Shattered Asylum

Chapter 76

Listen to this song while reading<3

Me and Amy head downstairs after a long talk. It's almost two now, and she mentioned the twins' parents still aren't home.

When we turn the corner, I spot Nate and Ethan lounging on the loveseat, half watching TV.

As we step further in, I notice Bella practically clawing at Grayson, her arms flailing like she's trying to win some twisted game of tag.

She's gripping at his forearms, twisting and laughing as she tries to break through his firm hold on her shoulders. He keeps her at arm's length, his face unreadable, body stiff, like someone trying to avoid being jumped on by an overexcited golden retriever.

"You're too strong," she giggles, her voice too high pitched, too forced. She tries to push forward again, clearly aiming for his lap, but Grayson doesn't budge. He holds her back easily, like he's barely trying. His silence is loud. He's not laughing. Not even smiling.

What are they doing? Play fighting? It doesn't look playful. Bella looks like she's trying to crawl into his lap and pretend it's casual. Grayson looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Off to the side, Kristina stands with her arms crossed, a scowl pulling at her mouth. Her gaze is locked on the awkward mess of limbs that is Bella and Grayson. For a second, I can't tell... is she mad because Bella's being annoying, or jealous because Bella's doing it to Grayson?

The memory of last night creeps back in, Kristina's drunk confession, the way she looked at him. I haven't decided yet if I'm confronting her, or telling Grayson and letting him deal with it.

"Hey guys. What's the plan for today?" Amy asks, pulling the room's attention toward us like a reset button.

Bella immediately stops whatever borderline creepy thing she was doing and turns to me, her expression unreadable, though there's something smug hiding under the surface.

"Hey, Aven. How's the head? We fell pretty hard. I got this huge rug burn on my arm," she says, shoving her arm in my face like I asked to see.

The memory clicks. Right. That's why I have a baseball sized bump on my head.

"Yeah, I had way too much to drink," I mutter, rubbing the sore spot on the back of my head, only to catch Bella's cleavage in my peripheral vision, Her shirt is ridiculously low cut, like it's losing a fight with gravity. She's practically narrating the conversation with her boobs.

"You look so cute today! I love that shirt," she chirps, and her voice is so syrupy I almost gag. Before I can say thanks... or anything... she grabs the hem of my shirt like it's a prop in her own little fashion show. "You'll have to let me borrow it sometime."

The she pulls it down. Too far. Way too far.

The off the shoulder neckline slips, and there's nothing underneath... just panic. My hands fly up, yanking the shirt back into place before anyone sees too much.

Bella laughs. Laughs. Like it's a joke.

"It needs some skin," she teases, voice low and suggestive. Her fingers still graze the fabric, like she's daring to tug it again.

It's not a joke. It's not funny. It's violating.

I slap her hand away, heart hammering, the burn of embarrassment quickly morphing into anger.

"Stop touching me," I snap, voice sharper than I intended, but not sharp enough for how I feel.

Bella pulls back with a mock gasp and puts her hands up like I'm the unhinged one. "Whoa, I was just looking at the fabric. Don't get bitchy," she says, her fake sweet tone edged with condescension.