Break Me (Truth in Lies Book 1) by Lena Maye

Author:Lena Maye [Maye, Lena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

Too-bright sunlight is the worst way to wake up. It’s not the first time I’ve fallen asleep with my head on our breakfast bar and woken up with light battering me from the skylight. But it is the first time I’ve woken up on the breakfast bar and realized I’m not there. Instead of just a skylight, the entire observatory ceiling is open.

I find a pillow under my head, a sheet wrapped around my legs.

I don’t remember falling asleep. Or Kepler bringing me the sheet.

But I sure as hell remember everything else. And if I’d forgotten, the dull ache spreading across my entire body would certainly remind me. When I sit up, the ache intensifies in specific smile-inducing zones and makes me corkscrew around to find the source.

Kepler sits on the floor with his back to me, staring up at the open ceiling. The sunlight intensifies the blond in his hair. The muscles of his back angle down to his hips like an invitation.

Meo-shi-seo. Maybe morning sunlight isn’t so terrible.

His lighter catches and smoke curls above his head.

His name lingers on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it.

Another puff of smoke rises. The room is cool and quiet, the smell of weed tempered with the smell of pine trees and mountains.

I’ve always been in control—leading guys down hallways and designing their emotions like an elaborately constructed bridge. I create the situation. I control the progress. I decide when the breakup comes. I don’t know how to feel about someone knocking my feet out from under me—figuratively or literally.

He stands, and a just-before-winter breeze bites my skin.

I reach for my dress and clutch it to my chest. Kepler turns and watches me, taking another drag from his joint. Waiting for someone to speak is the opposite of control.

His eyes crawl over me. Holy unnerving gaze. I pull the dress over my head in the fastest movement possible. “Can you tell me where the bathroom is?”

His eyes slide halfway shut. Is that disappointment? Relief? “Down the stairs and to the right.”

I scramble up, grabbing my bra and underwear. At the bottom of the stairs, a bathroom door stands open across the hall. I close it behind me and lean my forehead against the door, my fingers tangled in my skimpy thong.

A feeling bubbles in my throat like I’m trying to hold in something that’s clawing up. I take a breath to relieve the tightness in my chest and push off the door. I splash water on my face and tame my hair. I slip on my underwear and make myself look like Jean. By the time I’m done, I almost recognize myself.

The bathroom is tremendous. Ugly brass fixtures and wallpaper. There’s enough room for a shower and a tub and my whole freaking bedroom, but it’s only a toilet and sink. And a lot of mirrors all doing their reflecting job. Mocking me with how much I’m not avoiding crying.

I hate that I’m crying. And I’m not even really sure why.

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