Broken Hands

30. Punishment

Grayson's heart pounded in his chest, his hands trembling as he replayed the last few minutes in his head. Damien hadn't pulled this move in years. Grayson had thought it was over, that he'd outgrown Damien's severe side, had almost forgotten what it was like to face him. He'd even allowed himself to believe he was dealing with Alex instead, who was understanding, gentle—anything but Damien. The realization that Damien was here and not Alex made him feel a rush of frustration. He'd avoided breakfast to steer clear of Damien, and yet here he was. How had this happened without him knowing? How had no one told him that Mr. Consequences was on his way?

Anger simmered inside him, resentment clouding his mind. He'd messed up, sure, but Damien knew too much, as if he'd been following every misstep, and it made Grayson's stomach turn. The sting from the belt strikes still burned, reminding him that this was far from over. Maybe he could make a break for it, slip out the window—anywhere would be better than here. But where could he go? Amber's place, maybe...

A flash of memory stopped him cold. He remembered Amber being there that night, the night of the accident, and then waking up, trapped in darkness. Shaking, he went to the mirror, lifted his shirt, and saw the bruises where they'd beaten him with a stick. His breath caught. That hadn't been a dream. He'd been kidnapped. And then—Hera. She'd been the one to get him out.

The door creaked as Damien walked back in. Grayson dropped his shirt quickly, hiding the bruise and the tattoo he hadn't told anyone about. No one needed to know.

Damien's gaze sharpened, suspicion flickering in his eyes. Grayson looked away, feeling a cowardice he couldn't shake under Damien's relentless stare. There was an iciness in that look that Grayson couldn't handle.

Without a word, Damien pulled a chair from the desk and placed it squarely in the center of the room. Grayson clenched his jaw, anxiety tightening his chest. What now?

"Sit," Damien ordered, voice flat and commanding. Grayson felt Damien's eyes follow him, but he obeyed, bracing himself as he sat. He hadn't spent a second thinking of the reason Damien demanded earlier—his mind had been too preoccupied, too scattered.

"I'm all ears," Damien said, leaning back against the desk, his hand resting near the belt. Grayson's heart raced with anything to say. He hadn't felt this pressure in years.

"Grayson, I'm doing my best to be patient, because Alex asked me to. But I'm about to reach my limit," Damien warned.

Grayson shut his eyes, exhaling slowly. He needed to speak, to say something to get Damien off his back. "Where...where should I start from?" he stammered, trying to buy himself some time, desperately needing to gauge how much Damien already knew, he didn't want to say more than needed and bury himself further.

"Answer your question, Grayson. I'm not living in your head," Damien replied, tone sharp as a blade. Grayson looked down, clenching his hands together.

A shrug escaped him before he could stop it, almost automatically. "I got tired of therapy. It was suffocating me, so...I decided I needed a break," he said, surprised that the words came out so easily.

Damien raised a skeptical eyebrow. "So you threw your life away because you couldn't deal with treatment?"

Grayson swallowed, his voice catching. "It's more than that, I was struggling. I couldn't move past it. I couldn't move past what Charlie did." He hoped this explanation would be enough, it was always enough. It works all the time on Alex and everyone else.

Damien chuckled, a harsh sound devoid of sympathy. "At this point, it's not Charlie holding you back, Grayson. It's you. You need to get over yourself first."