Twisted Truth (Truth Vs Lie Book 1) Page 2

“Dude, chill.” Charlie laughs, and I inwardly groan as Isaac raises an eyebrow.

  “Isaac, this is Charlie,” I introduce, trying not to stare into Isaac’s brooding eyes. “Charlie,” I step away from Isaac, who gives me a questioning look. “This is my… this is my… my… Isaac.” I can’t bring myself to say cousin. Every time that word hits my brain, it tells me my feelings for him are wrong… bad… dirty. He’s my cousin, and although legally I could still be with him, people would judge. I know he’s not my blood relative, but people would still cast aspersions. It shouldn’t matter, but the truth is my family would judge, and I couldn’t bear that.

  Isaac holds out his hand, and Charlie slaps it in an awkward high-five motion. I cringe and close my eyes hoping that when they open, this scene playing out in front of me is just a bad dream. If I’m lucky, I’ll wake up in A Level English naked in front of the class... anything has to be better than this.

  Two hours later, and Charlie is wasted. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” I tell him with a sigh.

  “Babe… you’re the bessst,” he drawls, clinging to my shoulder and using me as an anchor to hold himself up. We slip out of the party. I’m not quite sure how I manage to get out unseen, what with me being the birthday girl, as well as having a drunk man-boy whisper shouting and hanging onto me as I try to make it through the door sideways. I realise I haven’t gone unnoticed when only a few feet outside, Isaac appears. Wordlessly, he grabs one of Charlie’s arms and hauls it around his shoulder taking his whole weight and dragging him out to the kerb, past my little red car—the one my parents bought for me last year for my seventeenth birthday. While it’s cute, it’s also old and tiny. Instead, he walks over to a black, shiny truck beeping the locks. Pulling open the door, he pushes Charlie into the passenger seat and then spins around to face me.

  “Come on.” He grabs my hand, and I feel the spark ignite between us as he leads me around to the other side. “Get in,” he tells me, opening the driver’s door and nodding. I furrow my brow, confused as to why I’m getting in the driver’s side, but he nods again, and I climb in. Then I see there’s a bench seat, so I scoot to the middle. Isaac climbs in after me, and the minute he’s in the cab he fills the space both with his stature and his aura—dangerous.

  I let my eyes roam over the interior space.

  “I’ve spent a fair bit of time overseas, I like the American trucks,” he explains and I shrug. “Where does your boy live?” he asks.

  “London Road,” I tell him. He starts the engine and it judders, rocking from side to side, before he pulls away.

  “So you’re okay?” I ask.

  “Yep. I’m all good, Via, you?” he replies.

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  I wonder why things are suddenly so awkward.

  “You didn’t write,” I whisper the words. I’m not sure I want him to hear, or to answer, but it’s something I feel the need to say out loud.

  “No.” He doesn’t speak again, and we ride in silence to Charlie’s house.

  “Here… this is it,” I tell him as he slows down on London Road. He pulls up and jumps out, helping me get Charlie to his house. I knock a couple of times. Charlie lives in a shared house with three other guys, but I only know two of them, Spence and Calum. After knocking again Calum throws the door open and immediately spots Charlie.

  “Oh fuck, not again. I don’t know why you put up with him and his shit, Olivia,” Calum says groaning. He grabs Charlie from our grasp and pulls him inside giving a small chin lift to Isaac.

  I walk back to Isaac’s truck saying nothing to him. As he drives along I concentrate on the movement, which sways me as I lean against the passenger window.

  “What did he mean?”

  I turn to face him. “What did who mean?” I ask confused.

  “The guy at the door. He said he didn’t know why you put up with his shit. What did he mean, Via?”

  I feel my stomach tighten with nerves and my eyes dart from left to right. “Oh, just that Charlie is stupid and gets drunk a lot.”

  “Hmmm,” Isaac responds, but then he allows silence to descend again. My eyes close for what feels like a second, but when I reopen them, we’re parking in the driveway of his house.

  “Isaac, what are we doing here?”

  I turn toward him again and watch as his head drops backwards. He looks to the roof of his truck and closes his eyes. “I don’t know,” he tells me.

  My breathing picks up alongside my heartbeat. “Come on,” he demands and pulls me out of the door after him, dragging me up the path and into his house. Once we’re in the hallway, he slams me against the wall. For a very slow moment, he just stares at me, his guard dropping from his eyes, and the Isaac I know and love is finally staring back. It awakens me, and without thinking, I move forward touching our lips. That’s all it takes—my flame—it ignites the fire, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being carried up the stairs and then bouncing as Isaac throws me onto his bed.

  He takes a breath, and I wait as he watches me. His jaw clenches, and for a second I feel like maybe this is where he decides to take me home. I can only just see his face in the darkness, but the minute he makes his decision, it’s clear in his eyes.

  With no words spoken, Isaac sheds his clothes, then mine. Taking his time, he climbs over me, his warm hands exploring for the very first time. Tender kisses, filled with love, follow where his fingers have trailed. Isaac gently and lovingly caresses me with soft strokes of his tongue, and feather touches across my skin. Building me up slowly, he eases me into something I’ve never wanted with anyone else. It’s like my body recognises his, as if we were created especially for one another. My heart hammers a nervous beat inside my chest, and I almost forget to breathe. With a tenderness only he could possess, he guides us together, our eyes locked and our mouths touching. Isaac takes my virginity, takes my heart, and I know in that instant, I’ll be forever his.

  The next morning I wake alone. I’m sleepy, dazed, and confused. Pulling the covers back, I gasp when I look down and realise I wasn’t thinking last night. I don’t regret giving my virginity to Isaac, no matter what happens now. But I do regret the fact that in the daylight, with my clothes off, I opened up my biggest secret to him. I stare at my chest, stomach, ribs, and hips—the bruises and cuts are plain to see. Purple, yellow, green, and blue of varying degrees fade into my pale skin, small and large cuts show the age of my beatings.

  “Isaac!” I scream, jumping off the bed, grabbing for my shirt and running through the house.

  I was too late.

  Isaac beat Charlie to within an inch of his life.

  Then accepted the guilty plea.

  His admission earned him the maximum sentence of five years for grievous bodily harm, and was dishonourably discharged from the Army.

  He refused to see me.

  Six months later, I started drinking and skipping school. Three months after that, the dance scholarship I had been awarded was revoked.

  I lost it all. Everything I ever wanted when I was eighteen fell to pieces… including me.

  Liv

  PRESENT DAY

  I push my fingers through my hair and dig the nails into my scalp, the pain it inflicts allows me to be momentarily distracted from the shit fest that has become my life.

  “Fuck!” I grunt out, slamming my shoulder against the dirty brick wall and dropping my hands back down. I make a fist and punch out hitting the brickwork, immediately my skin splits and blood pools around the fresh cuts. I watch, unblinking, as the blood trickles across the word Pain which is tattooed on the lower half of the fingers on my right hand. The word sits just above my nails and mirrors the word Alone, which is in the same place on my left hand, although that also incorporates my thumb.

  “Liv, what the fucking hell are you doing?” The shout comes from my friend Helena, who stands half in and half out of the back door to the tattoo studio where she works. The anger she emits makes me avert my eyes fr
om her stare. Instead, I take in the rest of my friend. Her black hair is shaved up one side, the remaining hair slides in waves down her back. She has purple gloves on and is wearing ripped black jeans, a tight red tank with a black skull decorating it, and biker boots. Helena’s tattoos cover most of her body, but the ones I can see right now snake down both arms and up her neck—they match mine. We’re very similar, both about the same height, petite, with natural brown hair, although hers is now black and mine is platinum blonde. We have multiple tattoos, and we both dance at ShadowBox, a strip club in London.

  Helena stomps over and I can’t ignore her blistering ire as she rams her palm into my shoulder. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing punching the damn wall? Here, give me your hand,” she demands, grabbing my wrist and turning it over, examining my knuckles. “What happened?” she asks quietly, her tone softening, the anger now replaced with concern. I’m not sure which is worse.

  “Same old shit,” I reply, dodging the question.

  “Looks like no tattoo for you today,” she hisses.

  I rip my arm from her grasp. “You’re giving me a fucking tattoo today, Hel, I mean it,” I snap then huff out a sigh and rub my eyes.

  “I don’t tattoo crazy people,” she answers crossing her arms.

  “Yes, you do. Every damn day.”

  “All right, touché, bitch.” Her frostiness ebbs and she tilts her head back to the door. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  I follow her into the back of the studio, which thankfully is empty today. I always come in this way. The front means passing the coffee shop on the opposite side of the road. I made the mistake one night of bedding Jimmy, the barista who works there. It wasn’t planned, and I blame alcohol for my lapse in judgement. However, since that unfortunate night, Jimmy’s interest in me hasn’t waned. I wouldn’t mind, I mean, he’s easy on the eyes with his dirty blond hair which is shaved at the sides, pretty copper coloured eyes, and tattoos scattered across his six-foot frame—his body isn’t bad either. While most of the girls bat their eyelashes at him and pop in for coffee at least three times a day, I’m not most girls. He’s hot, but with all that he is, there is one thing he isn’t—Isaac.

  I dismiss the fact Isaac spent over four years in prison and never once allowed contact. And, with alarming natural ease, I ignore the reality that although he's been out of prison for five months, he still hasn't spoken to me. Because, no matter the time that’s passed, I can't pull myself from the hold Isaac has over my heart. I never could.

  He never asked for that position, and probably doesn’t even want it… but, without knowing, he has it. He has me.

  Helena sits me on a stool in the kitchen and pulls out a first-aid box. My mind drifts away as she cleans my cuts and bandages my hand. I remember chatting with Tobias a month after Isaac was released from prison.

  “He just needs time, Liv,” Tobias tells me, but his eyes don’t meet mine.

  I huff, leaning forward in my chair. I let my head drop between my knees and bite back the swell of pain that threatens to break me apart. I always assumed Isaac didn’t want me to visit while he was inside. That he didn’t want me to see what it was like in there. Also, knowing him, and what happened between us before he beat up Charlie, I imagined he’d want to talk to me privately. Apparently not. Since he’s been out he’s avoided me. He’s missed every family get together. Excuses after excuses have littered my brain as Uncle Saul, Aunt Soph, and Tobias have dutifully filtered them from him to me. The only person who hasn’t offered a string of half-truths on his behalf is Lawson, and that’s only because he’s away at Uni.

  “How much time am I supposed to give him, Toby? It’s been over four years of him in there and a month of him out, and he still won’t speak to me. God!” I shoot up from my sitting position and kick my chair over. “He must hate me,” I shout as the anger courses through my body, and I start involuntarily shaking.

  “Hey,” Tobias says taking a step toward me and pulling my shoulders into his chest, holding me and my anger until I calm.

  The minute my body stops trembling, I push away from him. “Thanks Toby, but I’m always going to be in this state of limbo until he tells me where his head is at. He knows why.” I swallow and look back down, the tears pool now but I won’t let anyone see them. “Only he knows why,” I whisper to myself and I’m certain it’s so quiet, Tobias didn’t catch it. I blink and gather my composure, grinding my teeth, before I look back at my cousin. “Tell him I want to see him.” Biting my lip, I murmur, “Again.”

  He nods, but I can’t take anymore, so I walk away.

  That was four months ago and he still hasn’t made contact. So, after a month of crying I decided, no more. I wasn’t going to turn into a weepy shadow of my former self. I’ve been trying to move on ever since.

  “There, all done,” Helena says, and I’m brought back to the present.

  “Thanks, Hel,” I tell her, sucking in my cheeks so I don’t get upset. I’ve managed not to cry, not to ask about him, and not to talk about Isaac at all since that last conversation with Tobias. The only problem is I haven’t moved on. I’ve tried, believe me. I didn’t save myself for Isaac when he was in prison. I would have if he’d spoken to me, told me he still wanted me. After almost six months of thinking he would come to his senses, I went a little wild. I started drinking and sleeping around. I couldn’t hold down my dancing scholarship, a job, or even friends. I lost them all. The only positive to come out of those years were my tattoos and my friendship with Helena. She was my tattooist for my first and still is with every new one, but somewhere along the line, she also became my best friend.

  “Well, that’s all done. Glad I have a free slot after you. Otherwise, you’d be waiting for your tat,” she tells me arching an eyebrow. “So go on, tell me what the outburst was for.”

  I shake my head no, but as she purses her lips I know she won’t let it go.

  “I had two phone calls on the way here,” I explain, getting up from the stool and busying myself by grabbing a Red Bull from her fridge.

  “And they were?” Helena prompts, her face pinched with worry.

  “The first was a rejection for that group dance I went for,” I tell her, my shoulders slumping. Ever since getting booted out of the dance academy, Aunt Soph has been working with me. She knows what I want, but neither of us are confident I’m going to get it. The tats make me unpopular for a lot of roles. The sheer amount I have over my body means they can’t be covered. Also, the fact that I never graduated and didn’t get a recommendation is a big black mark against me. She tells me I’m amazing, better than she ever was, but that’s what she would say, she’s my family. Aunt Soph and I are really close, and I love her like I love my mum.

  A year ago, I made the jump to ShadowBox. I was working in a card shop which truly was as boring as it sounds. Worst of all though, because of where I was working and the little money I was earning, I had to remain at my parents’ house. Constant battles waged between my folks and me. They’re amazing, and I love them, but they’ve always found it hard to cut the apron strings. My need for freedom meant they held on tighter, and were suffocating me. An old friend suggested stripping, and ShadowBox was mentioned. I was wary, but I needed a new job. I’ve never been body conscious, and I could dance, so to me, it made sense. After meeting Allegro—the owner of the club—and going over what would be expected of me—the pay, and hours—she offered me the job. I figured if I was going to start stripping, then having a female boss probably wasn’t a bad thing.

  After a few months, I got into the swing of taking my clothes off while dancing. The money’s great, my boss is fair, and I get on with most of the other girls. It gave me the freedom to express myself while earning enough to rent my own bedsit in London. Then Helena started struggling for money when her flatmate up and left one day with no warning. Although Helena isn’t a dancer, she can move, and she’s cute. I asked whether she’d thought about stripping, and a few weeks later she wa
s working there too. After that, I moved in with her. It made sense and helped us both out. We’ve been living together ever since.

  “Okay, you knew the chances of that job were slim. The tats were a big no-no for them, you were aware of this going in. That wasn’t why you were trying to break your hand on my wall. Spill,” she commands, and I roll my eyes.

  “Toby called,” I offer, with a croak.

  She sits up a bit straighter, her eyes widen and I know it’s because she’s now worried.

  “Isaac’s coming back home,” I explain.

  Helena nods. She’s aware of the history between us, every dirty detail. “You knew he was only in Spain for a few months, working. Come on Liv, what gives?” she questions carefully, knowing it’s causing me pain. I never cry, I always bite back my tears. There is this one area, just one, which elicits a plethora of overwrought emotions I struggle to control.

  “He’s not coming back alone,” I whisper as a single tear escapes my tight hold and rushes down my cheek.

  “Oh shit.” She startles at my words and almost spits hers back at me. “Who? Tell me what the fuck happened.”

  I shake my head, a snort of laughter passes my lips humourlessly. “Shelly. He met her out there. Apparently, she was working as a barmaid or something, and I guess he’s been…” I pause and make air quotes “… dating her ever since.”

  “Shit Liv, it must be serious if he’s bringing her home, right?” she asks tentatively.

  “I guess. I mean it’s not like I can compare it to anything. He had loads of girlfriends back in high school and college, but then he went to prison…” I rub the back of my neck.

  “Hey, that wasn’t your fault,” she snaps.

  “I know.”

  Helena raises her eyebrow at me and I hold my hands out in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture.

  “Honestly, it’s taken a lot of time, but I know it wasn’t my fault.” There’s sadness in my words, a brokenness I let few people witness. “Since he’s been out, this is the first person he’s brought home, that means it’s serious… I mean, he’s probably had one-nighters.” I bite my lip as the emotion tries to surface again.