Where The Lies Novels & Stories

But when she thought about it later, as she lay nestled in his arms in her bed, she thought that telling lies and telling the truth had a few things in common. She'd learned that if you told one lie, then you were pretty much guaranteed to have to tell another one to explain or justify or cover up that first lie. Then a third lie, to protect the first two lies. Then a fourth, to shore things up and to keep the house of lies from falling down. And on and on, lie after lie, until it was like a snowball barreling on down a hill. You told one lie and then you couldn't stop telling more of them.

No more lies. Not from Luna. Not from Emily. And certainly not from the ghosts of his past.

The lights flicker again. But this time— They don’t stabilize. They dim. Slowly. Deliberately. One by one. Until shadows start creeping back in. “What’s happening?” I ask, panic rising again. Adrian steps back. Into the darkness. “This,” he says calmly, “is where the lies begin.” My heart starts racing. “What lies?” His voice echoes— Fading. “Everything you think you know.” The lights drop lower. The room changes again. The men move. Positions shifting.

He can hear Evan saying that men who only like him when nobody is watching do not become safer because they look wounded. He asks anyway. “Can a man lie for so long that the lie becomes easier than the truth?” Adrian does not move. The restaurant continues around them. Forks touch plates. A server speaks softly near the bar. Somewhere behind Julian, a woman laughs at something that has nothing to do with them. At their table, the question remains open. Adrian looks at the recorder. Then at Julian. They both know this is no longer only for the article. “Yes,” Adrian says quietly.

Elara POV I used to think lies were loud. I thought they came with shouting. With denial. With anger, you could see and fight. I was wrong. The most dangerous lies are quiet. They live inside prayers. Inside lullabies. Inside traditions, no one questions. They hang in the sky every night, calm and beautiful, pretending to be harmless. Like the Moon. I felt it as we left the hidden archive. Not watching me with eyes. Watching me with memory.

He asked, “There’s no more to it, I was banished as I said earlier hence you met me at the desert” I couldn’t remember the words I said to him earlier so I wrapped my head around the basis of my lies. One thing I hate about lies is that I’m not good at it and when the truth unfolds it would be disastrous. “Ok if you say so, I hate lies and one thing I hate about them is the consequences the teller faces” He chuckles as I put a smile on my face.

It tasted of absolutely nothing except mayonnaise. I sat staring out at the darkness rushing past the window while random thoughts kept nudging at the edges of my exhaustion. Missing pieces. New pieces. No pieces at all. There were lies so small they hardly mattered, the sort you could choose to believe or ignore without consequence. Then there were lies that looked harmless on the surface but carried enormous ramifications underneath. And sometimes deception wasn’t about what somebody said—it was about what they deliberately left unsaid. Jock’s lies always hovered dangerously close to the truth.

The grief, pain, and screams all at once returned In droves. "If he truly misses he would have called but he didn’t, he truly misses me he would have responded to the messages I sent but he didn’t, if he truly misses me he would have visited or let me visit but you what! He didn’t" I just had to stop talking; I have nothing to say right now, if I continue talking I would burst into tears. After so many years, of believable lies and fake love, I can’t deal with this anymore. He doesn’t miss me, he doesn’t even care. "Dani!" He sighed

All of which were true, even if the truth itself was a lie. When Noah graduated college, I cried harder than I had in years. He got a job in New York big lights, big stage, big world. I packed his bags and kissed his forehead. “Call me every Sunday,” I said, fighting tears. He hugged me so tightly that I almost broke and told him everything. But I didn’t. Months passed. Then one Sunday, his voice sounded different. “Mom… I met someone. Well, not like that. A man. Older. He hired me. We talk a lot.”

Like he'd changed what he was going to say at the last second. "That's bullshit." "Excuse me?" "You were going to say something else. Don't lie to me." "I'm not lying." "Yes you are. You do this thing where your voice gets all flat when you're lying. It's a tell." "I don't have a tell." "You absolutely have a tell." I stepped closer to him, getting in his space now. "Just admit what you were going to say." "There's nothing to admit." "Liar." "Thalia, drop it."