Love Me With Lies

Chapter 1

“I never thought I’d be the one to hurt you.”

His voice still echoes like a ghost inside my skull. Over and over. A cruel lullaby. A haunting. No matter how tightly I press my hands to my ears, I can still hear it.

I hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. "My eyes raw, burning and swollen from crying all night on the floor of our closest, wrapped in the last thing that smelled like him.

I clung to his faded navy sweater that was fraying at the sleeves, like it could stitch me back together.

But in reality, it only made me unravel faster. "

Why?

He didn’t tell me. Not really. Not in a way I could make sense of. Just soft-spoken nonsense and beautiful lies that sounded like poetry when I needed answers.

“Everything is temporary. Isn’t this merely one of those things?”

God, I’d whispered that so quietly, like maybe if I said it small enough, it wouldn’t be real. Maybe he’d deny it, call me dramatic, pull me into his chest and say we’d be fine. That it was just a moment. A phase. A storm we could weather.

But no.

No, he looked at me with that empty kind of love—the kind that used to burn and now just glowed faintly, dying like the last ember in a fire we both let go out.

“We’ve worn a mask for so long” he said, brushing the hair from my damp cheeks, “we’ve forgotten who we are under it.”

But I remember.

I remember loving him so hard it hurt. I remember giving him all of me—every cracked piece, every sacred secret, every light and every shadow.

Somehow, it still wasn't enough.I should’ve begged louder.

Should’ve screamed. Should’ve demanded more than whispered explanations and tired clichés.

But I didn’t. I just stood there, shaking, choking on my own silence while my world cracked beneath my feet.

“You’ll always be worth the pain” he said.

He kissed me. Not like he loved me. Like he was saying goodbye to a version of himself he no longer wanted to carry. And then he left. Just like that. He walked out of the home we built—walked away of me.

And I shattered.

Not loudly.

No.

The worst kind of heartbreak is quiet the kind you bleed from silently while the world keeps turning, expecting you to show up. To work. To smile. To be okay.

But I’m not.

I’m not okay.

I don’t even know who I am without him.

And all I can think is: He promised he’d never be the one to hurt me.

But he has.

He did.

And somehow… he still is.

Hair sticking to my face I stumbled out of the elevator, coffee in one hand, a mess of files and newspaper clippings in the other and I was already late.

Carrie was going to lose her shit. Monday morning meetings were sacred, scheduling for next month’s magazine had probably already started, and here I was, barely upright and running on caffeine, shattered nerves and tears.

I didn’t see him until I slammed straight into his chest, hard. The mail guy...Arms full of the weekend’s correspondence, and now, my chaos.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” I stammered, flinching as we bumped heads on the way down. He bent to help, and our skulls cracked like we were in some slapstick scene that would’ve been funny if my heart wasn’t still bleeding all over the inside of my chest.

“Don’t sweat it, babe.”

His voice was deep, warm. His green eyes caught mine like a hook. “Looks like you had a rough weekend.”

He winked, handing over my scattered pages and lifting me to my feet like I weighed nothing.

I tried, God, I tried to smooth down my hair, fix my clothes, wipe the mascara smudge that was probably still painting a bruise under my left eye.

But let’s be real if even the mail guy can see how wrecked I am, I’m not fooling anyone.

I looked exactly like what I was, heartbroken, unravelling, barely holding the pieces together.

“Something like that,” I murmured, too hollow to offer more.

Before I could catch my breath, my name rang out sharp and impatient bouncing off the glass walls like a warning bell.

“Penn!”

Goddammit.

A weak smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, broken and crooked. He grinned back, a lightness I couldn’t touch anymore dancing in his eyes.

“Later,” he said, soft and amused, and then he was gone swallowed by the elevator like he was never there at all.

“Penn!”

My name again, echoing louder now, heavier.

And so, I ran.

Rushing into the conference room felt like stepping into a spotlight I hadn’t earned.

Every pair of eyes turned, but only one held molten raging heat Carrie’s.

She was standing at the glass, arms folded like an exclamation mark, waiting. Watching. Judging. Knowing.

Each sleep-deprived step toward the table made my limbs quake harder, like my body was rejecting being vertical. Like it knew I should still be curled up in the closet in his hoodie, choking on grief and the ghost of his cologne.

Tears pricked behind my eyes as soon as I saw her face.

Carrie. My best friend and my boss.

All I wanted was to collapse into her arms, let her hold me while I screamed out the pain. But right now, I needed her to be her most terrifying self. The version who never blinked. Who snapped and barked orders and pretended life didn’t cave in.

“What the actual fuck, Penn?” she snapped, sharp and clipped.

Her PA flinched beside her like she’d been shot. Poor thing still startled every time Carrie opened her mouth.

“Long night,” I muttered, dragging my limbs into the chair she’d pointed at.

My chair. Editor in Chief, but still the one Carrie micromanaged. It was familiar. I needed that.

“Fucking looks it. Sit.”

I did. I didn’t remember half the meeting.

It was all white noise.

Words blurred into one another. My notes remained untouched.

I could hear my own heartbeat like a war drum in my ears.

My body was in the room, but my mind was still kneeling on the floor of our house, watching Blake walk away with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and his promises scattered behind him like dead leaves.

“You’ll always be worth the pain,” he’d said.

Then why the fuck did you leave?

Every now and then, someone in the meeting would say something loud enough to jolt me back. I’d blink, nod, fake a smile. Then fall again into the pit.

We met at kindergarten.

Stating talking at fifteen.

By seventeen, we’d promised each other forever.

And for a while… he meant it.

“Earth to Penn!”

Fingers snapped in front of me, sharp.

Carrie’s face was the only one left.

Everyone else had cleared out.

I blinked slowly. “Ah… yes. That sounds great,” I replied, no clue what I was agreeing to.

I was speaking underwater. I was pretending to breathe.

Carrie arched a brow. “I didn’t say anything that needed an answer.”

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron. Still didn’t cry. Not here. Not yet.

“Mmmm.”

She moved closer. I tried to look away out the window, toward the city. The skyline blurred, until all I could focus on was the bar. Our bar.

One block down. Corner of the street.

I could still see us through the glass if I tried hard enough.

Me barefoot on the polished wood floors, drinking whiskey with him behind the bar after closing time.

Music low. Lights dim. Just us and a battered speaker humming Tennessee Whiskey or Say You Won’t Let Go.

He’d twirl me in his arms. Laugh into my neck.

Whisper things like You make me believe in forever like forever was a place, and I was his address.

“Penn, don’t do that.” Carrie’s voice was quieter now. Controlled. A low thrum of warning.

I stood. My knees cracked under the strain. Walked to the glass.

I pressed my palm to it resting my forehead on the transparent sheet. Cool. Solid. Something real.

“I can’t talk about it yet.” My voice came out hollow, like it didn’t belong to me. “Not now, Carrie. Maybe later. But not right now.”

I stared down at the street.

I could almost see us the night we opened Whiskey. Hand in hand, him dancing me barefoot on the bar top while the world slept.

“You remember that night?” he whispered as we swayed to a George Strait song at 2 a.m.

“I remember everything,” I said into his neck.

Now I’d sell my soul to forget.

I swallowed the sob building in my chest and turned around. “Can we just talk about the feature?”

Carrie hesitated. Then nodded. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”

We dove into the pitch.

It had come from a night with Blake, too.

A couple meeting for the first time after connecting online.

The way their nerves buzzed across the bar like electricity.

Blake had leaned on the counter beside me, arms crossed, grinning.

“This is wild,” he said. “People still willing to bet their hearts on strangers.”

Like he wasn’t already planning to fold on ours.

Carrie was all in. She loved the idea online dating, the pitfalls, the wins, the devastation.

Because let’s face it, online love could be beautiful, or it could be bloody.

You walk in hoping for connection, and sometimes you leave hollowed out unseen, unheard, just a pixel on someone else’s screen.

You think the butterflies are real, but they’re warning signs.

You ignore the red flags because you’re lonely and they text good morning.

You build a kingdom in your head and get exiled without warning.

You think you’ve found love.

Turns out, you were just something to pass the time.

I once was his home...

Now I’m just a place he used to sleep.

Carrie stood, her tone lighter, like she was trying not to scare me off. “Wanna grab a drink?”

I looked outside. It was dark now.

Had I really sat here all day?

“No,” I said, rubbing my temples. My brain felt like static. “I’m just gonna head home. I’m—”

I searched for a word.

Tired didn’t cut it.

Dead inside felt dramatic.

“Shattered,” I landed on. Whispered it like a confession.

Carrie watched me closely, like she wanted to break down my walls and sweep the rubble away.

But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not while I was still bleeding.

I raised a hand before she could speak. “Please. Not tonight.”

She didn’t push. Just nodded.

I walked past her, leaned in, kissed her cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She squeezed my shoulders gently. “I’m always here, Penn. Even when you don’t want me to be.”

“I know..”

And then I left. Called a car.

Headed home to the house with two toothbrushes and only one heartbeat left in it.

To the closet still full of his hoodies.

To the bed that still smelled like him.

I walked in, dropped my bag, and grabbed a beer.

Kicked off my shoes. Walked the wooden floors we once danced barefoot across under fairy lights.

Sat down. Stared at the wall.

Let the silence crawl up my throat and choke me.

Then I whispered into the empty space where he used to live:

“Why wasn’t I enough?”