Chapter 48 Garrett
Garrett
I knew I was fucked the second I woke up in Aitor’s studio with a stupid grin on my face.
For five whole seconds, I forgot who I was. Forgot what today was. Forgot everything except the way he’d looked at me, kissed me, cared for me… And those butterflies in my stomach that made me feel like a newlywed took over my body.
Then my phone buzzed.
Reality punched me straight in the throat.
Two messages from my mother.
The first one was a polite little reminder about my appointment with Dr. Graves—as if anyone forgets their own execution date.
The second one was worse.
Dinner. Saturday night. Since I was “already in town.”
And then, casually, like she was asking me to bring a bottle of wine:
“Oh, and bring your girlfriend. We are dying to meet the center of so much attention.”
Just like that, the honeymoon was over.
I spent the rest of the day trying not to look at the one person who could make me tell them all to go to hell and walk off a cliff smiling.
He was hurting. I could see it in the way he kept looking at me like he wanted answers I refused to give. He didn’t even pretend not to. And every time I let myself steal a glance—quick, when no one was watching—I caught it in his face. Confusion. Frustration. Something softer he was trying to swallow down.
I was hurting too.
I just hid it better.
I tried to let it be. Tried to convince myself I could keep him at a safe distance. Pretend I could handle seeing him across the room and not touch him. Not want him. Pretend I could own him in my head, and that would be enough.
Then he followed me, and I felt the cracks start.
Every step he took closer made something violent rise up inside me—not because I hated him, but because I wanted him so badly it made me furious.
I wanted to grab him. I wanted to shake him. I wanted to kiss him.
And when he did kiss me—when he crossed that line without permission—I knew.
I couldn’t do this halfway.
I couldn’t orbit him and survive. I couldn’t push and pull and pretend I was in control in front of my mother.
If I stayed near him, I would fall.
And if I fell, Graves would finish what he started.
It had to be real if I wanted others to believe it.
So at that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do.
The next day, I made my move.
Not loud. Not dramatic. No cafeteria spectacle. No grabbing her face and devouring it while staring someone down.
I walked up to Trisha after second period like it was the most casual thing in the world.
“Hey,” I said, hands in my pockets so they wouldn’t shake. “You going to the Halloween thing Thursday?”
Her whole face lit up. “Obviously.”
“Go with me.”
Just like that. Calm. Casual. Like I’d asked her to pass the salt.
Her mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
She squealed. Actually squealed. Then she threw her arms around my neck before I could brace for it. Her body pressed against mine—soft, warm, familiar. It should’ve felt easy. Normal.
It didn’t.
It felt wrong. Like wearing someone else’s skin.
“Oh my God, Garrett. Yes. Yes, of course. We should do a couple costume!” She pulled back, already vibrating with ideas. “What about Bonnie and Clyde? Or Morticia and Gomez? Or Joker and Harley—”
“Sure,” I cut in, forcing a smile. “Whatever you want. We can go look later.”
Her hands slid down my chest, fingers curling in my shirt. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t move away. I just stood there and let her touch me.
This was fine.
This was safe.
This was what I was supposed to want.
By lunchtime, the news had spread like gasoline on concrete.
I invited her to sit at our table. I kept my arm around her shoulders, but loosely. Controlled. I let her lean into me, but I didn’t put on a show. No tongue. No hands roaming. No eye contact with the lion across the room.
That was the point.
I didn’t look at him. Not once.
I felt him, though. Just like the day before. You don’t need eyes for that. You just know when someone is watching you, like you’ve just ripped something out of their chest.
I kept my gaze down when we crossed in the hallway. Like I didn’t want him to know. Like I didn’t care enough to even acknowledge it.
Subtle. Subtle hurts more.
Sometimes whispers are louder than screams.
Between classes, I pulled Trisha into an empty stairwell and kissed her there. Not because I wanted to. Because it was strategic. Hidden, but not really. Private enough to look real. Public enough that someone would talk.
Her hands slid under my jacket. I let her. I let her grab my shirt, press closer, breathe into my mouth.
I felt nothing.
No—worse.
I felt everything I didn’t want to feel.
I caught a glimpse of Aslan at the end of the corridor once. Just for a second. His face didn’t change much. He’s good at that.
But his jaw tightened, and that was enough.
James saw us later. He didn’t even try to hide the glare. If looks could stab, I’d have been bleeding out on the lockers.
Aitor was worse.
Confusion. Disappointment. A question sitting in his eyes he didn’t dare ask.
I avoided all of them.
I let Trisha loop her fingers through mine when we walked outside. I let her kiss my cheek. I let her laugh too loud and drag me into conversations about costumes and after-parties.
Every time she touched me, something inside me recoiled. And I felt like shit for playing with her feelings, but then again, I already knew he’d been fooling around with Jared from the football team while I was having my last mental breakdown, so…
I kept my face smooth.
This wasn’t about her, really, or what felt good.
This was about survival. Mine and my lion’s.
My lion…
When I finally did look at him—just once, across the courtyard—he wasn’t staring anymore.
I guess I’d won, and he’d learned.
He glanced in my direction and looked away first, and even though I'd thought I'd "won," that hurt more than anything.
Aitor caught me by the lockers while I was stuffing books into my bag.
“So,” he said casually, leaning back against the metal. “You’re really going to the party with Trisha?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Let’s hear it.”
“Hear what?” he asked, one brow lifting.
“The speech,” I muttered. “How stupid I am. How inconsistent. How I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. How disappointed you are. Just hurry it up—we’re going costume shopping.”
He studied me for a second. Then he shook his head.
“Garr, you’re a big boy. You can make your own decisions now—your own very wrong decisions.” His mouth twitched slightly. “And I respect them.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder. Not dramatic. Not judging. Just there.
Relief hit harder than it should have. I nodded once.
“So that’s your final decision this time?” he asked more quietly. “You and Aslan—”
“Aslan and I are nothing,” I cut in flatly. “I’m with Trisha. And wrong or not, that’s what I want to do.”
The lie tasted like metal.
Aitor held my gaze a second longer, like he was searching for cracks. Then he nodded.
“Okay. I’m happy for you then. Have fun shopping!”
He pushed off the lockers and started toward the music wing.
“Hey,” I called after him. “You taking Linnea to the party?”
He turned around mid-step. “No. She already had plans.”
A beat.
“But if that’s okay with you,” he added lightly, “I’d like to ask Aslan.”
Everything inside me went still.
My jaw tightened before I could stop it.
“Do whatever you want,” I said, forcing a shrug. “We’re nothing, remember?”
He gave me a long, assessing look before he smiled. “Okay, cool then. Thanks, bro.”
Then he walked away.
And I stood there, fists clenched in my pockets, telling myself I had no right to feel the way I did.
No right at all.
Yet I knew if Aslan said yes, it would break my heart beyond repair.