Perfect Lie(35)

Trish made a face as she chewed, and I looked back at the movie. “It’s provolone.” I sighed as I curled up on the chair and let my eyes go unfocused. I heard her mutter, “Bitch” under her breath, but I didn’t care. I struggled to keep myself awake, knowing it would be better to go to bed early tonight, but my body disagreed. I faintly heard them in the background.

“We never got to finish our date last night,” Trish said.

“Lie is right there.” His voice had an edge of annoyance, but she didn’t notice as she continued.

“She won’t care. She’s passed out.” There was a giggle, and it sounded like they were readjusting themselves on the couch.

“Haven’t you corrupted her enough?” Abel asked her.

“Come on. I know she’s a wet blanket, but it’s not like she’s a virgin or something. She has a boyfriend.”

I tried to hear the song that had been stuck in my head, but I couldn’t get it to drown out the sound of their voices.

“Has anyone actually seen this mystery boyfriend?” Abel’s voice was soft, but it cut through me like a hot knife.

Fucking jerk. I resisted the urge to jump up and run to my room. It would just be more humiliating. I felt the sting of warm tears, and I turned my head ever so slightly into the back of the chair. At least I was facing away from them; it was my only reprieve from this degradation.

“He’s probably not even real.” Trish giggled, and I hoped she choked on her omelet. There was more rustling around.

“She’s gonna wake up,” Abel said.

“Fine. Come to my room.” There was a pause then the sound of footsteps down the hall and the quiet click of Trish’s bedroom door closing, or maybe that was my heart cracking. I couldn’t be sure.

As soon as the coast was clear, I tiptoed to my room and closed the door. I made a beeline for the closet and dug out my box of secret memories. It held all the happy moments of my life, and it was no bigger than a shoebox.

I slid off the lid and made my way to my bed. I crossed my legs as I sat in the center and pulled each item out as I recalled the exact moment in time it had come from.

First was the picture of Brock from the shelter that he had stolen from his file. I stared at his black‐and‐white image as I recalled helping him choose which shirt to wear that day, only for it to be ruined by Tommy Larsen’s blood when he got hit in the nose with a basketball during our exercise time.

I pulled out another item. It was a small scrap of paper that simply read, “Bird.” I held it against my chest as a smile pulled at my lips and tears stung my eyes.

I took everything out and surrounded myself with Brock’s love. I put in my earbuds and played sad songs to drift off to sleep so I wouldn’t have to hear what was going on in the next room.

“I want to kiss you, Bird,” Brock whispered in the darkness of my room as he held me in his arms.

“No.” I giggled and pulled back from him, but he held me tightly against his chest as he glanced at the closed door, which we stood only a few feet away from.

“Why not?”

“We’ll get in trouble if someone finds us in here in the dark.” I pushed lightly against his chest, and he reluctantly released me, taking a few steps back to turn on the light and pull the door open. He’d still get in trouble for being with me, but it wouldn’t look nearly as bad. I took a few steps back and sat on the edge of my bed. I gestured to my roommate’s bed with my chin.

Brock’s gaze followed mine, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “What?” he asked, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Heather flipped out this morning because someone stole all her underwear.”

“Probably the first time anyone touched her skanky panties.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious. Guess who had to deal with her meltdown?”

Brock didn’t say anything; he just ran his hand over his hair as he bit back a laugh.

“Oh, you think it’s funny?” I grabbed my pillow and tossed it at him. He caught it before it hit his chest and tossed it gently back to my bed. “You said you wouldn’t do anything.”

“Bird, where I come from, if someone steals your shoes, they catch a beatdown. She got off easy, and I bet she won’t do it again.” He raised an eyebrow as he casually strolled toward me.

“You can’t fight my battles for me.”

His hand ran through my hair before his fingers tangled into a fist, and he gently pulled my head back so I’d look up at him. “You can’t just sit back and let people walk over you. You don’t deserve that, and I’m not going to sit back and watch as it happens. You mean too much to me.”