Wicked Lies Boys Tell

“But why?”

“Maybe I’m just tired of fighting.” I’m tired of so many things. Ivy. My dad. Life.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m tired too.”

“What you did…” I trail off and he winces.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pain etched in his features. “I’m so sorry, Cope.” His voice cracks as he regards me with emotion making his eyes glassy with tears. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I grit my teeth and turn my head from his penetrating stare. “Well, you did. You broke me.”

“When I broke you, I broke myself.” He’s silent for a beat. “I’d take it back if I could. Anything to erase that night and everything after.”

“But you can’t,” I tell him bitterly. “We’re all fucked up now.”

“I wasn’t when you were my best friend,” he says sadly.

I wasn’t either. I was happy. He was my brother. My other half. I grieved so hard after what happened. Because of what I lost. Anger chases away the hurt and I fire up the engine.

“Drink up because I’m taking you to the hospital. Might as well get this over with.”

After a three-hour hospital visit, Penn now sports a neon green cast on his hand. He broke it good, too. The doctor said he might end up needing surgery. I drive him in silence to pick up his prescription for Percocet and then head home. Once in my driveway, I shut off the car and he quickly exits.

“Don’t forget these,” I call out, tossing his bag of medicine at him. “And keep your mom out of them.”

His eyes cut to mine sharply and it’s all I need to know. Lisa McAlister is still a pill junkie. I guess if I had to deal with Jason for a husband, I’d pop pills too.

I climb out of the car and follow him over to his door. He fumbles to get his keys out of his right pocket. After I swat away his uncoordinated attempts, I reach into his pocket and pull out his keys. He lets out a groan and staggers away. Years ago, it’s something I wouldn’t have thought twice about. But now, with the look of embarrassment on his face, I realize what a stupid move that was. Was that a turn-on to him? Did he get…

My eyes trail down of their own accord, searching for evidence. He yanks the keys from my grip, turning away from me, and starts attempting to put his key in the door. Again, he fails to complete his task. I take the keys away and shove them into the lock.

“Do I need to help you piss too?” My words are mean and meant to jab at his attraction for me. I want to see the look of embarrassment on his face again. But then disgusting thoughts of me actually in the bathroom with him and his pants down have me jumping back as though I’ve been burned.

“I can manage.” His voice is husky and he avoids eye contact.

Fury churns in my gut. My skin prickles and heats. I’m pissed that he still clearly wants me after all this time. After how very clearly straight I am. After he destroyed the best friendship. Still, after all that, he is affected by me.

The anger morphs into a feeling of power. A weapon to be wielded. A tool for revenge. And that powerful burning shoots straight down my spine. An ache settles in my lower stomach.

“Call me if you need me,” I taunt, stepping close to his back. “The number’s still the same.”

Heat from his body radiates into me. I catch a whiff of his familiar scent and I can’t help but lean toward it. So many sleepovers where I’d sniff his sweaty head and gripe that he stank. In reality, his smell comforted me. When I feel a twitch in my pants, I jolt away from him without another word. I storm back to my house. It’s dark when I enter and I rush upstairs to my room. On the way to the shower, I peel away my clothes and turn the water to the coldest setting. Any heat that had been burning through me is squelched the moment I hit the cold spray.

I need to stay away from him.

Two years later and the moment I spend time with him, we’re right back to square one. His confusing feelings toward me have somehow lingered. Now I’m the one bothered by the way my body reacted just a short while ago. And my heart’s no better. Racing in my chest, eager to talk to him once more.

I hate him.

But that’s always been a lie.

I hate that he wants something from me I’m unwilling to give.

It’s unfair and cruel.

Despite the cold water, my body turns hot once more, flooding blood to certain areas of my body I’d rather ignore. But instead of ignoring it, I jerk out my frustrations and then utter my best friend’s name with a venomous hiss.