my walks tomorrow.
The pool is heated, which is nice, and I dip below the surface, floating briefly before turning into a swimmer’s stance and gliding from one end to the next.
I used to contemplate joining the team in school because swimming is natural to me—I’m a true water baby—but all that fell out the window when I lost my way. I just didn’t have the heart for it.
Frankly, I didn’t have the motivation for anything, and in my weaker moments, I wonder if I wasn’t headed for the padded room long before that night. Perhaps that was just the final straw?
Still, slicing through the water is soothing and allows me to think, to w
hich I studiously ignore anything to do with Griffin and contemplate my studies. I already feel behind, and this despite my best efforts, but some days concentrating is more challenging than I thought it would be.
I don’t think the meds help with that, but I’m sure I’d be shot down right quick if I mentioned not taking them. Some days it feels as though I’m walking through a mental fog, and I can’t decide if it’s better or worse than the alternative.
What I wouldn’t give for a break from my fucking life.
Emerging from the water with a gasp, I spy Griff standing at the edge, staring down at me with a mercurial expression before he says gruffly, “C’mon, let’s get started on our assignment.”
“Now? We have all semester,” I grumble.
I was still hoping to find my way out of this, and his insistence is causing no small amount of anxiety.
“I’m not going to have time with my other classes, and I have to keep my grades up,” he grunts.
How is this my problem?
With a long-suffering sigh, I pull myself up the steps and grab my towel, turning when I hear Griffin huff behind me.
But my annoyance at his perennial impatience pops like a balloon when I find his eyes eating up my form hungrily, the hazel orbs bright with appreciation.
Immediately, my nipples pebble in my bikini, and my limbs fail me as my breath leaves me in a whoosh, and mortifyingly, I trip over my own feet.
Griffin steps forward and catches me to him, pulling me against the glory that is his chest, and I gasp when his heavy erection presses against my stomach, both surprised and aching at the revelation.
Well, that and only two thin pieces of fabric exist between him and me—thoughts of which make me tingle.
I can also confirm that his package is indeed as large as I thought it might be. Fuck me.
Griffin pulls me up, circling his arms around me, and after a brief hesitation, he smooths his hand down my backside and cups my ass.
Caught under the rush of fire racing over my skin, I stare at his bare chest breathlessly, my eyes roaming over the gleaming muscles blankly as I hold back the moan trembling on my lips.
