Listen for the Lie

by Amy Tintera

I stab the knife into the chicken, right between the breast and thigh. I may have used a bit more force than necessary. Nathan jumps. I smile. At this rate, he’s going to end up married to a murderer.

She knows how to work a room, and there is no better way to command attention than to tell the worst fucking story in the world.

I take a long sip of tea and smile at her. Grandma doesn’t ask if you want your tea sweet or unsweet. There’s only one way iced tea is made, in her opinion—sweet enough to leave a nice coating of sugar at the bottom of the glass. (She is correct.)

“I should have controlled my temper,” I said softly. I should have just cried. Taken the hits and crawled away to show my scars. I should have been a better victim. The truth doesn’t matter if you fight back.

And people hate that quality in a young woman, don’t they? They don’t know what to do with a girl who isn’t looking for their approval. They feel like they have to bring her down a peg.