Perfect Lie(4)

“I’m Delilah, the mistake.” I laughed nervously as I wiped my hand across my cheek. Brock also laughed, humorlessly.

“That’s a nice name.”

“My friends call me ‘Lie.’ Not really. I don’t have any.” I rolled my eyes, wishing the room would swallow me whole.

Brock shook his head and sat next to me on my bed. I slid over, not liking being so close to someone I didn’t know, and wondered what his motive was. No one was ever nice to me just for the sake of being nice. He had to want something.

“I stole a car and disappeared for a few weeks,” he confessed with a laugh as he ran his hand along his strong jaw.

“Accidents happen.” I shrugged as I let my legs hang over the edge of the bed.

“It wasn’t an accident.” He laughed again, and his gray eyes met mine for a moment before he studied the speckled tile floor. “I was pissed. We just moved here from Boston, and I had to leave all my friends behind. It was stupid.”

“I ran away.” My voice was barely a whisper, and I braced for him to ask me to elaborate, but he only nodded, his hand falling on my knee and giving it a small squeeze.

“It’s not that bad here. I promise.”

“Can’t be any worse than home.” I sighed dramatically.

“You’re kind of intense, Lie.” His lips quirked up in a smile, revealing deep dimples that settled into his cheeks, and I fought against a grin.

“So what are you? Like, the welcome committee or something?” I joked nervously as I pulled my lower lip between my teeth.

“You just looked like you needed a friend.”

“Where were you a few years ago?” I rolled my eyes again, this time wishing I could pull out of my funk for five minutes. This guy was making an effort, and I probably was scaring him away.

“Well, I have plenty of time to make it up to you.” There was no hint of humor in his expression, and I relaxed next to him.




“What did you think of Brock when you first met him?” Marie asked, shaking me from my memories, and I realized I was smiling.

“He was different. No one had ever really been nice to me before.”

“So you liked him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you feel guilty for liking him?”

“Wouldn’t you?” I sighed loudly as I ran my hand through my ponytail. “Look at what happened. If Brock never had met me he—”

Marie held up her hand to stop me from completing my thought. “We can’t control other people’s actions. You’re only responsible for what you do. Do you think you did something wrong?”

“I existed.” Unable to look her in the eye, I brushed away a tear that fell from my lashes.

“You aren’t responsible for other people’s actions. That includes your mother and Brock.”

“It’s not just what he did. I just…”

“You don’t regret being with him.” Marie finished my thought with a sigh. I nodded, not wanting to admit it out loud. “That’s understandable, Delilah. You’d gone through a lot with the bullying and the issues with your mother. No one blames you for clinging to the one person who showed you kindness.”

“Brock wasn’t just kind. He was everything. He listened and he cared. He was protective of me, and for the first time in my life, I felt safe.”

“Tell me about how he made you feel safe.”

I readjusted in my seat as I looked at the drops on the window that had run together, blurring the picture of the outside world.

I was writing in my notebook, stuck on where I wanted my story to go. It’s hard to even imagine a fictional happy ending when you’ve never experienced one in real life. A shadow fell over me as I lay on my stomach in bed, and I glanced up to see Brock smiling down at me. My heart instantly fluttered as I locked eyes with his. I tried to tell myself that the nervous feeling that settled in my stomach when he was near was from his intense personality. Brock was the kind of guy who could cut someone down with a glare, but his eyes softened when he looked at me, and I knew fear wasn’t the cause of my nervousness.

“You gonna stay locked up in here like some Disney princess, or you gonna join the group?”

I dropped my pen on the paper as I let my eyes drift lower, roaming over his T‐shirt, which read, “Anarchy” across his muscular chest.

“You like that?” He smirked, and I glanced up in time to catch him winking at me.

“What?” I pushed myself up from the bed and brushed my hair from my face.

“The shirt. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Yeah. It’s cool.” God, I was a bumbling idiot, but at least he thought I was checking out his dumb shirt and not his body.