Shattered Asylum

Chapter 83

The next few days went by faster than I wanted. Grayson is leaving at dawn tomorrow, so this is our last night together.

My flight leaves later in the night, so I'll be with Leslie and Stefan until about 10:30. It's going to be a little awkward, but Leslie said she already has the whole day planned, probably to help distract me from spiraling over Grayson.

Not that it's been easy to spend time with him anyway. His parents have been clinging a little tighter lately, soaking up every spare minute they can get. I get it, I do, but it's made everything feel even more tense. Like the goodbye is already happening before it's even here.

They want to take us to the movies and out to dinner tonight, some kind of fancy sendoff before he leaves.

So that's what I'm doing now, getting ready for a dinner I don't want to go to, trying to look cute just to cry in public like a bad romcom extra.

I've spent the last ten minutes putting on mascara just to smudge it off, reapplying concealer like I can erase the fact that I've been holding back tears all day. My anxiety is gnawing at my ribs like it's trying to claw its way out.

Leslie told me to dress up because they are taking us somewhere expensive. Honestly, I'd have been fine with some greasy McDonald's in the car, no makeup, wearing his hoodie.

But sure.

Fancy night it is.

I straightened my hair until it fell in a smooth, glossy curtain down to my waist. It's the one thing I still feel good about right now, long and soft and perfectly styled, like I actually have control over something.

I slipped on a black silk dress that stopped mid-thigh, hugging my curves just right with a subtle drape across the chest and thin straps that made my collarbone pop.

It was simple but expensive looking, the kind of dress that did the talking for you. Paired with strappy black heels and gold hoops, I looked... like someone who hadn't been crying over a boy all day. Which, frankly, felt like an accomplishment.

I'm brushing the final swipe of mascara on when a knock at the door makes me flinch, almost stabbing myself in the eye.

"Come in!" I half yell, dabbing concealer under my eyes to mute the puffiness.

The door creaks open, and when I glance in the mirror, there he is.

And wow.

Grayson is wearing a fitted black button-up shirt that hugs his chest in all the right ways, the top two buttons undone just enough to tease his collarbone and the faint glint of a sleek silver chain.

His black dress pants are sharp and tailored, cinched with a black belt that has a silver Gucci buckle to match. His black dress shoes are polished to hell, and his hair, carefully styled but a little tousled, makes him look like the kind of trouble I wouldn't mind ruining my life for.

"Like what you see?" He asks, a slow smirk playing on his lips because he knows.

I don't even pretend to be embarrassed. He's mine. I can stare if I want.

"You already know," I say, arching a brow at him.

He chuckles and leans against my dresser, picking up a stray hair clip and fiddling with it like it's the most interesting thing in the room, even though his eyes are still locked on me.

"You almost ready?" He asks.

"Yeah," I say, standing up from the vanity. "Just need to put my shoes."

I quickly put my shoes on and we're off. It takes about thirty-five minutes to get to the restaurant, and I bring a change of clothes for the movie, because you're funny if you think I'm wearing this to a movie theater.