Page 12 of Shattered Souls
Yeah, like Iwantto spend another second in either of their presence.
I don’t bother saying a word—I couldn’t force out a fake pleasantry even if I wanted to—as I get up from the table before following Grayson toward the exit.
The fresh air is a welcome relief against my heated skin as we wait for the valet to bring Grayson’s car around. We stand there in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts. I can feel the tension radiating from Grayson. He can probably feel the same thing emanating from me. Even though I know they can’t see us from inside the restaurant, I can still feel the lingering weight of Bertram’s sick stare. It’s an effort not to scratch at my skin, and I desperately need a shower, even though he never touched me.
Just being in such close proximity to him is enough for me to break out in hives.
When the valet appears with the car, we both climb in—thankfully without Grayson going apeshit on the valet this time. I’ve barely gotten my door closed before he slams his foot down on the accelerator, and the wheels spin on the gravel before we shoot out of the parking lot.
“Grayson!” I gasp, reaching for my seatbelt and hurriedly buckling myself in.
“Sorry,” he grinds, his hands fisting the steering wheel and his focus solely on the road in front of us. “I just have to put as much fucking distance between us as I can.”
Now that we’re encased inside his tiny car, the tension I felt from him before escalates, multiplying tenfold until it practically chokes me.
Concerned, I peek at him from the corner of my eye. His expression is haunted, his teeth grinding as he glares out the windshield. The leather steering wheel creaks beneath the pressure as he squeezes it.
With each mile that zips past us, the tension winds tighter, the car growing hotter until it becomes stifling. The silence sits heavy in the air, like a bubble I’m too afraid to pop—not while he’s driving, at least.
When we’re halfway between Springview and Halston, he suddenly pulls on the steering wheel. The car squeals as it lurches ninety degrees, and I’m thrown back in my seat before he presses on the accelerator, and we speed up a single dirt track road I hadn’t noticed before.
“Uhh, Grayson?” I hedge, suddenly a lot more nervous than I had been before. I’m not afraid of him. I’ve never, not once, been fearful of Grayson or his moods. It’s his mindset that worries me. Did being faced with his father push him too far over the edge?
He doesn’t answer me as the car bumps over the uneven ground, the Xenon headlights bobbing and dipping as they highlight the dirt road, tall grass, and tree trunks as we pass by. It'll be a miracle if his tires don’t get a puncture.
The trees grow thicker around us until they blot out the sky overhead, and the thick canopy casts eerie shadows over the car, making the darkness feel denser somehow. Grayson cracks his window, the scent of damp earth and pine infusing the vehicle. As we crawl deeper into the forest depths, I glance nervously at Grayson, his profile sharp in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, giving nothing away.
I return my focus to the front windshield in time to see the trees part, and before us, a space opens up, bathed in the soft light of the moon. An old, crumbling church stands in the middle of the clearing, its skeletal frame silhouetted against the night sky. Ivy creeps up its walls like grasping fingers, and broken stained glass windows glint ominously in the moonlight.
I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as we pull to a stop a short distance from the ruins. There’s somethingeerie and otherworldly about this place, but at the same time, it’s hauntingly beautiful in its abandonment.
Grayson turns off the engine, leaving the headlights on and bathing us in silence. The only sounds are the rustle of leaves in the night breeze and the distant hoot of an owl.
I can feel Grayson’s emotions thrumming in the air around us, thick and heavy like a storm gathering on the horizon. The tension between us is palpable as I stare steadfastly out the windshield and wait…
My gaze runs over the weathered remains of the church. Parts of the roof have collapsed, and the windows are all either missing or smashed. It’s a place frozen in time, abandoned and forgotten, yet still standing.
Beyond the church, I notice the tops of headstones peeking through the tall grass, a forsaken cemetery reclaimed by nature.
I can’t help but feel a sense of awe at the sight. Despite the years of neglect and the relentless onslaught of the elements, the church still stands, a testament to its resilience and strength. I’ve faced my own battles, my own struggles. I’m missing pieces, parts of me that were torn away by trauma and hardship. But, like the church, I’m still standing. Still fighting. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll weather the storm too.
My gaze slides to Grayson as I wonder whether he, too, will be able to survive the storm or if the harsh winds of his past or the torrential rain of what’s to come will pull him under.
Or perhaps it will be the storm that rages within that will take him out.
I patiently wait for him to work through his feelings, but minutes pass, and still, he sits in silence beside me, his hands clenched tight around the steering wheel.
Then he snaps. He drives his fists into the steering wheel repeatedly, pummeling the leather as he hisses and snarls. Wide-eyed, I watch as he breaks.
Crumbles.
Decimates.
Heaving heavy breaths, he keels forward, sliding his hands into his hair, his forehead resting against the steering wheel. His voice is raspy with emotion when he finally speaks, his knuckles red. “I don’t know how you fucking did that,” he seethes. “How you managed to sit there. I wanted to launch myself across the table and rip his head from his shoulders. Every second was fucking torture.”
I can hear the strain in his voice. He put on a good act at dinner, appearing unaffected. I don’t think I realized until now just how hard that was for him. To sit opposite his father, knowing he abused his mom. That he might have killed her. Knowingthatand having to pretend that he didn’t.
“I thought of Aurora.” My voice is loud in the small confines of the car despite having spoken the words softly. “Every time it became too much, I thought of her and knew I could endure another few minutes—for her.”
