Chapter 5: The next lie
917 Words
-Sienna-
The world felt different after that kiss.
We went back to acting like we hated each other. We fought over the remote. We slammed doors. We threw each other looks like knives across the hallway. But it was all fake. A script for our parents, for anyone watching. The truth was messier.
Every time Jaxon walked into a room, my stomach flipped. My throat went tight. If our hands brushed in the hallway, it was like touching a live wire, like a sharp, instant heat that I felt in every inch of me.
My journal turned into chaos. Half confessions, half lies.
I hate him.
I hate the way he looks at me.
I hate that I want him to look at me.
I hate that I can’t stop thinking about his mouth.
What the hell is wrong with me?
At dinner, we didn’t talk much, but our eyes did. Longing. Frustration. Everything we couldn’t say out loud.
At night, we’d end up in the kitchen. Always late. Always quiet. A truce space. The rest of the house was a maze of darkness and locked doors, but the kitchen was… ours.
One night, he leaned against the counter, watching me.
“You’re still smoking,” he said.
“So what?” I blew a thin stream of smoke out the open window.
“Nothing,” he shrugged, eyes not leaving mine. “You just… you look sad.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve. My shield went up fast. “I’m not sad.”
“Yes, you are,” he said quietly. He took a slow step toward me, stopping just close enough for me to feel him there. “I see it.”
I hated that. Hated how he could look straight past my sarcasm and find the fear, the ache.
He stayed where he was. His presence warmed the cold kitchen air.
“I get it,” he said. “It’s hard. All of this.”
Something in me cracked. “It’s so hard,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
His eyes softened. “I know. I feel it too. The tension. The silence. Pretending.”
“Pretending what?” My voice was barely there.
“That we’re not dying to be alone together.” His tone dropped low, rough. He reached out, his fingers curling under my chin, thumb brushing my cheek. Heat spread through me like a fuse being lit.
I leaned in before I could think.
And then he kissed me. Slow at first, then deeper, his lips telling all the things we’d been swallowing for months. My hands found his waist. I pulled him closer.
This wasn’t a dare. This wasn’t a game anymore.
After that, we became thieves. Stealing moments in the garage, the laundry room, his bedroom when the coast was clear. It was dangerous and addicting.
But secrets have a weight.
Tyler, my ex, noticed first. One night he saw us in the kitchen, talking too close. His jealousy turned into mean texts, calls.
Is he touching you?
Is he looking at you?
Kendra, my best friend, saw something too. She cornered me at school, eyes sharp.
“Sienna… you and Jaxon. There’s something there. I can feel it.”
The tension inside me was like a knot pulling tighter every day.
And then it snapped.
It was a hot Tuesday. The air felt thick enough to choke on. Jaxon and I were in the kitchen making dinner when my phone buzzed.
Tyler: I saw you two. I know what’s going on. Tell me the truth, or I’ll tell your dad.
Cold panic shot through me. My fingers went numb. The knife I was holding slipped and clattered onto the tile.
Jaxon turned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” My voice shook.
He stepped closer. “Sienna…”
“I said it’s nothing,” I muttered, bending to grab the knife, my hands trembling so badly I almost dropped it again.
He caught my wrist, his hand warm over my shaking fingers. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I said leave it!” My voice came out too loud, too desperate.
“No.” His voice hardened. “Not this time. Is it Tyler? Did he see something?”
The words hit dead center. Tears burned my eyes.
“What does it matter?” I snapped. “It’s a mistake, Jaxon. All of this. It was a mistake.”
Something in his face shifted, concern turning to something darker. “A mistake?” His voice was low. “You’re calling this…us… a mistake?”
“Yes!” I shouted, my throat tight. “It was a mistake!”
His hand closed around my arm. Firm. “Come with me. Now.”
“Let go..”
He didn’t. He dragged me out of the kitchen, down the hall, into the garage. The heat was thick and heavy out there, the air smelling of motor oil and sawdust.
He pushed me back against the wall, his hands gripping my shoulders. His eyes burned into mine.
“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he said, voice low and furious. “Right now. Tell me.”
The words stuck in my throat. Because I couldn’t.
And that’s when the war started. The quiet, dangerous one where every fight blurred into something else and unleashed the s*x we had in the garage. Where anger and want twisted together until I couldn’t tell them apart.
- Writer
