I needed a laugh after the rejection, but in the end, his words had made sense… we didn’t know each other well enough. Tragedy had a way of doing that to you, creating a false sense of security with the people you’re with, making you trust them all the more. I knew that firsthand, and I also saw the wisdom in what Tristan had said.
With a sigh, I grabbed the remote to his ridiculously large TV and plopped on the bed.
I figured I was lying on his side on account that the alarm clock was there with his reading glasses.
With a smirk, I pulled out the book on top. It said DSM-5 on it and was probably the biggest book I’d ever seen. When I looked at the back, it said a whole bunch of stuff about diagnosing different psychological disorders. Kind of heavy reading, if you asked me. Then again, he did have his Ph.D. in psychology and had mentioned owning that pharmaceutical company.
Shaking my head, I set the book down and noticed a brown worn journal. I didn’t really take Tristan as the type of guy to have a journal, and the fact that I’d get to peek into his private life sent a bit of thrill through my body. Then again, it was Tristan. He was most likely labeling more things and making grocery lists, not writing about his deepest darkest fantasies.
Smiling, I opened the book.
My smile fell.
Along with the book.
I heard it tumble to the ground, but I was unable to move… frozen in spot… because the very first page hadn’t said Tristan on it.
No it had said The Journal of Taylor Blaine.
It was his writing.
And his picture was next to it.
Right along with mine.
Tristan walked into the room, popcorn in hand. “Hey, what’s wrong you? Looks like you’ve seen a—” His eyes flickered to the floor then back to me. The popcorn dropped out of his hands as he lunged for the bed.
“No,” I said in a cold voice, then louder. “NO!”
“Lisa, I can explain!”
“No!” I yelled over and over again. All I kept saying was no. It was all I could get out, the only word I could actually form without screaming my head off, without bursting into tears.
Tristan knelt in front of me, gripping my hands. “Lisa, I know you’re pissed, but you have to listen to me.”
I slapped him across the cheek so hard my hand stung.
“Did you have fun?” I spat. Betrayal was a knife twisting in my chest. I was hot then cold all over. “Making fun of me behind my back? Pretending to like me when you knew the truth all along?”
“It wasn’t like that.” Tristan shook his head. “If you’ll just listen, I’ll explain everything.”
“Yeah, right.” I snorted, pushing at his chest. “Explain how you came to have Taylor’s journal. The same Taylor who raped me,” I rasped. My breath was uneven like someone had just punched me. I tried to move away from him but fell to the floor, like my legs wouldn’t work. I turned around and kept yelling as tears streamed down my face. “The same Taylor who committed suicide in front of me! That’s—” I gasped. “—my picture.”
“Lisa, calm down. You’re hyperventilating.”
“No!” I gasped again, my throat feeling like it was closing. “It was all a lie! You lied… you said I could trust you, and you lied!” My vision blurred. “Just like him— I’m so stupid, so, so stupid! I keep falling for it, over and over again.” Hot tears streamed down my face. “I can’t — I can’t — breathe.”
Tristan rushed to my side. I tried to shove his hands away, but I was too weak, both emotionally and physically. He gently drew me into his arms and whispered, “In and out, breathe with me, slowly…”
I fought against him.
He still held me.
I punched him in the stomach.
But he didn’t stop trying to soothe me.
“I hate you…” I wheezed. “…so much…”