Chapter 39 Garrett
Garrett
I didn’t know why I had said any of that. I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me.
Well—I did. But he didn’t. No one else did. And no one else ever would.
Hurting him was easier. It was cleaner. It was my mask. If I pushed him hard enough, if I made him hate me, then I didn’t have to explain anything. I didn’t have to admit anything.
I had just wanted a reaction. If I couldn’t get attraction or desire or that look he gave me when he was about to take control, then fine—I would take anger. I would take hatred. I would take anything that meant he still felt something.
I couldn’t let him walk away after calling me a coward. Because rejecting him—pushing him away—had been the bravest thing I had ever done. He didn’t understand that. No one did. So I lashed out.
I hadn’t given a shit if he needed some kind of fix to survive whatever was eating at him. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the thought of him swallowing something to cope and hurting himself. But we could have worked on that later. We could have figured it out eventually. Just like I was always working on not pressing a razor blade to my own wrist when things got too loud in my head. We all had our addictions. I wasn’t judging him. I was provoking him.
I pushed him so that he would push me back. That was how this worked.
Except this time, he didn’t push back.
He collapsed.
One second he had been yelling at me. The next his knees hit the floor, and something in my chest dropped with him. For a split second, I thought he was faking it—that this was some kind of dramatic payback. But then his face had gone pale, his body slack, and the sound of his breathing was wrong. Everything about it was wrong.
Had I pushed him too far? Had I stressed him out so much that he had swallowed too many of those pills? Had I fucking done this?
I had almost dropped to my knees beside him. I had almost grabbed him, almost shoved everyone away and picked him up before anyone could stare or whisper or start asking questions. I had wanted to be the one who helped him. I had wanted to be the one who protected him from all of them, from whatever secret he was hiding, from the looks that were already forming in people’s eyes. I had wanted to keep him safe the same way he made me feel safe.
But then all those voices had filled the room. Max’s voice among them. Their glares turned to me, and I had run.
Like I always did.
I had run and left him there on the floor.
I heard Max shouting after me, blaming me, asking what I had done. Maybe he was right. Maybe they all would be. I didn’t care about that. All I could see was Aslan on the ground and me walking away from him.
I had left my lion there. Left my cub unprotected.
And I ran.
I guess I was a fucking coward after all.
I ran out of the main building like a maniac, shoving past students who yelled after me, my backpack slamming painfully against my spine. I didn’t stop at the dorms. I cut straight across the manicured lawn, shoes slipping slightly on damp grass, lungs burning from more than just the cold air.
The trees had turned while I wasn’t paying attention. Deep reds. Dull golds. The kind of crisp autumn day that should’ve felt clean.
Instead, the air scraped my throat raw.
Old mantras and new ones looped in my head, tangling together until they didn’t even make sense anymore. Take every thought captive. You destroy everything you touch. Stay away. Protect him. Run.
I didn’t slow down until I reached the familiar shed by the stables.
The door creaked when I shoved it open. Inside, it was dim and silent, dust floating in thin strips of fading light. The smell of hay and wood grounded me just enough to keep my knees from giving out.
I let myself slide down the wall until I hit the floor, elbows on my knees, hands gripping my hair.
For a while, my brain screamed.
Then it went quiet.
Not peaceful. Not calm.
Just numb.
I must have drifted in and out, because when I opened my eyes again, the light was gone. The shed was dark, colder now. My neck ached from the angle I’d slumped at.
A gentle shake pulled me fully awake.
“Garr… I should’ve known I’d find you here.”
Aitor.
I blinked up at him, shame hitting first. I looked down immediately, ready for the lecture. Ready for disappointment. Ready for him to finally say he was done defending me.
He didn’t.
He lowered himself to the ground beside me instead, back against the same wall, knees bent. Close, but not crowding.
“How are you?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t answer.
The question felt unfair.
He let the silence stretch before I finally forced myself to breathe and ask the only thing that mattered.
“Is he okay?”
Aitor nodded once. “Yeah. He passed out for a few seconds. When the nurse saw him, he was conscious again. They sent him to the hospital anyway. Mandatory observation, I guess.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened?” Aitor asked.
“I don’t know.” My voice sounded wrecked even to me. “We argued. I said a few things. He yelled. Then he just… collapsed.”
I didn’t mention the pills.
That wasn’t mine to expose.
“They say what it was?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
Aitor shrugged slightly. “I’ve heard about five different versions already. Low blood pressure. Dehydration. Panic attack. Asthma. Maybe he overdid it in training. No one knows yet.”
Each possibility stabbed differently.
Low blood pressure. My fault.
Panic attack. My fault.
Stress. My fault.
We sat there in silence for a while. The night had deepened outside, wind brushing against the shed in soft gusts.
“You scared him,” Aitor said carefully, not accusatory. Just factual.
I nodded.
“You scare yourself too.”
That hit harder.
“I didn’t mean to,” I muttered.
“I know.”
And he did. That was the worst part.
He sighed after a minute. “We should head back. The dean was looking for you.”
I stiffened.
“Max told them he found Aslan after he heard him yelling at you,” Aitor continued evenly. “He’s convinced you had something to do with it. Aslan shut that down. Said he’d felt sick all day. That it wasn’t your fault.”
The guilt curdled inside me.
They walked him out of there on a stretcher.
And he defended me.
We stepped out into the cold night together, the campus almost empty now. Lights glowed from scattered windows. Everything looked normal.
It wasn’t.
“You need to talk to the director,” Aitor added.
“I will,” I lied.
When we reached the main building, I hesitated. The lights in the administrative wing were still on. I could see shadows moving inside.
My stomach twisted.
I didn’t go in.
It was late. I was exhausted. I told myself it could wait until morning.
Instead, I walked straight to my room.
Alone.
Aslan’s face kept replaying in my head. Pale. Breathless. Saying my name like a warning and a plea at the same time.
This wasn’t going away.
If anything, it had just begun.
And I had a feeling this was the start of something far worse than detention or a lecture from the dean.