Chapter 30 Garrett
Garrett
It felt good—sharp and blinding, like a drug. Something to drown out the week, my life, the mess in my head. Something I needed, which was why I threw my backpack to the floor and ripped my blazer off without thinking.
He stared at me from where he’d landed, crumpled against the lockers, stunned but unmoving, and the sight of him like that only made the buzz under my skin worse.
“Fucking push me back, lion,” I yelled, bouncing on my heels, ready. “Come on.”
“Garrett, stop.”
I’d expected hatred. Anger. Anything sharp. What I got instead was quiet—too quiet and wrong in a way that made my stomach twist. There was fucking pity in it, and that snapped something inside me.
All I had to do was push him, find the right words, the ones that would cut deep enough to force him to react. I stepped closer. “You know you want to. I’m a fucking asshole. I make your life hell.” My voice dropped, sharpened. “And you know I’ll end up getting you expelled. Then you’ll have to go back to fucking your teacher—”
The world flipped.
I went down hard, landing on my ass with the breath knocked clean out of me, and the crowd parted without a sound. There were no gasps, no cheers—just silence that rang in my ears.
Something burned hot in my chest.
“Yes!” I scrambled up and shoved him again, but this time he was ready, and he only staggered a step back as electricity tore through me.
“C’mon,” I spat. “Hit me again, faggot!”
He shook his head, breathing hard, confusion creasing his brow. “What am I doing?” The words sounded like he was asking himself.
“Shut the fuck up and hit me!” My voice cracked, shrill and high. “Hurt me. I deserve it.”
I shoved him again, harder, and he grabbed me, wrestling to get away until our bodies collided and the hunger, the urge, kicked in. I recoiled just before my groin betrayed me in front of half the school.
He found his footing and turned me around, and this time he had the upper hand. He slammed me back against the wall, my lungs burning as I gasped for air, while his face had gone pale and his breathing turned jagged, out of rhythm.
“That’s it, lion!” I shouted, reaching out for his throat. “Fight back!”
“Garrett, stop!” James’s voice cut through the crowd just as movement surged at the edges. “He’s got a—”
Panic flashed across Aslan’s face. He turned sharply.
“Stop!” he yelled at James. “Please—stay out of it!”
I didn’t understand what the hell that was about.
But I used the distraction and drove him down, jumping on top of him and swinging blindly at his face. At first he fought back, and that fueled me—his anger, his hatred, the way his eyes went wild as if he wanted to finish whatever it was we were doing once and for all.
It felt good and awful at the same time. Euphoric and miserable.
Pain began to creep in, replacing the rage the moment my lion stopped fighting, his head snapping with each punch as blood ran from his nose.
“Fucking fight me, lion! What kind of man are you?” I wrapped my hands around his neck and squeezed, trying to get a reaction from him—maybe trying to stop all the emotions spilling out of me.
I looked into those conflicted, beautiful eyes as they lost all resistance and knew without a doubt that if I didn’t keep hurting him, I was going to do something I’d forever regret.
“Please,” he mouthed, asking for something I couldn’t quite make out. My hands loosened as he gasped in a breath, our eyes locked on each other, and suddenly my body leaned forward, like it was pulled by a fucking invisible magnet.
“Garrett!”
I snapped out of my trance with a jolt as two pairs of hands landed on my shoulders, oblivious to what I had almost done.
Aitor, of course. And Max Holt.
The football star looked ready to kill me as they dragged me back. Aslan scrambled up with James’s help, breathing hard, one hand on his chest, blood streaming down, his eyes still locked on mine.
“We’re not finished,” I muttered. And I had no idea which part of it I wasn’t finished with—but whatever it was, he seemed to agree.
“We’re not.”
Teachers rushed in seconds later.
“What happened here?” one of them demanded, eyes already locked on Aslan’s face. On the blood. “What on earth—are you hurt?”
Another glance flicked toward me. Assessing. Suspicious.
Aslan wiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve, breathing unevenly. “I fell,” he said. His voice was thin but steady. “We were practicing some self-defense stuff. I lost my balance.”
“Self-defense?” a teacher repeated sharply.
“Yes,” he said again, firmer this time. “It was stupid. My fault.”
No one contradicted him.
Behind me, Aitor leaned in close enough that only I could hear him. “What the hell, dude?” he muttered, low and furious.
I didn’t answer.
Max Holt had already moved. He stepped in beside Aslan, one arm coming up around his shoulders without hesitation, blocking him off like it was instinct. Like he’d done this before. Like he’d do it again.
“We’ll take him to the infirmary,” Max said. Not asking.
A teacher nodded. “Go. Now.”
Aslan didn’t look back as they walked him away—Max guiding him, James hovering close, Aitor frozen somewhere behind me.
I watched them go.
Watched the way Max stayed too close.
The way Aslan leaned into it, even just a little.
Shame crawled up my spine, hot and choking. Regret followed right after it—meaner, sharper. And beneath it all, fresh jealousy burned its way in.
Let him, I thought bitterly. Let all of them circle him. Protect him. Take him away from me.
Classes resumed. The hallway filled back in, noise swallowing the moment whole…. But as the last trace of him disappeared, one thought stayed lodged deep in my chest.
This isn’t over, lion.
I’m gonna fucking end it tonight.
Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was about to unleash.