Chapter 44 Aslan
Aslan
I froze at the sight of it.
Aitor and I had left together earlier, and there hadn’t been anything there then. I followed the droplets on the ground with my eyes, tracing them up to a fresh streak on the door—smeared and uneven, like someone had braced themselves there before pushing it open.
My pulse kicked hard in my chest.
What the hell?
I swiped the card and stepped inside, afraid of what I might find.
The room was dark except for a faint moonlight coming through the window.
I paused.
There was a sound—soft, rhythmic.
“It’s okay… it’s okay… hold every thought captive… hold every thought captive…”
I halted mid-step.
“You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
The voice wasn’t steady. It was trembling.
I stepped further in very quietly to find Garrett sitting on the couch.
Not lounging. Not relaxed.
Folded into himself—elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, and shoulders shaking.
“Hold every thought captive,” he whispered again, faster now. “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
His absent mantra went on, forever and ever. Each word an aching sound filled with desperation.
He was somewhere else.
I took a couple steps forward. “Garrett,” I said carefully.
No reaction.
“Garrett.”
His breathing hitched. “Hold every thought captive. Hold every—”
I crossed the room slowly, crouching in front of him and placing my hand gently on his shoulder.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Look at me.”
Nothing.
“Garrett. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
That word seemed to cut through.
He startled slightly, looking at my hand, and then around the room, momentarily confused.
“Garrett,” I repeated, reaching for the side lamp and turning it on.
He blinked, turning his face toward me, and that’s when I noticed he was crying.
“It’s okay. You’re in a safe place,” I told him.
He shook his head, pain flashing across his face as the light hit it, his fear even more evident as his hands began to tremble. “I’m not—this isn’t—”
“You’re safe,” I cut him off, slowly raising my hands and placing them on his face, holding his gaze. “Right now. You’re safe. Look at me. That’s it. Breathe.”
He took a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on mine like a little boy trying to follow instructions.
“You’re doing good. That’s it,” I encouraged him, instinctively brushing his hair off his face.
More tears spilled at the simple gesture, and when he lifted a hand to wipe them away, blood smeared across his cheeks.
A sharp contrast against his pale, almost delicate skin.
“Oh, my God… where is that coming from?” I asked, inspecting his face and then his hands. It didn’t take long to find it. I lifted his wrist. “How did this happen?”
He looked at me with those bright blue eyes wide open, like I’d caught him red-handed. Quite the irony in the expression…
“Stop.” He tried to yank his hand away, but I held on.
Firming my grip with one hand, I removed his watch with the other, revealing a couple of cuts, one of them deeper than the rest.
“Did you do this?” I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
He closed his eyes, his hand shaking inside mine. “I didn’t want to. I tried to stop it. I tried to stop everything. I’m sorry… please…”
He looked up at me, eyes glassy and conflicted, and something inside me broke all over again.
“Garrett, I’m not angry at you, okay? I just don’t understand. Why did you do it?” I asked gently.
His jaw tightened. “To survive. Like you. You do the pills, and I—” His voice faltered. “I got angry, but I didn’t tell anyone about them. I swear. I wouldn’t. Please don’t tell them either. Don’t—don’t tell him.”
Panic flooded his eyes again as I tried to piece together what he was saying.
“Please,” he whispered again, and something fierce and protective rose inside me.
It was a whole new level of fuck-up, wanting to protect the person who had hurt me more than anyone else. But right now, I didn’t care.
“I’m not telling anyone, Garrett. I promise. We’ll figure this out.”
We would figure this out...?
“I want to help you. What can I do?”
“I need—” he hesitated.
I nodded. “What do you need?”
His chest shuddered. “Don’t.” He swallowed hard. “Please don’t go.”
“I won’t. I’ll stay. But give me one second, okay? Stay right here.”
I went to the bathroom, grabbed a wet cloth, a towel, and the small first aid kit from the cabinet, then returned and knelt in front of him. He didn’t resist this time. He just watched me, quiet and fragile, as I cleaned the blood from his wrist. I disinfected the cuts carefully, ignoring the way his fingers tightened around mine, then covered the worst one with a bandage.
After that, I wiped the blood from his face, along with the tear tracks streaking down his skin. His eyes never left mine.
When I was almost done, his hands dropped over mine, holding them in place.
His shoulders folded forward as he leaned into me. “Please,” he whispered. “I need you to do… what you do. I need you to make it stop.”
I frowned. “Make what stop? Please tell—”
Before I could finish, he leaned forward and stole the rest of the sentence from my mouth, pulling me into a desperate kiss.
For a second, I didn’t react.
The kiss hit me like a shock to the system—hot, desperate, nothing like the hunger we had felt before. This wasn’t about power or winning. It was messy and urgent, and trembling.
More need than want. Though God, I wanted him too... So fucking much.
Relief spread through me before I could stop it.
Relief.
Because he was here. Because he wasn’t pushing me away. Because whatever this was, it was real.
But so was the doubt crawling up my spine.
I pulled back just enough to look at him. His lips were swollen, wet, his breathing uneven. His hands were gripping my shirt like I might disappear.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” I said quietly, my forehead still almost touching his. “You’re upset. You’re not thinking clearly. Maybe we should just talk and—”
“No.”
He cut me off by taking my mouth again, harder this time. His teeth grazed my lower lip before he licked over it, almost frantic. His hands slid to my waist, and he pulled me closer, shifting until my back pressed against the couch cushions and he was half over me, caging me in.
But he wasn’t controlling.
He was clinging.
“I’m not safe tonight without you,” he whispered against my mouth, voice rough and shaking. “If you leave, Aslan, I don't think I can make it through the night.”