Chapter 16 Aslan
Aslan
After I sent James that text, my phone died.
Just—gone. Black screen. No battery. No chance to call him again, no chance to call a taxi... Not that a taxi would’ve helped. I probably couldn’t have afforded a ten-mile ride on a Saturday night, anyway.
So I walked.
At first, I didn’t even walk like a normal person. I just moved—fast, angry, half blind with adrenaline and humiliation. I cut through streets without paying attention to names or signs, my mind stuck on one thing and one thing only: getting away.
I ended up lost. Twice.
The first time, I pretended I wasn’t. I wandered around with my hands shoved in my pockets like I totally knew where I was going... Just breathing, calming my heartbeat for a moment.
Eventually, I had to stop and ask for directions, forcing myself to speak without letting my voice shake.
The second time, I didn’t even bother acting cool. I stopped a couple outside a twenty-four-hour convenience store and asked them how to get back toward Crownwell, and they stared at me like I was insane—like no one in their right mind walked out here at night.
They pointed me toward the highway.
Once I found it, it was just a stretch of road and darkness, and I started running.
Because apparently that was what I did now.
Run from Garrett William.
I ran and ran and ran until I couldn’t feel my legs properly anymore, until my lungs burned like they were full of knives, until the world narrowed down to the slap of my shoes against pavement and the sound of my own breath tearing in and out of me.
Except this wasn’t the usual run. This was longer, and by the time the campus lights finally came into view, my whole body was shaking. I slowed to a stumble, bent over with my hands on my knees, sucking air like I was drowning on land.
My heart was racing so violently it felt wrong—too fast, too heavy, like it was trying to punch its way out of my ribs.
I was glad I’d taken my pills when I did, but even that thought made me furious with myself, because this was stupid. Reckless. The kind of thing I’d regret for days—the strain, the soreness, the way my chest would stay tight like a warning I couldn’t ignore.
Damn fool.
How quickly I’d forgotten priorities. How quickly I’d let someone else drag me into chaos like my body was disposable.
That night wasn’t just a humiliation. It was a wake-up call.
For my health. My sanity. My future.
By the time I got back to my dorm, I barely remembered unlocking the door. I barely remembered collapsing on the bed. The second my head hit the pillow, my body shut down.
When James came back later, I was already asleep.
And honestly? Thank God, because whatever had happened tonight was not a subject I ever wanted to talk about again.
Sunday hit me like a truck.
My head was pounding so hard it felt like someone had taken a hammer to my skull and left it there. Between the hangover, the pills I’d swallowed—after all that alcohol—and that insane run back to campus, my body was basically on strike, so I stayed in bed.
James wasn't taking it well.
He paced the tiny room, opened drawers he didn’t need, rearranged things that didn’t need rearranging, and kept glancing at me like he was waiting for me to explode.
Then he started apologizing.
“I’m sorry,” he said for the tenth time, voice small, hands wringing dramatically like he was about to audition for a tragic stage play. “I’m so, so sorry—for whatever happened. I swear to God, Aslan.”
I didn’t answer. Not because I was mad at him—I wasn’t—but because if I opened my mouth, something sharp was going to fly out. And it wouldn’t even be for James.
James took my silence like a death sentence. He drifted closer, sitting on his bed like a punished kid.
“I just wanted him to admit his feelings…. And the kiss thing—okay, yeah, that was… probably insane, but it made sense in my head. I thought it would mess with him.”
It did mess with him.
That part had worked. And technically, he had admitted how much he hated me so…
James lowered his voice with guilt. “You didn’t even tell me what he said. You just… left.”
He rubbed his face hard, smearing shimmer down his cheekbone.
I stared at the wall, jaw tight.
“For the record, I confronted him. So did Aitor. Like big time—”
You did? Oh, God… And, Aitor?
My mind was spinning.
James sniffed, then tried a new approach, voice wobbling into fake seriousness. “Okay. Fine. I will now be silent. Completely silent. Like a monk. A glittery monk. Who is very sorry.”
That almost made me smile.
Almost.
I skipped breakfast. I didn’t want to be seen. Especially by him…
Invisible was safer.
By the time James finally left for lunch—probably starving and sulking—I pushed myself up and grabbed my phone, drowning in my self pity.
I called my mom.
The second she answered, her voice warmed the entire space in my chest like a blanket. Like home.
“Hi, baby,” she said immediately, soft and bright, like she’d been waiting. “I was just thinking about you. I've missed you so much!”
Guilt punched me right in the throat.
“Hey, Ma.” My voice came out rough, still half-dead. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I’ve just been… busy.”
Busy was the lie people used when they didn’t wanna say I’ve been falling apart.
“Oh, honey,” she said, like she understood anyway. “I know. I know you’re working hard. I’m just happy to hear from you.”
I swallowed and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah. Me too.”
She asked me about school—of course. About classes, food, my dorm. About whether people were being kind to me. She had this way of asking things gently, like she didn’t want to scare me into shutting down.
I gave her the version I could manage.
Then she sighed. “And how’s your health, honey? Be honest.”
I hesitated.... Because she always knew. She always knew when my voice sounded wrong.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just… allergies.”
She didn’t buy it. I could tell by the silence.
“Are you taking your medication properly?” she asked. “Every day? On time?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I’m taking it. I promise.”
“Any palpitations?” Her tone sharpened a little, that mother-switch flipping on. “Any dizziness? Tightness? Are you drinking caffeine?”
“No,” I said. “No, I’m good. It’s under control.”
It wasn’t under control. Not this weekend. Not after last night. But I kept my voice steady. “And I have my emergency pills anyway, so…”
Then, because I didn’t want her to keep digging, I asked, “And you? How are you feeling?”
She dismissed it too fast. “Oh, I’m fine.”
“Ma.”
She gave that fake little laugh. “I’m fine, baby. Just a bit tired lately. Nothing serious.”
The exact same lie she’d always used.
And it made something twist in my chest, because I hated that we both did it. Hated that she carried the same condition and still tried to mother me through mine like she wasn’t just as fragile.
She cleared her throat, switching topics like she always did when emotions got too close. “So,” she said, lighter now, a little teasing, “have you met anyone special yet?”
I snorted. “If she only knew…”
“No one special,” I said, smiling at the ceiling. “But I’ve made a couple friends.”
“Oh?” Her voice brightened instantly. “That's awesome!”
I grabbed some water, fatigue dragging at my bones, and sat down on the bathroom’s cool tiles like my body couldn’t hold itself up anymore.
She stayed on the line a while longer, talking about our town and the neighbor’s drama. Simple things. Safe things. The kind of conversation that made it easy to pretend nothing was wrong.
“Call me again soon, okay?” Her voice trembled. “And promise me you’ll watch over your heart.”
“I’ll watch over my heart, Mom.” My throat tightened. “You too, please. I love you.”
“I love you more,” she whispered.
When I hung up, I just sat there a second longer, staring at the bottle of pills in my hand like it had weight beyond plastic. Phone in one hand. Medication in the other. Like that was all I really was now—two fragile things I kept trying not to drop.
Then I stood and walked out of the bathroom.
And froze.
James was right there in the room, holding a hot plate of food like he’d been trying to take care of me without pushing too hard. But the second his eyes landed on what I was holding, his expression changed—alarm replacing guilt so fast it almost didn’t look real.
His gaze flicked from the bottle… to my face.
“What’s wrong with your heart?”