Page 23 of Shattered

“Which dorm is yours, Lanson?” I inquire, and he gestures toward the one on the left. I glance at Brayden, who nods his head to the right.

Brayden winks at Lanson and says, “Lanson is staying at my dorm tonight, sir.” I raise my eyebrow at Lanson, causing his doe-eyed gaze on Brayden to shift to me, and he immediately lowers his head.

“Goodnight Lanson.” I state.

“Wait, no.” Brayden tries to argue, but I push him along to his dorm. Lanson continues to ignore Brayden and heads straight to his dorm.

“Respectfully, sir, but what the fuck? You know I’m nineteen, right?”

“Respectfully Brayden, I don’t give a fuck. Now keep it moving. You’re too drunk to do anything right now and I’m pretty sure the school doesn’t allow overnight stays in the dorms, right?” With a raised eyebrow, I observe the sulking face and his focus shifting toward Lanson’s retreating.

“I can make my way to my own dorm.” He mumbles as we walk through the main doors of the building.

“You’re wasted. It wouldn’t be right of me to leave you alone until I know you’re safe.” He hasn’t even asked about how I found them or what I was doing walking the streets at the same time as him. And I hope he never does because I don’t know what I would say.

Brayden stumbles a few times during our walk, but he quickly shakes off my attempts to steady him.

“What floor are you on?” I ask as we approach the stairs.

“Third,” he says, taking the stairs. I’m trailing behind him, but he suddenly halts and wavers a little. I immediately jump into action, catching him as he crouches down on the step.

“Brayden, what are you doing?” Without saying a word, he raises his hand and takes a few deep inhales. After a moment, he replies,

“Just give me a moment. I feel sick,” he says as he rests his elbows on his knees and lets his head hang between his legs. I stand there staring down at him, wondering how long he will sit like this for. After a few moments of silence, Brayden asks, “Why do all people suck?” he asks. I frown, wondering where the random question came from.

“What?”

“Why do all people suck?” he repeats. I hesitate to respond immediately because how do you even respond to that? Then I remember his Instagram story from earlier.

I position myself on the stair next to him, bending down and placing my arms on my knees as I stare down the corridor ahead.

“I don’t think all people suck.” I reply. “I think it’s the people you put your trust in and the people you love unconditionally, even though they don’t deserve it and who let you down and disappoint you. Those are the people that suck.” Brayden lifts his head and casts a sideways glance in my direction. Among the bloodshot that surrounds his sapphire eyes, his irises still shine bright.

“Those are definitely the people that suck.” Tilting his head upward, he studies the ceiling and lays back, resulting in the back of his head hitting the step. I want to tell him to get up and that his bed will be more comfortable, than laying on stairs. But then I realize that if he goes to bed, I’ll have to stop talking to him, and I’m not ready for that just yet. Selfish maybe, but it’s what has me laying back beside him with my head on the step.

“I hate that I let him do this to me time and time again,” for a moment, I don’t know who he’s talking about. Is he talking about a boyfriend? Is he talking about Lanson, or is he talking about his brother?

“Who?”

“Bex,” he sighs out. “I let him in every single time and each time he proves to me why I shouldn’t.” His voice cracks at the end. I close my eyes, wishing I could ring Bexley’s neck for making Brayden feel like this. I wish he could see what he does to his brother. Maybe he knows but doesn’t care. It’s understandable why Brayden is closed off and appears hostile toward others. Has anyone ever shown this kid that sometimes it’s worth being vulnerable in order to let the right people into their life? That there’s people out there worth being vulnerable for?

“Don’t paint everyone with the same brush, Brayden. There are good people out there.” Despite not knowing the reason, I have this urge to reassure him. “A day will come when you’ll find someone who will patiently wait at the door until you’re readyto open it. Even if it means waiting years. When the time comes, you’ll understand why it’s worth opening the door for the right person.” There’s a moment of silence before Brayden responds.

“Have you opened your door?”

“Not yet,” I sigh. I’m still trying to gather my thoughts and emotions after what happened earlier today. Despite being with Brayden, I don’t find it as strange as I thought I would. I’m not sure if being more content than I have been in a while is a good or bad sign.

“It’s possible that Miss Banksy might be the person you find at your doorstep,” he remarks, his voice hinting at a playful tone. I raise an eyebrow at him and smirk.

“I think it’s time you got to bed,” I say, leaning up and jumping to my feet, although I have to hold on to the railing. I forgot about the few whiskeys I had tonight. I motion my hand for him to hold on to. “Come on.”

He shuts his eyes and grabs my arm to hoist himself up. My jaw clenches as warmth spreads up my arm. What the fuck is going on? For a moment I don’t let go and neither does he. There’s something about his touch, his skin on mine, that feels almost perfect. Although, my mind is screaming for me to release him. I direct my gaze toward him, but he diverts his attention to his arm.

No, he’s looking at my hand.

Nope, he’s looking at my fingers that are brushing his arm. I snap my arm back fast he sways slightly and then rights himself. I hurriedly pass by him, feeling the need for a moment alone, and climb the stairs. We are on the third floor in record time. Once he’s inside the dorm, I must leave and go home. These feelings, or whatever they are, are a combination of drinks and sleep deprivation I’ve been dealing with lately. It has to be. This isn’t me; it’s as if my brain has malfunctioned.

As I walk past his dorm, his gruff voice calls out, “This is me.” I pivot on my heels, hands in pockets, and give him a firm nod. From his pocket, he retrieves his keys and unlocks the door.

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