“I’m trying to trust you,” I retort. “Yeah? You’re not doing a good fucking job of it.” My insides twist. You’re not doing a good fucking job of it—the words blare in the back of my head. It hurts that he’d even think that. I lean closer to him, my heart pounding in my chest. “You came into my life in a lie,” I say. “You weren’t honest about who you were, and when you came clean, I still let you take me to rehab. I still hang out with you, knowing that you could be lying about so much more. That is more blind trust than I’ve ever given anyone in my life. So don’t tell me that I’m not doing a
...more
aw, lo.
