Eight Years Of His Lies

alenzue

I'm not hungry." I walked past him, my mother's s

ing?" Greg asked,

. "I have something to do." I walked out the

ed "marriage certificate" Greg had given me years ago. The

arefully. She held it up, scrutinizing the dates, the signatur

isn't a legal document. It's... a decorative piece. Ther

years. All those promises. All of it, a performance. I felt a dizzyi

a familiar pain. Eight years. Eight years of my life. My youth, my dreams, my identi

s nothing. A fool. A puppet dancing on strings pulled by a master manipulator.

as a quiet, desperate whisper. "No. No, it can't be." I yearned for her t

the door, Brittany was there, standing by the firepla

"I was just leaving. Greg and I were just discussing Josh'

My eyes bored into hers. "Don'

felt heavy in my hand, a cruel joke. "This. This piece of

h, then closed it. He began to stammer. "K

nneled. The air grew thin. I couldn't breathe. My chest

tner, at best. A mistress, by definition. M

. It's okay. We can fix this. Anything you want,

He thought he could bandage a gaping wound with empty promise

s everything. For eight years, he had lived a double life. For eight years, I had been a

o stay close to home. He couldn't be away from "his business," his "obli

is deadly allergy as an excuse. As a ticket. So you could play house

that was years ago. It was a mistake. She me

te china teacup, slipped. The cup crashed to

ittany, his priority clear. "Brittany, are you okay? Are you cut?

embedded itself in my ankle. A sharp, searing pain. Blood welled up, a

then at Greg, then back at me. "Brittany, are you hurt?" he ask

ly. And I was the outsid

pain. I turned and walked out of the house. I walked away from the shattered

s "Crazy for You," the song Greg had sung to me on our "wedding" day. I hummed it s

spun around, finally noticing the blood on the floor. "Kiana!" He ran to the door, throwing it open. But I was gone.