Chapter 33 Garrett
Garrett
I lay there, startled, exposed, almost… vulnerable—but somehow safe. That was the part that didn’t make sense, the part that made my chest tighten like I’d swallowed glass. He had taken over me—my body, my thoughts, my will—but worst of all, my control.
No. Not taken. Given.
I’d handed it over like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the only thing I’d ever had, like it hadn’t been the one rule I’d carved into my bones after years of being told who I was, what I was, what I deserved.
Aslan wasn’t safe. He was temptation. He was danger dressed up as calm. He was a test I was supposed to fail, the kind of quiet that got inside you and stayed. The devil didn’t come screaming—he came soft, steady, certain. So why did my body feel warm and safe instead of afraid? Why wasn’t there rage clawing up my throat, or disgust, or panic, or that familiar humiliation that always followed confusion? There was just stillness—a horrible, terrifying kind of peace.
Then his panic hit. I felt it before I understood it—his breath hitching, his body pulling away, the sudden sharp line drawn between us. He moved fast after that, too fast, like he’d touched fire and remembered what it did to skin. Within minutes, he was gone. The door closed, and I was alone with the echo of him and his cum all over me. Our cum.
That’s when the voices showed up. They didn’t whisper. They didn’t need to. They knew me too well. I got myself together in seconds—automatic, mechanical, muscle memory. Cold water, clothes, composure snapped back into place like armor. I didn’t look at the mess behind me. I didn’t look back at all. I ran.
Down the hall, across the quad, back to my dorm, like it was a sanctuary instead of a cage. Toward walls that knew me. Toward rules. Toward something solid.
What have I done? What the fuck have I done?
The words looped until they lost meaning, until they were just noise chasing my pulse.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
It’s going to be okay.
Take every thought captive.
I repeated it like a prayer, like a weapon, like something that might still work if I said it enough times.
Then, taking a deep breath, I grabbed my therapy notebook with trembling hands and began to read out loud every mantra meant to “fix” me. I recited each one until exhaustion took over, while a little voice in my head—a much kinder one— overpowered my own words, reminding me quietly….
You are not condemned.
You are loved.
By the time sleep dragged me under, my hands were calmer, and for the first time in years, I didn’t know who I was supposed to believe and who I needed to be afraid of.
The walk to the cafeteria was quiet in that way that made your thoughts louder. Morning light, polished floors, the illusion of order. I kept my head down, hands in my pockets, trying to stay to myself. That lasted about two seconds.
Trisha approached me before any of the others could, which was surprising after the way I’d spoken of her that night at the shed—after I’d said, clearly and cruelly, that she meant nothing to me at all.
I guess girls can be a hell of forgiving when they want someone, and she clearly still wanted me. I felt a flicker of something like guilt for stealing her from Aslan that day.
Right. I didn’t.
I’d done him a favor. A girl like her wasn’t meant for someone like him. She would’ve broken his heart, distracted him, dirtied that careful, principled little world he lived in. And let’s be real—I was the only asshole allowed to do that.
“Hi, Garr. I’ve texted you a couple of times…”
I clenched my jaw at the sound of my nickname coming from her mouth but didn’t let it show. “Really? Sorry. I’ve been a bit out of it lately.” I forced a practiced smile. “How are you?”
I told myself it was growth. Therapy. Normal behavior. I needed back to normal, back on the right side of the road, and I needed to make that clear to anyone who thought they had power over me. And by anyone, I meant the goddamn lion sitting across the cafeteria.
I saw him the moment I picked up my tray. Same table, next to James, pretending not to stare but all too aware. His eyes found me immediately, like he’d been waiting. Had he? Because as sure as fuck a part of me had only existed today to see him, to breathe his air, to feel his presence and get any hint at all that he wanted me still. Of course, my methods were unconventional.
I nodded at Trisha, who was standing there with her coffee. “Sit with me.”
She smiled like I’d handed her a trophy. As we sat, I angled my body just enough, letting myself be seen. I didn’t have to look to know Aslan was watching—I could feel it, that quiet weight, that unbearable steadiness. Amber eyes tracked me from across the room, a million emotions flickering there—confusion, rejection, maybe disappointment. Somehow that alone gave me a shiver of excitement.
Was I trying to make him jealous? Absolutely not. I was being normal. I was choosing something easy, something healthy, something absolutely acceptable.
Trisha laughed at something I barely heard and shifted closer, her knee pressing against mine. I didn’t stop her. When she swung her leg over and settled casually on my lap, I wrapped an arm around her waist without thinking. Across the room, Aslan didn’t look away, and neither did I.
Our eyes locked as Trisha leaned in to say something soft and breathy, meant only for me.
For a split second, my mind betrayed me.
Not her voice.
His.
Low, controlled, close enough to feel—close enough to remember how it had sounded the night before, how it had slipped under my skin and stayed there.
I stiffened.
Across the cafeteria, Aslan was still watching, so I didn’t pull away. I did the opposite. I turned my head and kissed her—not tentative, not polite. I pulled her closer, my hand firm at her back, my mouth claiming hers like I had something to prove, like this was evidence, like this was a line drawn so hard it couldn’t be misread.
But in my head, it wasn’t her. It was him—the angle, the heat, the memory bleeding into the present until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
I kissed her like I was erasing something, like I could overwrite the night before if I tried hard enough. Her fingers tangled in my collar, and I deepened the kiss, reckless now, deliberate.
I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to understand. I wanted him to look away.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the flicker in those haunting eyes—shock, hurt, something tightening behind the calm he wore like armor.
Good.
I held her there unapologetically until the bell rang and shattered the moment into noise and movement and chairs scraping back.
Only then did I let go.
Across the room, Aslan stood slowly, unreadable again.
Message delivered.
Or so I told myself.