HIRAETH [1] || Grayson Hawthorne

Chapter 41- Smarties

"Lorelai. Lorelai. Lorelai." -Grayson Hawthorne
(3rd POV)

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Lorelai sat, unmoving, on her bed. She stared straight at the cat, racking her brain for any mention of the thing during conversations with Grayson.

Binx.

The name was foreign to her, yet it seemed like she heard it before. Rory gasped when the cat stood up and stretched on her book shelf. She looked at the ground to check for her dog but he was still nowhere to be found. A loud meow escaped the cats throat. She held her breath, Rory had a small fear of felines. Not too big of a fear that made her quake in her socks, but it was enough for her not to want to touch it.

She watched as the animal hopped off and rubbed its ear against a table leg. The pupils weren't dilated so she tried hard not to feel afraid. Binx began sashaying her way to the bed Rory was hiding on. The brunette backed up until she felt herself hit the headboard.

The bed was too large so she couldn't see the floor from where she was. Lorelai waited for the cat to hop up to the mattress but, nothing.

Just a few rooms away was a blonde man looking disheveled. His hair was messed up and his tie hung loosely around his neck, as if he had scratched it off. His white polo was unbuttoned to reveal most of his chest.

Grayson sat in a large chair in the library, holding a bottle of some too expensive alcohol. He took a swig of the drink, wincing slightly as the liquid burned the back of his throat. He leaned his head against the leather, shutting his eyes like it would shut away the blossoming feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He felt guilty.

Before Lorelai started bugging him, he would see Emily's face everywhere, hear her voice everywhere. It was all just a reminder of his sin. A reminder that the only woman he thought he loved had died in front of him while he just stood, watched.

Grayson took another gulp, this one longer than the last. He wiped his mouth using his arm, dampening his sleeve. He pulled his arm back to examine the small alcohol stain. It began to spread a light gray color on the fabric. He groaned and placed his head down on the table, spilling some of the contents in the bottle.

He wanted to beat himself up for not thinking of Emily as often as he believed he should. He had watched her die, now her memory was slowly going away with her. Grayson sat back up and drank some more of the half-finished alcohol. He slammed the bottle down on the table and tried to focus on the papers in front of him.

He was in the middle of arranging files to help Rory better understand the businesses. Truth be told, he had already finished. But there was this fear inside him, he didn't want to speak to Lorelai, didn't even want to see her. He couldn't trust himself.