The Truth in My Lies

  The Truth in my Lies

  By Ivy Smoak

  Copyright 2018 Ivy Smoak

  All Rights Reserved

  Join Ivy Smoak's newsletter to receive a FREE short story and be the first to know about her new releases!

  CONTENTS

  Title

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Sneak Peek

  Read More

  ARC Team

  Also by Ivy Smoak

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  It was better when I had a routine. A routine kept my pulse even. Kept me sane. So I made sure every weekday morning was the same. At exactly 8 o'clock, I would go for a run. I glanced at the clock as I laced my sneakers. It was only 7:50, which was ten minutes too early. I finished tying my second sneaker and willed myself to stay still.

  I was trying out this new thing. Long, slow, deep breaths. It was supposed to calm me. But my muscles wanted to move and I couldn't make my leg stop bouncing. The small movement radiated energy to all my limbs. Within seconds, I'd abandoned my slow, even breaths. I wanted to jump and run and scream. God, I wanted to scream. My fingers repeatedly tapped against the top of my thigh, one at a time, driving me slowly insane. I cringed when I looked back at the clock and only one minute had passed.

  I clenched my hand into a fist so I wouldn't be tempted to grab something and throw it at the clock that wouldn’t speed up to the desired time. I looked back down at my bouncing leg. What would it feel like to scream at the top of my lungs? Would the neighbors hear? I shook the thought away. It didn't matter. I wasn't going to scream and wake the neighbors at 7:52 in the morning. 7:52? Are you kidding me? It was almost like time was standing still.

  I stood up and started stretching to give my overactive limbs something to focus on. Sometimes change was okay. An adjustment to my schedule wasn't the worst thing in the world. But not today. Today was Thursday. My schedule couldn't change on a Thursday.

  I smiled at the irony of it. Six months ago, my schedule changed on a Thursday. Not by choice. By destiny. It was like the universe knew what I'd needed at that exact moment. I used to run at 7 a.m. every day. Now I ran at 8. I was okay with it being a few minutes early or late most days. But not Thursday. Never Thursday.

  My route was timed out perfectly. That way I got to run past the same spot twice within a half hour. Once wasn't enough. It had to be twice. I wasn't sure I'd keep breathing for another week if it wasn't twice.

  Some people might think my fixation was unhealthy. But it was the only thing I looked forward to all week. My world revolved around Thursdays at 8 a.m. Because the rest of my world was bleak. If my life was the only thing I thought about, I'd lose my mind.

  Although it was possible I'd already lost it.

  I walked into the pantry and reached into the far corner of the bottom shelf. My fingers wrapped around the container of pills. It used to feel like I was swallowing guilt when I took one. Now? I plopped one into my mouth and shoved the container back into the corner. Now it was part of my routine. And I felt no guilt. If anything, I felt relief.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and drank the pill down. Nope, definitely no guilt. My eyes lazily looked up at the clock and water dribbled down my chin as I started to smile mid-sip. It was time. I wiped off my mouth with the back of my hand and placed the bottle down on the counter, not even bothering to put the cap back on. Who had time for bottle caps on a Thursday morning at 8 a.m.?

  I put my earbuds in my ears and tucked the end of the cord into my shirt. It didn't lead to anything. But it was better that people thought I couldn't hear them. It was better that no one tried to talk to me. My whole world was for show. My run couldn't be any different.

  I opened up the front door and breathed in the scent of autumn. The fall leaves were wet from the rain the night before. And there was an unmistakable crispness in the air. I loved autumn.

  The thought made me pause. My fingers stayed glued to the door handle. Love? What a preposterous thought. I didn't love anything. I didn't believe in love. But addiction? I believed in that. I understood that better than most people. How could I not? I was almost positive I was addicted to him.

  Chapter 2

  I usually kept my eyes on the pavement in front of me, not daring to let my gaze venture. But today, I couldn't seem to stop looking at the houses. They were all the same. Beige siding. Brown front doors. Perfectly inviting cookie-cutter houses. Designed for cookie-cutter families. I used to crave that. When I was a little girl, I dreamt of everything I didn't have. I wanted it desperately. Much like how I craved him now.

  I was naive back then. Now I knew that the things I craved should be kept at arm's length. Fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice? Not going to happen.

  My head snapped toward the sound of a lawnmower starting. The timing was pure perfection. My feet slowed to a light jog, unable to keep my pace when I saw him. Somehow, he always seemed to take my breath away. And all my senses became overloaded. Sight, touch, taste, smell, and sound. My lips parted slightly, an involuntary reaction. We were a whole lawn away. This was the closest I'd ever been to him, and the closest I'd ever be. So why was it so easy to imagine him kissing my lips? Tasting the saltiness of his skin? Feeling the whisper of his breath in my ear?

  A daydream. A fantasy so oversaturated that it felt real. More real than anything in my actual life. I wasn't even sure what it was about him that consumed my mind. The way his hair fell slightly on his forehead? The tan that somehow highlighted the cut of his muscles? The kind smile that was much too kind for someone like me?

  He looked up as I passed, that same smile I dreamt about crossing his lips. No, it wasn't the smile that had captured me. Although the kindness behind it was part of the intrigue. It was the dimple on his cheek. Not one on each cheek. Just the one. On his left cheek. It was an imperfection. An imperfection on an otherwise perfect physic. It was the imperfection that drew me in.

  He waved as he continued to push the mower with his free hand. The first time he had waved to me, I'd immediately snapped my eyes back to the pavement. I had felt the heat cross my cheeks. He had caught me staring. My heart had slammed against my ribcage like I had been running for five miles instead of five minutes. And when I had looked back over my shoulder, he was still staring at me.

  But that awkward moment had been 6 months ago. Now we had a routine. He waved and I would wave back. It was less awkward if I waved back. Less abnormal. Most people didn’t have to
try so hard to be normal. To me, it was excruciating work. I didn't ever want someone to see through my exterior to the torment inside of me.

  I lifted my hand and waved. He smiled and looked back down at the lawnmower. Our exchange was over. And I kept running, refusing to look back. It was better if I dreamt of him staring after me. It was better if I didn't know whether he was or not. I'd never looked back ever since that first day. But it was hard to shake that feeling that his gaze would be on me if I looked over my shoulder.

  I picked up my pace as I turned the corner. My obsession with him was ridiculous. I knew nothing about him besides for his appearance. And I knew how meaningless appearances were. I knew I was attractive. My mother always used to say it was the only thing I had going for me. I hated when she'd say that. Maybe that was when my insides started to become twisted and unrecognizable. A compliment turned sour. Morphed into an insult. My insides definitely weren't attractive. I wasn't sure they ever were.

  It was hard to not read into his flawless looks, though. When I jogged back in the opposite direction, his shirt would be gone and his appearance would be all I could think about. Perfect timing had its perks. I picked up my pace again. The feeling of my muscles resisting thrilled me. There was no better feeling than pushing myself to the limit. Knowing that my body wouldn't break. That nothing would ever break me no matter how hard everyone seemed to try.

  I'd started running because it was the only thing that made me feel alive. I was addicted to the wind rushing through my hair. I'd stopped using hair ties because they lowered the thrill. I needed the wind through my hair, not through my ponytail. It made the cookie-cutter wives stare at me with dissatisfaction. But I didn't care. They didn't know how badly I needed to feel alive. How badly I needed Thursdays.

  Maybe that was something else I liked about him. The way he stared at me made me feel desired. Him staring lit something inside of me. Especially since I knew we'd never interact. Since I knew it would never be more than a wave. Or a smile.

  I reached the dead end and placed my hands on my knees. The woods stretched out before me. I stared at the trees as I caught my breath. I used to want to run through them. I thought running so close to nature, tucked away from suburbia, would help ease my worries and fears. A natural trail made with my own footprints starting at the back of my house. A trail just for me. But the one time I ran through the trees, I had been more terrified than ever. Because it was tucked away from suburbia. And there was definitely no one there to hear my screams. Not one soul. The thought irked me so fiercely that ever since then I'd never been able to look at the woods the same. Not to mention how the branches had cut my skin. I had come back to the house looking like I'd just escaped from the set of a horror movie.

  I took a step back from the woods. They were why all the blinds in the back of my house were always drawn close. The trees gave me an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. No, I didn't want to run through them ever again. I'd stick to the street. Worse for my knees, better for my mind.

  Besides, my knees had never been fragile. But my mind was. That was basically what the doctor said when she'd prescribed me the pills. She ended up being right though. I felt better when I took them. They weren't helping anyone in the garbage disposal where I had originally put them.

  Fragile yet stubborn at the same time. I ignored the inconsistencies and started running back the way I had come. I always ran faster on the way back to him, even though I was dreading my silent goodbye. Part of me always worried he'd be gone early. That he'd just disappear.

  One day that might happen. He might stop cutting the lawn at that particular house. Or he might change the time he did it. I couldn't exactly camp out on the street and wait for him. When his disappearance ultimately happened, the one day I looked forward to would disappear. Every day would be exactly the same. And then what would happen to me? How had I existed without this one thing to look forward to? I couldn't even remember.

  I turned the corner and saw him in the distance. His had stripped off his shirt. The sweat on his chest made his skin glisten in the sunlight. It made him look otherworldly. I laughed silently at the thought. Otherworldly? There was only one world. The current hell that I was living.

  He lifted his hand and waved, that dimple appearing on his cheek. My world didn't feel like hell when I passed him. It felt airy like the breeze through my hair. Like anything was still possible, even though I knew in my gut that it wasn't. I lifted my hand to wave back.

  I was completely distracted by his perfect imperfection on his cheek. It was all I could see. And I didn't want to look away yet. What if I couldn't wait till next Thursday? What if I was the one that disappeared?

  The look on his face changed in a heartbeat.

  I didn't understand the look.

  I mistook it for anger. I always mistook expressions for anger.

  Panic constricted in my throat.

  What had I done? Had I stared too long at him? I had, hadn't I?

  He called to me, but my mind blocked out his words. Something I was used to doing. A defense mechanism. The same doctor that had given me the pills had told me that's what it was. So all I saw was the supposed anger and his mouth moving fast. The words were drowned out by my own panic.

  I crashed into something and my legs flew out from underneath of me.

  Chapter 3

  Leaves fluttered into the air as the bags deflated beneath me with a hiss. I reached my palms out to catch myself but my right wrist collapsed under my weight. I felt my hand skid across the pavement, ripping at my skin. Ow! I landed hard on my side as my wrist completely gave out. I tried to take a deep breath to access the damage. I'm okay, I tried to tell myself even though tears were biting at the corners of my eyes. I'm fine. I needed to run away. I needed to stop lying in this pile of leaves I somehow managed to explode everywhere. There didn't appear to be any leaves left in the bags. God. This was worse than the time that I didn't wave back. So much freaking worse.

  The pain that seared across my ankle as I tried to stand was significantly worse than the pain in my wrist. No. I rotated my foot in a circle and the pain only increased. No, no, no, no, no! I needed to run. I had to be able to run. My Thursdays depended on it. My sanity depended on it! I turned to push myself up but the pain was blinding. Son of a bitch. I couldn't do it. My body betrayed me and collapsed back down on the bags. The air in them hissed again and a few more leaves fluttered into the air. I swallowed down the curses on the tip of my tongue.

  I smelled him first. There was no doubt in my mind that he was standing above me. Because that smell could only belong to him. It was the only real sensation of him I had experienced beside sight. And God, he smelled better than I had ever imagined. Sweet cologne mixed with salty sweat and something else that could only be described as all man. Dirt and grass and everything that exuded sexiness and...strength. How could he smell like strength? That wasn't an odor. I bit my lip as I tried and failed to stand again. This can't be happening. He's not really standing above me. I'm just dreaming.

  "Ma'am, are you alright?" If he smelled like strength, he also sounded like strength. His voice was gravely and deep. Something about it made my own throat feel dry. Or maybe I was just parched from my run.

  The sensory overload was jarring. Wait. Did he just call me ma'am? I pulled out my earbuds even though they weren’t affecting my hearing. I had silently been pining for the man for months and the first time he talks to me he calls me ma'am? Did I look 80 years old? This was a mistake. I shouldn't have been here. I shouldn't have timed out my runs so perfectly. I never should have seen him, let alone been close enough for him to call me ma'am. My throat was definitely dry because I tried to speak and nothing came out. I awkwardly cleared it. "I'm fine," I grunted. Leave me alone in my misery.

  Then it was touch. His palms were rough from mowing lawns and they slightly scratched my skin. I already thought I was experiencing sensory overload. But his touch was what sent shivers down my spine and goose
bumps up my arms. His touch is what made me finally look up at him.

  "You don't look fine," he said.

  My lips parted. There were words floating around in my head, but none of them seemed like an appropriate response. He had insulted me. So why were my eyes fixated on his lips? His perfectly kissable lips. I should have been giving him hell. Telling him to get his hands off my shoulder. Screaming at him to mind his own business. Instead, I stared dumbly. Apparently I became mute at the sight of perfection.

  "Let's get you to your feet," he said. He didn't wait for me to respond. He hoisted me off the bags of leaves I destroyed without a flinch. Like I weighed nothing. And my brain finally processed the fact that his touch excited me instead of frightened me. I looked down at his hands on my upper arms.

  My sluggish brain quickly caught up to process the rest of the situation. Nosy neighbors could see this scene unfolding through their spotless windows. I needed to get home. People talked. And I did better when they were silent. I took a step away from him.

  Ow. A pathetic whimper escaped my lips.

  "Let's get you inside and clean up that cut." He stepped back toward me and wrapped his arm around my waist.

  I should have stepped away again. Instead, I followed his gaze and looked down at my hand. There was blood on my palm that was already starting to cake. Just looking at it made me feel nauseous. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. Him offering to help me was something straight out of one of my fantasies. But going into a neighbor's house that I didn't know? Why did he even have a key? The members of my lawn service definitely didn't have a key to my house. There was absolutely no reason for that.

  "No, I'm fine. I really need to get home." I cringed as I set my foot on the ground.

  "You can barely walk. Come on." He started walking, forcing me to hop along with him.

  "I'm not going in that house." God, who was watching us right now? Were rumors already spreading? As much as I loved his hands against my skin, they didn't belong there.