Chapter 10 #3
My back molars grind together. She wants me to bite, to react, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction.
Bliss enjoys dissecting people; prying them open and shining a light on everything that makes them tick—every blemish, insecurity, and doubt.
I squeeze my hands around the armrest, gritting my teeth as I turn my focus to the hockey game playing on the television.
The Bruins are already up by one, but the Sabres are playing for blood.
My mouth twitches as a Bruins winger checks a Sabre forward into the boards, his body snapping backward right before he crumples to the ice.
The teams converge on the spot, sticks going down.
Bliss leans forward, snapping, “Hello? I’m talking to you. ”
“I’m aware,” I say impatiently, keeping my eyes on the game. The ref is involved now, and the downed Sabre is back up and acting as if nothing happened. “I was ignoring you. And I didn’t break up with Charlie.” The words are gritted out, my chest aching at the reality of them. “She left me.”
Bliss sits back, lips curling smugly that she finally got to me.
“Tomato, to-may-to,” she sings, a mean glint in her blue eyes.
She’s clutching a glass of white wine, and she lifts it to her lips, delicately sipping while her eyes never leave mine, appraising me like a predator about to go in for the kill.
“It’s probably for the best, right? You and Charlie. I mean, we all saw it coming.”
Her smile is as sharp as her voice, and I shake my head.
Charlie never stood a chance against someone like Bliss.
I was the one who left her wide open to the attack, not giving her even an ounce of defense, and Bliss knows just how to go in for the kill, taking someone’s vulnerabilities and using them against them when they will do the most damage.
It’s a skill that makes her a good lawyer, but a terrible friend—something I’m learning far too late.
Especially when I did the same thing to Charlie. Didn’t I?
I threw everything Charlie had ever told me about her family and the way she grew up right in her face, calling her soft and nothing. I called her weak, as if she isn’t one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.
I acted like I wasn’t proud to call her mine.
Desolation and shame mingle in my chest, burning me from the inside out. I slouch in my chair, turning my head to watch as the puck slides past the Sabres goalie’s feet, but I just feel numb.
Jack saunters in, a beer in each hand and a packet of chips between his teeth. He hands a beer to me before dropping onto the other end of the couch, setting his own down and shoveling chips into his mouth.
“Put the bitch away,” he mutters to Bliss around his mouthful. “You promised.”
She crosses her legs, a sly look slinking into her eyes as she looks at Jack.
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep. But I’ll put it away”—she rolls her eyes dramatically—“just because you asked.” Bliss turns her attention back to me, her expression cold and assessing, making me feel like a specimen she’s shoved under a microscope lens.
“I do want to know what’s going on before I pack it away completely. ”
“It’s none of your business,” I tell her firmly.
One dark brow wings up. “But it’s Jack’s?”
My head jerks back in surprise, right before I shoot my friend an accusing look.
He shrugs, shaking his head. “Didn’t tell her shit, but you know her.”
Yeah, I do. Bliss is more relentless than a bloodhound on the hunt, especially when she scents easy prey.
“Not only that,” she continues, acting as if he didn’t say a word. “Marisa hasn’t messaged me in a week.” Something indecipherable flashes across her face. “That’s not like her, so I want to know why.”
It’s nothing short of a demand, and I watch her, wishing I’d stayed the hell at home. I came here searching for an escape from the silence of the apartment, and the echo Marisa’s questions had left last weekend—ones I still have no answers for.
I never would have come if I had known that Bliss was going to be here, but getting up and leaving now feels like I’m letting her win. Or maybe I just can’t face the idea of going back to a space where every single square inch reminds me of Charlie and the fact that she’s not coming back.
Bliss plants her bare feet on the floor, leaning forward, her eyes fixed on my face. “Who assaulted you?”
My lip curls at the way she phrased that, but I only say dryly, “I ran into a door.” I should be surprised at the question—the bruising is pretty much gone—but going off Jack’s guilty expression, he told her a lot more than he’s letting on.
Her expression flattens. “Dillon, if Charlie—”
“Stop talking about her, Bliss.”
That has amusement tipping up her lips. “Or what?” she purrs. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
I stiffen at the challenge, her face telling me she clearly thinks I won’t do shit.
And why wouldn’t she think that? I’ve never pushed back against her before, always happy to let her steer the narrative because it seems to be something she needs to be happy.
When people take that control from Bliss, her claws come out and swipe at anyone who makes the mistake of standing too close.
No matter who they are or what they mean to her.
Charlie is the perfect example of that. Bliss was painting an image—one where I ended up with Marisa. When I took too long to get with her script, she took initiative, leading a charge where she turned all our friends against my girlfriend in the hope of making me see sense.
Bliss wasn’t the problem, though. I was the one who let it happen, telling myself that if Charlie didn’t know, she wouldn’t be hurt. But she had been, and then I let my own self-doubt and insecurities about Barrett fuel the flames, piling onto that pain until she had been buried under it.
Letting out a shaky breath, I tap my fingers against my thigh.
“Your timing that night…” Bliss’s eyes flare for a second before her expression goes blank.
“It was pretty perfect, Bliss. In fact, some would even say it was risky as hell, knowing Charlie would come back from the bathroom at any moment.”
“What’s your point?” she asks tonelessly.
“I don’t have one.” I lift one shoulder in a casual shrug, sending her a tight smile. “Just making an observation.”
“A baseless one,” she spits out.
Jack clears his throat. “Can we not?” He points at the TV, ignoring the icy glare Bliss levels at him. “The Bruins just scored again, and that’s way more fucking interesting than whatever this is.”
Bliss drains her wine, setting the glass down on the coffee table with a thud. I turn my attention to the game, not seeing shit, acutely aware of her as she slides her stilettos on and stands.
Jack sighs wearily. “Where you going, Bliss?”
She sniffs haughtily as she grabs her purse. “I can see when I’m not wanted. It’s unbelievable, though.”
I shouldn’t ask, but it falls out of my mouth before I can stop it. “What is?”
She looks down her nose at me. “That you would find some way to blame me for your own relationship breaking down.”
“I didn’t blame you, Bliss,” I point out quietly. “I know where the blame lies, and it’s not with you.” I wait a beat, adding, “Or with Charlie.”
She curls her lip in a sneer. “So why the fuck isn’t Marisa talking to me, Dillon?”
I think of Marisa, her expression lost as she talked about Bliss, asking whether I thought our friend was a good person. A couple of years ago, I might have said yes. Now, I’m not so sure.
Bliss isn’t the same person we met in college all those years ago, and somehow, I missed it because she never aimed her venom at me. She is harder now, more twisted, and it’s clear she enjoys playing with people’s lives, using her tongue as a weapon when people don’t dance to her tune.
Nothing is ever black and white, and no person is ever just wholly bad…but at what point do you slice the toxicity out of your life?
And is that what Marisa is doing?
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “That’s something you’d have to ask her.”
Bliss watches me shrewdly, as if she thinks I’m lying, but she’s not quite sure enough to call me out on it. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she reiterates, and then she’s walking away, her heels clacking loudly on the hardwood floors.
“Not sure who you’re trying to convince,” I call to her back, ignoring the quiet “Shut up,” Jack hisses my way. “Far as I know, no one’s accused you of anything.”
Bliss pauses in the doorway, her shoulders tight and bunched up. After a second, she shakes her head and keeps walking, the front door slamming behind her as she leaves.
Jack heaves out a breath, turning to the television and ignoring the glare I level on him.
“Thanks for the fucking heads up that she was here.”
“It was a surprise to me as well. She’s hurting.”
“Charlie’s fucking hurting, Jack! Because of shit Bliss said!” My yell reverberates off the walls, but he doesn’t flinch, flicking a look at me filled with silent judgment.
“So you do think it’s her fault,” he surmises.
“No,” I growl out. “I wasn’t fucking lying. I think she’s an asshole, but I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve…” My anger drains as fast as it came. “I should’ve defended Charlie, should’ve said anything but laughed it off, pretending like what you all were saying didn’t matter.”
Jack grimaces at the reminder of his own role, but doesn’t comment.
“It wasn’t just that night, though,” I admit lowly. “My silence was one nail in the coffin, but what went down that night wasn’t what buried it.”
He frowns, reaching out to mute the television, leaving us in a taut silence. “I don’t understand, man. If it wasn’t that, what was it?”
I swallow thickly, my throat bobbing. Jack isn’t the person I should be talking to—his behavior around both Bliss and Rachel is proof of that—but the situation is eating me alive.
“Marisa and I slept together.”
Jack blinks, his mouth dropping open. He sits up, muting the television, as he stares at me. “You cheated on Charlie?”
I jerk in shock. “What? No. It was like three or four years ago, way before I ever met Charlie. I guess it was one of those things where we always wondered ‘what if’.” A bitter laugh escapes me.
“We were both single, and it just happened one night after a few drinks, except it was a shitty lay—awkward and uncomfortable. I mean, we both got off, but fuck.” I scrub a hand through my hair.
“We both agreed it shouldn’t have happened, that we just didn’t feel that way about each other. ”
“Shit, man.” Jack rubs a hand over his jaw. “And Charlie found out?”
“When Bliss was talking shit that night—”
He curses. “I remember now. She was talking about you and Marisa finally getting together, like you were some star-crossed lovers or some shit.” I mouth the word star-crossed, and he smirks. “Fuck off, asshole. I know Shakespeare.”
“Anyway,” I continue, “Charlie asked me point-blank, and I couldn’t lie to her. Not saying anything was one thing, but actually lying to her face?”
“They’re both forms of lying,” he points out.
I slump down, saying miserably, “I know.”
“So why? You must’ve known this would come out eventually, right? With friends like ours…”
“Right, except no one knew but me and Ris. We knew what Bliss would be like if she found out, so we made sure she didn’t. I never…I didn’t think—” I rub the heels of my palms into my eyes. “At first, I didn’t want Charlie to worry. Marisa was my friend, and I figured that if Charlie knew—”
“She’d want you to stop hanging out.”
“Right,” I agree easily. “And then a few months passed, and a few more. And it got to be this huge thing, and I was terrified of losing her.”
“So what? You figured what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her?” he guesses.
“Exactly.” A bitter chuckle escapes me. “Except this hurts more than anything else ever could. She says she can’t trust me now.”
Jack nods, picking up his beer and tipping it to his lips, taking a long swig. “Can’t blame her for that. Charlie also probably thinks you’re an asshole, with friends like us.” There’s a sheen of shame coating his expression, and he won’t look directly at me.
I hesitate, wondering whether this is good time to bring it up, but…fuck it. “You were talking a lot of shit about Rachel that night.”
His throat bobs, and he tugs at the collar of his shirt. “I know.”
“You were talking shit about Rachel a couple of days ago.”
“I know,” he grunts. “I actually…I ran into her yesterday. Last night…” There’s something that looks a lot like regret in his expression, his mouth turning downward. “It doesn’t matter. Bliss—”
I point my bottle at him. “If I’m not allowed to blame Bliss, you aren’t either. We’re in control of our own choices, man.”
He eyes me before sighing. “Yeah. It’s no joke that Bliss brings out the worst in people, though. It’s her fucking superpower.”
“Maybe she just brings the truth out in us,” I return grimly, turning my attention to the quiet TV. “Maybe the rest of the time, we’re wearing masks, pretending to be something we’re not, and then Bliss whips them away, shining a light on the real us.”
Jack huffs out a resigned sound. “Know just what to say to bring us down, don’t you, bud?” He swigs his beer again. “Always knew I was a prick, but good to have my nearest and dearest confirm it.”