Chapter 12
Jul 4, 2025
He corners me near the science wing. I hear him before I see him—his footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, like he’s been planning this ambush. I keep walking, clutching my folder tight, pretending I don’t see the black hoodie or the storm-gray eyes. But he steps in front of me before I can pass.
“So we’re doing this now?” he says, tone sharp. “Radio silence?”
I raise an eyebrow, arms crossing like a shield. “You seemed busy with Brielle.”
That name. I don’t mean to spit it like venom, but it hits harder than I expect. His expression twists like I slapped him.
“That wasn’t what you think,” he says quietly.
“Oh, I know,” I snap. “It didn’t have to be anything. You already won.”
His brows pull together. “Won what?”
“My attention. My curiosity. My kiss.” The words come out before I can stop them, and the second they do, I want to drag them back in. But I don’t. I let them land.
His mouth parts slightly. I think he’s going to laugh or deny it or say something clever. But I don’t give him the chance.
“You don’t need to kiss girls to ruin them, Grayson. You just look at them.”
That’s the one that hits. I see it—the flicker of pain, quick but real. He flinches. Not physically, but emotionally. Like I reached in and scraped something open. For a second, I see the boy under the attitude. The one who hides behind smirks and shadows.
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t tell me I’m wrong. Doesn’t feed me excuses or chase after the moral high ground. He just stares at me like I peeled something raw. And now he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“You think I meant for that to happen?” he says, voice low now. “You think I planned that with Brielle? That I was trying to get back at you?”
“I don’t care what you were trying to do,” I bite out. “You still did it.”
“I was pissed,” he mutters. “You left, you always leave, you ghosted me.”
“I was protecting myself.” My voice cracks on the word myself, and it makes me hate how honest I sound. “I thought we were—never mind. You don’t care.”
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t pretend this meant nothing to you when we both know it did.”
My stomach twists. “That’s rich coming from the guy who made out with his ex like I never existed.”
His fists tighten at his sides. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“That’s what makes it worse,” I whisper. “You throw yourself at people just to feel something. To feel powerful. You don’t even care who gets hurt in the fallout.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His whole face hardens, like he’s trying not to say the wrong thing and failing.
“You think I wanted to hurt you?” he finally says. “I’ve been trying not to. Since the moment I met you.”
My laugh is short and hollow. “Congratulations. You failed.”
A weird silence stretches between us. The hallway is empty, but the air feels full. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Loud. Fast. Betraying me.
He shifts, like maybe he wants to say something. But I’m already pulling myself back together.
I remind myself who he is. What I saw. How he let her touch him like it meant nothing. How his eyes had the same lazy hunger when they locked on mine right after.
I look away, but my voice stays cold. “You should go back to her. She’s probably waiting for you to ruin her next.”
His jaw tightens. “Juliet—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to say my name like that.”
He presses his lips together, like he’s holding something back. His hands are in his pockets now. I notice that, because it’s rare. Grayson doesn’t usually hide anything. Not his opinions, not his body language, not even his arrogance. But now? Now he looks like he’s afraid of what’ll come out if he moves.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he says finally, voice rough. “But I don’t know how to be the guy you want.”
“Maybe I never wanted a guy at all,” I mutter. “Maybe I just wanted something to believe in.”
“Then don’t believe in me,” he says. “Believe that I looked at you different. That I still do.”
I step past him.
He doesn’t follow.
Not even a single step.
I make it all the way down the hall before my chest tightens. I don’t cry, but my hands won’t stop shaking. I keep clenching and unclenching my fists like that’ll fix it. Like it’ll calm the part of me that’s still wired to the way he looked at me.
Not just in Room 3B. But now. Just now.
Because that look? That wasn’t just guilt or shame.
It was something else. Something real.
And it makes everything worse.
At lunch, Lily asks if I’m okay. I tell her I’m fine. She doesn’t push, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. I eat one bite of my sandwich and throw the rest away. I spend the rest of the period in the library pretending to highlight things in a book I’m not even reading.
By the time school ends, my stomach is twisted and my brain feels fried. I avoid the east wing. I take the long way to the dorms. I walk with my head high even though I want to sink into the floor and disappear.
Because what hurts most isn’t what he did.
It’s that part of me still wanted him to explain.
To fix it. To fight for me. And he didn’t.
I walk away without looking back. But my hands shake all afternoon.
