Twisted Lies by Nora Cobb
Chapter 39
Astrid
Neither one of us wants to remain in our room for the day, but we decide not to file a report. Probably should, but Roni doesn’t look absolutely convinced that I’m not wrong. Before we leave, I slip the notebook and the laptop into my backpack and consider keeping them at my mom’s apartment. I could hide them there until Mom comes home. If she comes home.
Roni calls housekeeping from the lounge and demands that our room is cleaned immediately. She doesn’t care that it’s Sunday morning. It better be done now. It’s jaw-dropping to watch her yell into the house phone. She does the entitled bitch routine a little too well. Why didn’t I notice that before?
I take off, leaving her screaming, and walk through the basement, heading for my bike. The trouble is if I need the laptop, I’ll have to ride home every time to use it. I can’t work on numbers until the weekend unless I transfer every document to the cloud. Not doing that. Too many docs and not enough security. But I stop walking and look around at the insane number of boxes piled around the basement. Who would look down here?
Judging by the inch of dust that sticks to my finger, hiding my stuff in one of these old boxes won’t be a risk. As quietly as I can, I lift two boxes off another box on the floor nearest the old bathroom door. The tops aren’t taped shut, only folded in a crisscross. I yank it open and frown at the contents inside—old wool school blazers, navy skirts, and a striped navy and gold comforter. Maybe all the boxes are filled with stuff that long-gone students left behind? All the better; no one will find my stuff. I plop the laptop and the notebook inside the box, covering them up with the old comforter and then replacing the two boxes on top.
By the time I step outside, the campus is wide awake as people head off toward the dining hall, the library, or out the stone gate. I know exactly where I’m heading as I march toward Vogel Hall. The maze to Justin’s studio doesn’t distract me with smells and colors as I follow the winding path straight to his studio. I yank the curtain open, and Justin is lying on his back with earbuds tucked in his ears on the platform. His eyes are shut as he lip syncs to music that no one else can hear. I glare at him anyway, as if he can see me with his eyes closed.
He jerks into a sitting position when I kick the corner of the platform, making the boards shake. Justin opens his eyes and scowls, plucking the buds out of his ears. “Sorry,” he stares warily, “I didn’t hear you.”
“Were you in my room last night?” I demand, holding my hands in fists at my sides.
Justin sits straight up, crossing his legs. “No, why would I be?”
I hold up my hand. “No, I ask you the questions.”
Justin smirks as if my lip is poked out because I want to kiss and not because I’m about to go off into a rage.
I narrow my eyes, looking as threatening as I can. “Were you in my room last night?”
“I wasn’t,” he replies steadily, “Why do you keep asking that?” He has to be lying. Justin can barely conceal the tiny smirk playing on his lips.
“You gave Wyatt a sketch of me without my permission,” I reply.
“You don’t think he liked it?” Justin tries to sound innocent, but it’s hard to pull off when he’s trying not to laugh.
“He threw it out.” My face heats up as I waver on the edge of frustration and anger, “And I left it in the trash. Someone was in my room last night, and they took something.”
Justin loses that smirky smile. “What did they take? Where’s the laptop?”
“If you didn’t take it, then don’t worry about it,” I reply coldly. “And I’m not telling you where it is.” I pick up a sketch of myself lying down, my lips parted and eyes partly closed. It’s an expression of trust, and I want to shred it into pieces. The paper shakes in my hand, and Justin snatches it out of my grip. “Why did you give Wyatt the sketch?”
Justin doesn’t answer as he smooths the twisted corner flat with his palms.
“Do you talk about me?” I ask carefully.
The motion pauses. “What do you mean?” he asks.
“You know what I mean.” My unblinking gaze stays on his as I will him to confess.
Justin clears his throat and looks down at the paper. “Sometimes we talk.” He glances up, meeting my gaze. “You know we talk about you. There’s no other girl worth talking about.”
“What do you say?” My voice gains volume.
He looks down, and his long hair hangs in his face, concealing his expression and thoughts. I tilt my head to the side until I can see past his curtain of hair. His eyes gradually lift, revealing a challenging gaze. Justin has been concealing his determination, but it shows in his intense eyes. I don’t flinch as he watches me—I don’t dare, or I might be caught.
His voice is quiet but sure. “We talk about who will have you.”
I have to look away, knowing Bryce has already taken me. I wait for the harsh, attacking words to follow and those hurtful names, but Justin doesn’t act like he knows everything I did with Bryce. He leaves the sketch on the platform and walks toward me.
“I know you want Bryce,” he says, “I know I’ll have to share you, and I don’t mind.”
My eyes widen in dumb shock. “What do you mean, share?”
“Someone on the side,” he explains simply, “A friend that’s more than just a friend. I can tolerate Bryce,” Justin can barely control his voice as he whispers, “Who can compete with perfection?” He sneers. “But Wyatt?” He shakes his head.
“What’s wrong with Wyatt?” That dark look he shoots makes me regret being bold enough to ask.
“Wyatt is a lost cause,” he replies hatefully.
“Don’t say that,” I whisper.
Justin smiles as if he’s won the argument. “He’s losing his hold. His family is sliding off into oblivion. Generations of wealth lost overnight.”
I stare at the wicked pleasure in his eyes. “But Wyatt stuck up for you that day.”
“I didn’t need that loser’s help,” Justin replies.
“Pierce wanted you gone,” I answer back, “and you’re okay with him?”
Justin turns his back on me. “Pierce is different. I wouldn’t mind sharing with him.”
I grab his shoulder and try to spin him around to face me. But Justin won’t budge. He doesn’t want to look me in the eye and say these fucked-up things. Is it really what he thinks? I step around him and shout in his face. “He’s a bully!”
Justin shakes my hand off his shoulder, and I back away. “He’s been through hell,” he replies, “but he’s still here.”
I crease my forehead, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “Was he molested?”
Justin moves so fast that I jump back, but he catches my upper arms in my grip and gives me a head-bobbing shake. “Who told you that lie?” he snarls into my face. His breath hits my skin, but this time I recoil from his closeness.
My body shakes again as his hands tighten, placing bruises on my skin. The sweet boy I love to fuck on that platform isn’t staring back into my eyes. This isn’t someone who wants me uncensored. This boy wants to hurt me, and I realize slowly that Justin could if he wanted to.
“It’s a rumor,” I whisper.
He continues to stares at me as his anger cools. “Don’t repeat it again.” Justin lets go of my arms, and I stumble back, catching myself. He lies back down on the platform, placing the buds in his ears, and ignores me until I finally take the hint and leave on my own. I went in there angry but leave more confused. My ego is cut down, and I still don’t know who stole the list.
