Page 11 of Shattered Hate

“You good?” he asks, his gaze boring into me.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” I mutter, sitting up. Cope backs away and drops onto his bed, his eyes never leaving mine.

“What was that about?” he questions, concern evident in his voice.

“Oh, just a bad dream, I think,” I say, hoping he doesn’t press it. The last thing I want to do is talk about my dad. The very thought of him makes my stomach knot with unease.

Cope’s silence hangs heavy in the air, but he doesn’t pry. Instead, he just nods, still watching me with a look of concern. “All right, man. I’m gonna try to get some more sleep. You sure you’re good, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks, Cope,” I reply, forcing a smile. He gives me a final nod before rolling over and settling back into his bed.

I lie back down, staring at the ceiling. Sleep is the last thing on my mind. The remnants of the nightmare cling to me, refusing to let go. I take a deep breath, trying to ground myself in the present. Cope’s quiet breathing from across the room is oddly comforting, but my thoughts are still racing.

I think about my father and the trailer I once called home. The memories are like ghosts, haunting the edges of my mind. I know I have to move forward, but the past is a heavy burden to carry.

After a while, I close my eyes again, willing myself to calm down. Tomorrow is another day, and I need to face it without the shadows of the past looming over me.

This time, when I wake, the fear isn’t there. My heart isn’t pounding out of my chest. I can feel the smooth sheets beneath me, a stark contrast to the rough, bare mattress I used to lie on in the trailer. The air I breathe isn’t stuffy and suffocating; it’s clear and refreshing, filling my lungs with ease.

I keep my eyes closed for a moment, savoring the calm. The remnants of the nightmare still linger, but I remind myself that I’m safe. I take a deep breath, allowing the smoke-free air to ground me.

Finally, I allow my eyes to flutter open, and the brightness of the room causes me to wince. The light is a welcome change from the oppressive darkness of my old room. I blink a few times, letting my eyes adjust.

As I take in my surroundings, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. The room is clean and well-lit, the complete opposite of the dingy, claustrophobic space I once called home. I can see my belongings neatly arranged, my desk with books and papers, and the soft glow of my bedside lamp that is still on.

I take another deep breath, letting the calm wash over me. I’m safe. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t have to worry about what might lurk in the shadows. I don’t have to fear the nights or dread the mornings.

I’m in a place where I can breathe, where I can finally start to heal. The nightmare may still haunt me, but right now, in this moment, I know I am safe.

The bathroom door swings open, and a wave of steam billows out as Cope steps into the room, wrapped in a towel. Myeyes instantly drop to his body—because, hello, who could not appreciate that physique? His abs are chiseled to perfection, each muscle defined and taut. I gulp and quickly avert my gaze. The last thing I need is to be caught checking him out.

“You sleep better?” Cope’s voice startles me, pulling me out of my thoughts. He’s standing at the end of my bed, another towel in hand, drying his hair.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” I mutter, giving him a tight-lipped smile. I pray my cheeks aren’t flaming right now. Does he know I’m gay? Sharing a room with him is one thing, but does he care that I like guys? I’ve never had to worry about something like this before. I’m assuming not. He shared a room with Brayden. But Brayden was his friend. I’m not.

Cope doesn’t seem to notice my internal turmoil. He nods and tosses the towel he was just using on his hair onto his bed.

“Look, don’t worry about Trayton. I’ll handle him.” Instantly, my defenses shoot up. Like I would be worried about Trayton King. I scrunch my face and glare at Cope.

“I can assure you that Trayton King is the least of my worries. I barely give that guy a second thought.” Technically, it’s not a lie. I don’t think about him anymore. Not like I used to.

Cope smirks and nods his head. “Good.” Then, in a flash, Cope drops his towel, his bare ass staring me in the face. I whip my neck to the left, trying to avoid the sight. What the heck is he doing? “How’s the project going?” he asks. I see movement out of the corner of my eye, but I dare not look in his direction.

“U-uh. Yeah. Gr-great,” I stutter. “Fine,” I clarify.

“Daxton.”

“Mm.”

“You can look at me, you know.”

I slowly turn my head, keeping my eyes on Cope’s face, who is biting his lip, trying his hardest to hold in his laugh.

“We’re all guys, Dax.”

“I’m gay,” I blurt out. Way to go, Daxton. “I just-I mean…”

“So are half my friends.” Cope cuts in, like it’s no big deal, which makes me ease slightly.

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