Novel & Cerita Stop Lying To Me

“Remember Paris?” I closed my eyes briefly. “Stop.” “You said you trusted me.” “Stop.” “You said I understood you.” “Lisa.” “You said I was the only one who saw the real you.” I walked around the desk. “Stop trying to get into my head.” “Why?” she asked quietly. “Because it’s working?” “It’s not.” She stepped closer. “You’re lying.” “I’m not.” “You are.” Her hand touched my arm. I didn’t move. “You can pretend all you want,” she whispered.

She yelled, her words hitting me harder than a punch to the guts, “I feel like I’m forgetting something and you… you know it and you’re hiding it from me.” “I don’t know any—” “STOP!” She snapped before I could finish talking, “do anything just don’t… Don't lie to me, please.”

“I know. Just… don’t lie to me again. If you and my dad are going to try to make this real, you owe it to both of us to be honest. With everyone. Even yourself.” I hugged her tight, crying into her shoulder until she laughed and shoved me away. “Okay, enough. You’re going to get snot in my hair.” For the first time in weeks, something inside me unclenched. I called Julian that night, my voice trembling with relief. “I think… I think it’s time to stop hiding.” He was quiet for a moment, and I heard the smile in his voice when he finally spoke. “Come over. Let’s figure out what’s next together.”

Adrian said, his voice pulling me back slightly. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t have the energy to. “How?” I asked quietly. There was a pause. Then— “Stop fighting.” The simplicity of it almost made me laugh. Almost. Because that was all he wanted. Not just my body. Not just control. But that. That moment where I stopped resisting. Where I stopped hoping. Where I stopped believing I could get out of this. My fingers curled slightly again, weaker this time, less certain. Because a part of me—

I’d rather sweat on a bus than see my children go without their treatment. I had already lied to two people this morning. I told them my engine stalled in the middle of nowhere and I had to leave the car with a mechanic. A simple lie. A clean lie. It happens to anyone. But what if they see me again? And again? For the next one week? Don't worry, I told my brain. We could just look for another lie. There’s always a lie to tell. I walked into the lobby of the office building, my head held high. I pushed the button for the elevator and waited. When the doors slid open, my heart stopped for a split second.

I straighten, meet the watching eyes above, and let my answer stand unchanged. “No more stabilization,” I say evenly. “Not from me.” The pressure threshold has been reached. And I’m done letting them pretend that means stop.

The honesty in his confession stunned me silent. "So no, I can't stop." He took a step closer. "I can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop wanting to know everything about you. Can't stop imagining all the ways I could make you feel good if you'd just let me try."

“Is that what’s really stopping you?” His jaw tightens. “It’s part of it.” “And the rest?” He looks at me then — really looks — the way men do when they’re about to confess something dangerous. “The rest,” he says, “is that if I let myself want you openly, I won’t know how to stop.” The honesty steals my breath. “I’m tired,” I whisper. “Not just physically. I don’t trust my instincts anymore.” “Then borrow mine,” he says quietly. “Until you do.”

“So this is your so-called pure love and hard work, Jace? This is your so-called true love? Wake up. She was only using you as a stepping stone. You were just too stupid to see it.” With that, I stood up and brushed my hands together. “Alright, the show’s over. I’m going home to sleep.” I turned and walked away. Quincy followed behind me in silence. At the door, I stopped and looked back at him. “Thanks. You did well today.” Quincy looked at me. A faint smile appeared on his lips. “No problem. By the way, that video. You didn’t hack into the school system to get it, did you?” I raised an eyebrow.

She froze. He was breathing harder now, and she realized with a strange kind of heartbreak that he wasn’t stopping her because he thought she was lying anymore. He was stopping her because whatever she was about to say frightened him more than every lie he’d spent two and a half years believing. “Stop.” Flat. Final. “You have done nothing but lie to me. From the beginning.” “I have never lied to you. I had nothing to tell you.” “Then why did you leave. Why did you play me—”