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Perfect Lie(63)

By:Teresa Mummert


I pushed my food around the bowl, my stomach twisted in knots as I thought about finally telling someone about my past. Becoming someone new didn’t make anything go away. It didn’t change anything. I couldn’t escape what had happened, and keeping it to myself made my life a miserable and lonely existence.

Abel came back down the steps a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of hunter‐green boxers, drops of water dotting his tanned skin. “Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, as he pulled open the fridge and bent over, pushing around the contents inside. He stood, a soda in hand as he cracked open the can and took a drink.

“Do you think things happen for a reason?” I asked, glancing up at him and back to my bowl.

“No. Not at all.” The muscles in his jaw jumped under his skin.

“You don’t think this is all part of some big plan?”

Abel laughed sardonically as he shook his head and took another drink. “What plan, Kettle? What plan is there that involves destroying a family? What plan would ever involve hurting you?”

I shrugged as I took a bite of my food. “The hardest part is that I still care about him.” I chanced a glance at him, and he looked deep in thought. “It wasn’t me he hurt, Abel.” His gaze snapped to mine.

“I’d have to disagree with you on that.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.” I shook my head as a tear slipped from my eye and rolled down my cheek.

“How did you two meet?” he asked, as he sat on the stool across from me. I ate as I slowly recounted the events that had brought me to Brock. I expected sarcastic remarks, but Abel just listened as I told him how I’d run away and ended up in the shelter. It was embarrassing to say it out loud, but he knew about struggling.

I pushed my bowl aside, and Abel stood, taking my hand and pulling me to the front door. I sat next to him on the porch steps as he lit a cigarette and held it out to me. I shook my head as I folded my arms and rested them on my knees.

“It feels like life ended when things went sideways.”

He took a drag, surrounding us in a cloud of smoke. “It feels like mine is finally beginning,” he said quietly.

“Must be nice.” I thought of Abel and Trish together, and the idea of it turned my stomach, but I still refused to admit to myself why. He deserved to be happy. As frustrating as he was, he really was a good person; he just couldn’t see it.

Shaking his head, he pulled another drag from his cigarette and ran his free hand over his damp hair.

“What?” I studied his profile.

“It’s not easy, Lie. None of this is fucking easy, but I’m trying.”

“So am I.”

He pushed to his feet as he flicked his cigarette into the grass and turned to go back inside. “Bullshit.” The door closed behind him, and I felt like all the air had been pushed from my lungs.

All my confusion became clouded by anger because that was easier than facing the truth. The truth was that he was right. I opened the door and went inside, determined to tell him to go fuck himself once and for all. Abel stood just inside, his back to me with his hands in his hair.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I spat, and he turned around, his eyes glazed over with unshed tears.

“You. You’re my fucking problem, Lie.” His tone softened. “You.” He took a step toward me, his large, warm hands sliding over my cheeks as his lips pressed hard and desperately against mine. My knees threatened to give out as my lips moved against his on their own accord.

It took only a few seconds for me to come to my senses, and I pushed against his chest, angry, but not exactly sure why.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, as I shoved back harder.

“What I’ve been wanting to do since the moment I met you.”

“Funny, because you had the opportunity to kiss me the night we met, and instead you made a fool out of me in front of my only friend.”

Abel’s expression turned angry as he pointed at my chest, and I pushed my back against the door. “I’m your friend, Lie. I’m your friend, but you’re too damn stubborn to let me in.”

“The last time I let someone in, a lot of people got hurt,” I shouted back with just as much anger.

“I’m not Brock, Delilah. I’m not him!” His voice echoed off the walls in the nearly empty house.

“You’re not. So stop trying to be, and leave me the hell alone!” Anger flowed through my veins, but I knew it wasn’t him I was mad at. I was mad at myself, because try as I might, I had feelings for this guy.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, Abel. I mean it.”