Shattered Asylum

Chapter 81

Grayson never came to me last night.

I waited. And waited. Hoping he'd knock on my door or come into my room like last time, but he didn't. The silence stretched on, and by the time the night started to blur into early morning, I was still alone. My thoughts kept spiraling, and every time I closed my eyes, I could see the hurt in his face.

I told myself I'd sleep, that I wouldn't let the night swallow me whole, but the guilt kept me wide awake, my mind replaying every word, every moment. I kept telling myself to breathe, that I could fix things when he was ready to talk. But even in the quiet of my room, the space between us felt like a chasm I didn't know how to cross.

I couldn't stop wondering if I'd ruined everything. If he'd ever look at me the same way again. If I had already pushed him too far, and there was no coming back.

The sun came up eventually, and it did nothing to ease the ache in my chest.

A knock on my door jolts me awake. I didn't even realize I had started dozing off, my body giving into exhaustion despite my mind refusing to rest. My heart leaps with hope, thinking for a split second that it's Grayson. Maybe he finally came to me. Maybe he-

"Aven," Leslie's voice calls from the other side. "Breakfast is ready."

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat thick and unrelenting as reality settles in. He never came. I stayed up all night, waiting, hoping... pathetically hoping, that at some point, I'd hear his voice, see his face, feel his warmth next to me.

But he never came.

And now, I have to face him.

I force myself up, my limbs feeling heavy as I shuffle toward the mirror. I barely recognize the girl staring back at me, red eyes, dull expression, a quiet, defeated look carved into her features.

I run a hand through my hair but don't bother fixing it. My shirt is baggy enough, so I decide against putting on a bra, slipping my feet into my slippers before heading downstairs.

The second I step into the kitchen, I see him.

Sitting at the table, head down, jaw tense, pushing his eggs around his plate without taking a single bite.

And just like that, the dam inside me nearly breaks.

I tear my eyes away, swallowing against the ache in my throat as I grab a plate, forcing myself to move through the motions.

I scoop some food onto it, not really seeing what I'm doing, my hands feeling disconnected from the rest of me. My chest feels tight, my breathing shallow, but I keep it together, just barely, as I take a seat at the table.

I don't look up. Not at Grayson, not at anyone. I just push my food around my plate, my appetite completely gone.

"How'd you sleep?" Leslie asks casually, sipping her coffee.

"Fine," I mutter, though my voice cracks on the single word. I grit my teeth, hating how weak I sound.

"You look tired," Stefan says. "Were you up late?"

My grip tightens around my fork. I can feel it happening... that horrible, suffocating pressure rising in my chest, threatening to spill over.

My nose and cheeks burn, my breathing turns uneven, and I hate it. I hate that I can't control it. I hate that I feel this emotional over something that was my fault.

"Aven?" Leslie's voice softens. "Are you okay?"

I finally glance up.

Grayson is already looking at me.