Penance - Uncovering the truth, Secrets and confessions, and Twisted pasts

Chapter 32

Grayson snapped out of his thoughts as a voice called out his name from the door, followed by a gentle knock. "Marco?" he heard Alison's voice, and a wave of confusion washed over him. What was she doing here? "This is the part where you say 'Polo'," she added softly, her voice tinged with amusement.

Startled, Grayson rose from the cold floor and made his way to the door. Opening it, he found Alison standing there, clad in his oversized black jacket he had lend her. He assumed she wore pants; he couldn't see what she wore beneath it, as the jacket reached down to her knees. And to top it off, she had black sunglasses on, despite it being the middle of the night.

"What are you doing here?" Grayson asked calmly, as if he hadn't just experienced a breakdown moments ago. Alison flashed him a smile, another one of her facades. "Can I stay here for the night?"

His initial response would have been to say, "No, I never want to see you again," and slam the door in her face. However, before he could utter a word, Alison slipped past him and entered his room. "Thanks, Gray," she said, using his nickname for the first time. Grayson's irrational heart skipped a beat. But more importantly, why was Alison here, in his room?

Glancing down the corridor to ensure no one was around, Grayson closed the door and turned his attention back to Alison, who had already made herself comfortable on his king-size bed. "What are you doing here?" Grayson asked again, his voice now tinged with sternness and curiosity. And why was she wearing sunglasses? Grayson couldn't help but feel suspicious.

Alison grinned mischievously in response. "Well, I noticed the 'Vacancy' sign outside your brain, so I thought I'd drop by and make myself at home. Hope you don't mind!"

"I do mind," Grayson replied, annoyance evident in his voice. But Alison seemed unfazed, laughing and taunting him. "Come on, Grayson, it's not every day you get the pleasure of my delightful company," she teased, adjusting her sunglasses.

Rolling his eyes, Grayson tried to maintain his stern demeanour. "Delightful company? More like an uninvited guest who thinks she owns the place," he retorted, crossing his arms.

Alison sat up, her lips puckered as she prepared to respond. "Well, since I'm here now, how about we play a little game?"

"No," Grayson replied instantly, not in the mood for games. Did Alison even know about his conversation with Mason? And why on earth was she wearing sunglasses? Grayson couldn't help but wonder. However, his Hawthorne instincts kicked in, he saw an opportunity to uncover some answers.

Alison laughed, undeterred by Grayson's refusal. She sat back, gazing at him intently. "You know you want to, Hawthorne," she said, her voice smooth and seductive, attempting to pull his strings.

Grayson's stern expression softened momentarily, his guard lowering. "Fine, let's play 2 truths and 1 lie then," he conceded, giving in to the game.

Alison grinned, accepting the challenge. Grayson thought for a moment, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. "First," Grayson began, raising one finger. "I attended Harvard to find something." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Second," he raised another finger. "I purposely made you my partner." Grayson swallowed before stating his final statement. "Third," he raised one last finger. "I know about you and Mason."

Silence filled the room as their breathing became the only audible sound. Alison laid back down, scooting closer to Grayson until her head rested on his knee. "The last one," she whispered, looking up at him. Grayson observed her, but with the sunglasses still on, it was difficult to see anything beyond her facade. "That was the lie," she admitted softly, her voice slightly unsteady.

"I know you loved him—" he began to say.

"Love is the wrong word," Alison interrupted Grayson hastily, as if correcting a significant mistake. "Infatuation."

Grayson felt a weight lift off his chest, a sense of relief washing over him. He didn't press for further explanation; he didn't need to.

"Mason was a great writer," Alison told Grayson. "But I was better," she yawned softly and readjusted her sunglasses. Grayson raised an eyebrow in confusion. What did she mean, a better writer?

"First," Alison continued the game. "I just came back from school." Grayson actually believed that statement. Alison didn't know, as far as Grayson knew, that he had read her glow-in-the-dark ink diary entry on the rooftop garden walls. "Second," she yawned again. "I hate you." For some reason, Grayson felt as if Jameson had just punched him in the gut, leaving him breathless. "Third," she whispered, barely audible. "I am sorry."

Once again, the room fell silent. It was obvious that the second statement was a lie. Alison didn't hate Grayson, and he couldn't fathom a reason why she would. But what did she mean by being sorry? What was Alison sorry about? "The second one," Grayson answered, playing along with the game. But Alison didn't respond. She was already asleep. "Alison?" Grayson couldn't help but be amazed by this girl, irritating yet intriguing.

Grayson gazed down at Alison, tempted to remove her sunglasses. As his fingers neared her face, they froze just inches away. The sight that met his eyes was a black eye, stark against her delicate features. Who could have done this to her? The answer became clear: this had Mason Valentine written all over it. The thought echoed in Grayson's mind, fueling his concern. He couldn't bear to see her like this. Was that why Alison came here? To escape Mason? With a heavy sigh, he gently placed the sunglasses back on her face, shielding the evidence of her pain from the world.

Alison stirred in her sleep, her breathing steady, her eyelashes fluttering softly. Gradually, the weariness of the day enveloped Grayson, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. The weight of his thoughts and worries began to dissipate as he surrendered to the comfort of sleep. With Alison by his side, Grayson slowly drifted into a peaceful sleep.