Chapter 6 Garrett
Garrett
I slammed the closet door shut, locking Narnia Boy inside, and tossed his curating project—which, for the record, was fucking good—onto a garbage can down the hall.
Only then, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
I could hear him yelling, starting to freak, and I took off.
Good.
Go away.
I’d scared him enough. I had to believe that. Because I was doing a damn good job—excellent, actually—at being the cocky asshole everyone expected. The untouchable one. The version of me that didn’t have cracks.
The version that didn’t have a past.
Why did he have to come here to ruin my peace and my progress?
I’d buried everything that came before. The wrong inclinations. The months locked inside that fucking “treatment center.” The prayers. The monitoring. The promises. My so-called successful conversion.
No one here knew. No one.
I’d been homeschooled before Crownwell. That was the whole point—this place was a reset button. A clean canvas. I got to build myself from scratch. Someone stronger. Someone who didn’t have to deal with what I was.
And it had to stay that way, because if anyone found out…
—or if I slipped—
I didn’t finish the thought.
I dragged myself to the lockers, fighting the stupid urge to go back to the crime scene. My body knew the routine better than my head did. I shoved my things into my bag and headed out of the main building, taking the short walk across campus toward my dorm.
Not many students got their own rooms.
There was a small but majestic building reserved for special cases. Elite cases. Donor kids. Founders’ bloodlines.
I needed my own space.
My parents were two of the four founders of Crownwell, after all. Which made us royalty here. Untouchable. Especially me.
My father came from old money—a widower, quiet and traditional, the kind of man who believed power was something you exercised silently. He already had a daughter by the time he met my mother. Olivia. Ten years older than me, but cool as hell.
Then he married my mom. Twenty years younger. Beautiful. Devout. The kind of religious fanatic who’d been two steps away from becoming a nun before she met him at some summer charity event and decided to trade God for one of the most powerful companies in the country.
Some of her morals never left.
The moment she realized I wasn’t what she’d envisioned—not the son she’d prayed for—she made sure I was never around the wrong people. First, that institution. Then this school. Prestigious enough to look good, but far enough from her.
Even my secluded private room was a controlled environment to keep temptation contained. Distance masquerading as freedom.
And yeah—I told myself I was fine with it.
People were mostly terrible anyway. Here, I had everything I needed.
Pretty nice, right?
Trust fund. Last name that opened doors. Anything I wanted whenever I wanted it.
Most of the time.
But even people who had it all, like me—money, popularity, power, immunity—can have the nastiest shit rotting underneath.
In my case, I had a psychotic mother and a weak father who let her run my life and financed my disappearances. That was bad, I know... But it was contained, and I’d blocked it out.
What remained was something else.
Something worse.
The real me, that one, I kept locked down at all costs—away from prying eyes.
Away from people like Aslan.
Everyone could see what he was. The nice guy. The one who cared for others, asked how your day was and probably meant it… In another world, he’d probably be instant friends with everyone here.
I saw it the first day he arrived—James orbiting him like a lost puppy, my guys telling me about the “new talented kid” like we were all gonna become best friends.
Aslan hadn’t done anything wrong, to be fair, but it didn't matter.
He was a risk. A taunt. I knew it the moment we met. And as far as I was concerned, casualties were acceptable.
I scanned my keycard and entered the private dorm building, then again at my door on the top floor. Inside, I dropped my stuff and finally took a moment to breathe.
The room was expensive in that cold, deliberate way—polished hardwood floors, high ceilings, huge windows overlooking the quad. A queen-sized bed with crisp white linens. Built-in shelves. A leather desk chair that probably cost more than some kids’ tuition. Neutral colors. No personality.
Luxury without warmth.
Behind this door, I was alone again.
And I liked it that way.
Despite being surrounded by people constantly, all I wanted was to curl up in a fetal position and cry—or scream—or hurt, or do anything I spent all day pretending I didn’t want.
I threw myself face-down on the bed. And of course—because the universe hates me—Aslan’s fucking face surfaced in my mind.
Nope.
Not a chance.
I wasn’t thinking about that charity case. And I sure as fuck wasn’t having another nightmare with him in it.
I honestly didn’t get how he was still here. Maybe the generic shit hadn’t worked. The name-calling. The locker. The silent treatment. The dirty looks.
If today’s prank didn’t do the job, maybe I needed to escalate. Ask the guys to take it further.
—without touching him.
That thought stopped me cold.
The idea of anyone touching him—anywhere, in any way—lit something savage in my chest. Murderous. Unreasonable.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
What I did know was what I felt every time his eyes landed on someone else. Or when someone else looked at him.
Fury.
Pure and unfiltered. Right under my skin.
At first, it pissed me off. Like I wanted him all to myself.
Which was fucked, because I shouldn't want him at all. Shouldn't feel anything except annoyance and hate.
And honestly? At the end of the day, the idea of this attraction wasn't even a big deal. Biology was a thing….
I could probably fuck him if I wanted to. Use him. Get him out of my system…. And still, make him disappear.
I lifted my head and slammed it back into the mattress.
That was stupid as fuck. Unnecessary.
I had options. Plenty of them.
I could have any girl, any time…
I should probably get laid sometime soon.
My phone buzzed.
I groaned—this was my time—but when I saw it was Aitor, I answered.
The only person I actually considered a friend.
When I told him I wanted Aslan gone, he’d looked uncomfortable. I saw it in the way his brow tightened and his eyes dropped whenever we talked about messing with him... But he still nodded. Still went along with it.
And yeah—he’d started to play big brother to Aslan lately.
But I let him.
I didn’t feel murderous about Aitor. He was in love with Linnea—piano girl—even if she barely noticed him. If babysitting Narnia Boy distracted him from his heartbreak, fine. We could play good cop, bad cop.
The phone buzzed again.
AITOR:
Hey, bro. Leaving the new kid in the storage closet was sorta fucked up.
I smirked
ME:
Oh, yeah! Pretty funny, uh? Please tell me he’s still there.
AITOR:
Of course not. I got him out.
ME:
C'mon dude… why? Was the baby crying?
A pause.
AITOR:
Actually… he kinda was.
And Garrett—I don’t think he was doing well. Like. Physically sick.
That gave me a twisted mix of pride and something uncomfortable in my gut.
AITOR:
You gotta turn it down, bro.
ME:
Down? If he’s still here tomorrow, I’m turning it up.
AITOR:
Why are you so goddamn obsessed with this guy?
Maybe we just need a night out. Get out of your head. Club this weekend?
We hadn't hit the club in a while—booze, music, drunk girls—perfect for damage control…
And maybe he was right. I needed a break from this. From him.
ME:
This Saturday, we party.
Tell everyone.
I dropped the phone onto the bed.
Saturday, I’d drown it out.
Tonight, I could still sulk.