Page 80 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“No.” She stepped closer until the tip of her nose touched the glass. If the door was open, she’d be touching me. “Let me get this out. I know people throw the word sorry around like it means nothing, but I don’t. I believe in the power of words, and I’d never abuse them. So believe me when I say I am so incredibly sorry about your dad.”
Believe her? Never.
Water beat the floor. Flecks of liquid speckled the glass between us, fat teardrops chasing one another toward hell. She didn’t deserve a response, so I didn’t gift her one.
“That’s why you hate me,” she whispered.
So, so clueless.
I didn’t hate her for the sins of her parents. I hated her for knowing about them and doing nothing. I hated her because dad didn’t have to die.
It was why I hated myself, too.
“No, little Tiger.” My eyes finally caved, dipping to her tits. Two full, pear-shaped tits with hard nipples pointing right at me. If I looked lower, I could make out her pussy. I mustered the willpower not to and flicked my eyes back to hers. I promised, “I hate you for so much more.”
I’d told her about Dad. Got it over with, so she could wallow and languish in guilt like I did every day. A single lilac struggling to live without sunlight.
Wilted.
Withered.
Empty.
This conversation changed nothing.
There was still blood to be spilled.
Gideon’s.
Virginia’s.
Emery’s.
All my life, I’d been accused of being too much.
“Too out there.”
“Too artsy.”
“Too deranged.”
“Too petty.”
“Too lanky.”
“Too independent.”
“Too mouthy.”
“Too much.”
I took the insults and inhaled them as if they were compliments, swallowing each and every one with a cupidity that suggested they made me happy.
And they did.
I liked being too much because it meant I was never too little. I never held back. I never bit my tongue. I never pretended to be someone else.
My critics were right. I was out there, artsy, deranged, petty, lanky, busty, independent, and mouthy.
