Bad Liar

Chapter Forty Three

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Dedication: DarkWolf913 for your kind words. Thank you! <3

Recap:

"She tried. In our own way. She told me and I rejected her. I didn't mean to... I just didn't feel the same way," she mumbles tiredly. "And now I hate her. I hate her for the things she's done to me. And I hate that she thinks I hate her for how she feels. That's not it. It's the way she handles things. The horrible things she says. The fact that she goes out of her way to hurt me. And you."

"I... I don't even know what to say," I shake my head. "I can't believe I didn't know any of this. She was my best friend. Why didn't she tell me?"

"It's harder than you think, Isobel," she says to me with a heavy sigh. "It's harder than you think."

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When I wake the next morning, I rub my eyes, feeling like I haven't slept at all.

I roll my head to the side, to see Kiarra open-mouthed and snoring beside me. I stretch, feeling a few bones in my back crack. The brightness of my phone screen makes me grimace. I hastily turn it down as I squint, seeing that it is 7:30am.

I pull myself from bed, making a beeline for the shower.

The house is silent as I walk through ten minutes later, dressed in a denim skirt and a long-sleeve shirt. My hair is still wet, hanging limply down my shoulders. I wait until I'm out the front door, before sliding my vans onto my feet.

The wind is unforgiving and harsh as I walk towards my car. I tug the sleeves down my hands and grimace, wishing I'd chosen to wear jeans instead.

I stop into Brumby's Bakery on my way to the hospital, ordering two coffees and two cream pastry puffs. My stomach rumbles as the smell fills my car.

By the time I walk through the front doors, it's one minute passed the time visitors are allowed to enter. The nurse on reception raises her eyebrows.

"You're here early," she smiles.

"And I come bearing the goods," I reply weakly, waving the bakery bag beside me. "I'm here to see Miles Carter."

Her fingers tap against the keyboard for a few moments.

"He's on the next floor. Take the elevator at the end of the corridor. He's in room 193."

"Thank you," I say quietly, my stomach twisting into knots with each step I take.

My grip tightens around the coffees in my hands as I get closer. I reach his room. With an encouraging breath, I push open the door.

I choke on a gasp. He's lying there, bruises littering his body. He appears an off-colour and red welt marks are dug into his skin.

His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling. Despite his harsh looking injuries, his face looks quite peaceful as he sleeps. I gently place down our breakfast onto the table beside him. I crawl into the bed, barely having enough room to fit my body. I curl into his side, being careful not to put my weight on him.

I bury my face into his shoulder.

Once my skin is on his, I physically relax. The tension, the stress, it all ebbs away. Despite it being early, I suddenly feel tired. I let my eyes drift closed as I lay beside him.

Finally, I'm with him.

***

I wake an hour or so later, to the sound the paper rumpling and the T.V on low.