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The hotel hallway was quiet as Grayson unlocked his room and stepped inside. The weight of the day pressed down on him; he craved nothing more than some rest.

Alison had insisted he leave and take a break, though she appeared more worn out than he. She went with Gabriel, Cora, and Rupert to discuss her wants and needs. As much as he'd love to put an end to this ordeal, she didn't want Mason behind bars, just that he lived a life separate from hers.

Grayson lay on his hotel bed, trying to ignore the fact that it was well into the afternoon. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He felt torn between his heart's demanding to speak with Alison and his rational mind telling him not to.

Frustration welled up within him as he settled on the bed, not quite comfortable, propped against the headboard instead of lying flat, and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep.

Sleep did arrive, and surprisingly, it was a peaceful one.

In his dream, Emily appeared, usually a source of deep sorrow for Grayson. But this time, he felt different. He knew it was a dream, and the usual heartache wasn't there; instead, he felt something strange, like acceptance. He watched silently as Emily crouched down and jumped into the pool.

"Come on, Gray," she called out in the dream. "I bet I can beat your holding-breath record."

For some reason, Grayson couldn't respond; it was like the dream rules had tied up his voice, leaving him silent and just observing. He watched Emily disappear beneath the water, her challenge still in the air. It should have made him miss her, but instead, he felt distant, like the pain of losing her had changed into something he couldn't quite understand.

Then, something on his right grabbed his attention, and he turned his head even though the dream rules said he couldn't. There, floating in the water, was Alison. 

Grayson's eyes met hers, and he was fascinated by the intensity of her blue eyes. They held a depth he'd never seen before, like he was finally seeing the real Alison, no masks or defences.

As he gazed into Alison's deep blue eyes, fear gripped Grayson's heart. He wasn't entirely sure why at first, but deep down, he knew the reason. Alison couldn't swim, not even a little, let alone float.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, Alison started paddling, her movements getting more and more frantic. He realized it was his own thoughts in his dream that had caused this dangerous situation.

Without a second thought, he threw himself into the water, splashing as he broke the surface. Instinct took over, and he kicked and thrashed his way towards Alison. The water felt unusually heavy and resistant.

Grayson's heart sank as he reached for Alison, but she slipped beneath the water and disappeared. Panic coursed through him, and he dived beneath the surface, frantically searching for her.

The water was murky and disorienting, and as he searched, there was no sign of Alison.

"Am I that easy to forget?" Emily's voice cut through the water, tinged with disappointment. Her words echoed from all directions, and Grayson felt a deep sense of frustration and confusion with his dream.

In a surreal twist, he found himself standing on the pool deck, holding a stack of towels. His eyes fell on a chilling sight that sent shivers down his spine: Emily lay lifeless on the ground.

Grayson often dreamt of Emily, and in every dream, it ended with her dead and him running away or squeezing his eyes shut. But this time, he stood before her with open eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. 

Suddenly, his surroundings turned icy cold, and Emily's lifeless figure started to vanish, like it was made of mist. "I'm so sorry, Emily..."

He shut his eyes tightly, unable to bear the sight of her empty, lifeless emerald green eyes that used to sparkle so brightly.

Soft hands brushed Grayson's face, and he heard a soft voice. "Wake up." The hands were warm against his cold skin, tracing his jawline. 

Grayson still kept his eyes shut. He didn't care who was touching him. He didn't care who was talking to him. He had no desire to wake up.

"Wake up," the voice continued to gently touch his cheeks. Even though Grayson tried to ignore the voice, it sounded familiar. "It's alright, I'm here," the voice whispered softly, almost too soft. "Wake up, Grayson." 

Grayson slowly opened his eyes, and in front of him, Alison stood with her hair hanging over her shoulders. He realized he wasn't in a dream anymore; he could see the bandage on her forehead, and she was dressed the same way as before.

She let out a heavy sigh, concern etched on her face. "You have to let go, Gray." Her hands lingered on his face, wiping away tears he hadn't even noticed he was shedding. 

Grayson's silvery eyes met Alison's blue ones, which appeared less lively than in his dream. He was puzzled about what she meant. How did she get into my room? he wondered. Why was she here?

Alison held his gaze for a moment longer before withdrawing her hands, settling on the edge of the bed. "You were saying her name."

It took Grayson a few seconds to get what she meant. He had called out for Emily while he was asleep. He looked at Alison, her expression stern but devoid of emotion. He didn't want to have this conversation, especially not with Alison.

With a deep sigh, he pushed himself up to stand, heading in the direction of the bathroom.

But before he could make it, "You need to let Emily go," Alison's hand reached out to grip his arm, halting him in his tracks.

"You need to let me go." Grayson yanked his arm away, his eyes cold. 

Just because Alison and Mason made up didn't mean anything for her relationship with Grayson. Alison didn't know anything about Emily, only that Grayson had killed her and loved her. What happened with Emily was not up for discussion, and it was definitely none of Alison's business.

Grayson closed the bathroom door firmly behind him, knowing how stubborn Alison was and that she wouldn't easily give up. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the haunting remnants of his dream. 

"This guilt and pain won't bring Emily back," Alison said, as Grayson had expected. "It will only continue to haunt you, feeding your nightmares and darkness."

Grayson found himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his eyes haunted, muttering, "Forgiveness won't bring her back either. These nightmares are my punishment. I deserve to suffer for what I've done."

Why was Alison pushing this? She knew Grayson never wanted to discuss Emily or his past, and she had respected that boundary until now. It frustrated him deeply, though he held his tongue.

He could almost picture Alison leaning her forehead against the bathroom door, her voice seeping through. "And what about the people who are still here, Gray?" Her words were a heavy weight on his shoulders, and he clenched his jaw in frustration. He wanted to shout at her, to tell her to mind her own business, but he stayed silent.

"Your brothers want to see you happy," she continued, her voice soft but unwavering. "You deserve happiness too, as much as I or anyone else does."

Grayson stayed silent, hoping she would leave him alone. 

"I know how you feel, Gray, I really do," Alison continued, her words familiar to Grayson's ears. "It feels like this guilt is the only thing that connects her to you now, but it's not the only connection." Alison hesitated briefly. "You need to let yourself feel again and want things, Gray. You don't have to carry all the world's weight on your shoulders."

Despite the door muffling her voice, her words managed to reach him. "I'm not saying you should forget, Gray. I'm saying you should remember and accept that Emily's part in your story has come to an end."

Grayson's fists clenched, his knuckles losing color as he grappled with the painful truth in her words. He didn't want to admit it, so instead, he lashed out with a sharp anger in his voice. "You're making it sound so simple, like turning the page to the next chapter," he snapped. "You think you know what's best for me? You want to help? Then tell me, Alison, how do you know about healing when you've been responsible for your entire family's death, lied to yourself that it's not your fault, and dragged others into your mess while playing the victim?"

Alison went silent, but Grayson didn't stop. "Maybe if you hadn't been so careless, you wouldn't have lost your family. Maybe if you had been more responsible, they would still be here."

Grayson's words hung in the air. The bathroom felt suffocating, and even through the closed door, he could sense the weight of what he'd just said. Alison's voice, when it finally came, was shaky. "Open the door, Gray."

"You know, you're no better," Grayson continued, a bitter tone in his voice. "You stabbed your own brother for no reason, and you want to lecture me about healing and forgiveness? You're just as messed up as I am. Maybe even worse than Mason."

"Grayson, please, open the door. Let me in," she pleaded, her words heavy with unspoken hurt.

Grayson turned to face the door, fist colliding against the wood with a loud thud, the urge to lash out still consuming him. He muttered another harsh remark about Alison, this time more cutting than the ones before. 

"You're nothing but a burden," he muttered, his voice filled with resentment. "You can't even help yourself, and you think you can help me? What did you expect after Mason was gone? That you and I would be something? How Pathetic."

As soon as the words left his lips, a heavy silence settled in the bathroom. He closed his eyes, gradually relaxed his clenched fist against the door. He sensed his own body trembling, his heavy breaths, as he finally fell silent. 

He knew he had gone too far, but in that moment, anger and frustration had taken hold of him, pushing him to say things he could never say, but truly held meaning. 

With each passing second, Grayson felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and regret wash over him. He turned his gaze to his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, unable to meet his own eyes. He despised the person he had temporarily become, using his words as weapons against someone who genuinely cared for him.

The silence that followed was oppressive, and Grayson's own heartbeat seemed to echo in his ears. He felt the weight of his harsh words press down on him, making it hard to breathe. 

"Open the door, Grayson," Alison's voice was fragile yet persistent.

His heart tightened painfully in his chest. He didn't want to open the door. He didn't want to face what he had just said to Alison. But, even with his eyes tightly shut, all he could see was Alison – her flowing black hair framing her shoulders, her sapphire eyes brimming with tears, her rose-pink lips quivering with a frown.

"I am broken," she confessed, her words hanging in the air. "Not just in pieces, but into nothing more than dust. No one can mend me, not even myself." The way she said them were like she accepted that fate, as though these words had been spoken to her many times before. Grayson's heart ached, knowing he wasn't the first to utter such hurtful things to her.

"It was my decisions and actions that dragged everyone in my family, including you and Mason, into this," Alison's voice quivered as she continued, her pain evident. Grayson, unable to resist, opened his eyes and leaned against the bathroom door, straining to hear her words.

She took a shaky breath, her voice growing faint. "The day I stabbed William, I had received a call from my school," she confessed, her voice catching. "In West Virginia, schools are nothing like the prestigious boarding and private schools you're familiar with. Our education system has its limitations – funding disparities, high poverty rates, and shortages of teachers," she explained.

"I'd devoted my entire life to earning a scholarship, my parents investing more than they could afford," she continued, her voice tinged with regret. "It was all in vain. I failed that test, and my family faced financial ruin. I was filled with anger, directing it at myself, and that's when I lashed out at William. At first, I forgave myself, convinced that he deserved it for the petty wrongs he had done to me – calling me a nerd, using my homework for paper airplanes, or even stealing my hair ties for his hair." Behind the door, Grayson could sense Alison sinking to the ground, her silent sobs painting a painful picture. "But those wrongs, they were nothing compared to the terrible things I've done. Siblings fight, they argue, but they don't kill each other."

Grayson slumped against the bathroom door, regret weighing on him like a heavy stone in his chest. He knew he had been wrong to lash out at Alison. She only meant to help, even if she didn't fully grasp that it wasn't just about Emily – being a Hawthorne came with its own challenges. 

Through the door, Alison's voice seeped like a soothing balm for his conscience. Her words were laden with the weight of her own experiences, and Grayson shifted, intent on listening.

"Nightmares have haunted me too, and they still do," she began. "And you know what? I probably deserve them." Grayson felt her words echoing within him.

"After I left home, I couldn't sleep for months. It wasn't only about having to spend the night in a stranger's car or the freezing streets of England. It was the guilt, gnawing away at me. I couldn't return home empty-handed."

There was a pause, and Grayson sensed her leaning against the door as she continued her story. "I'd wake up, drenched in sweat despite the biting cold, screaming myself awake. Sleep became something I hated, but being awake was no better."

"I spent every moment awake in libraries, studying, my diet mainly consisting of only ice cream. Hospitals were free there, so my health was the least of my worries. That was my life for at least six months until I sent one of my writings to London Metropolitan University and got accepted."

"After that, things got a bit better. The nightmares gradually disappeared as I started earning enough money to buy alcohol. I wrote until my hands blistered, and managed to secure a scholarship for Harvard. I saw through the game schools played: they wanted to see how well you could bullshit someone who was good at bullshitting others."

"I had to admit, it was boring at Harvard; there was nothing they taught me that I didn't already know. But meeting Mason was the only spark of interest." Alison paused for a moment, her movements audible behind the door as she shifted positions. "Mason was sort of like you when I first met him – proud, quiet, and easily irritated. Every time I saw him, I would annoy him, never missing an opportunity. It was the only thing I loved to do. But even with Mason, there were times when I had to scrape by, and he offered to help. However, I was too embarrassed and told him I'd come this far on my own, so I didn't need it."

"I honestly don't know what Mason saw in me. I was selfish, cocky, and nowhere near as pretty as the other girls. I'd write poems about him, making fun of him, quite cruel really, but he... he laughed and loved them."

A memory flashed in Grayson's mind – a time when he had made Emily laugh uncontrollably. They were in the kitchen, and Xander unexpectedly pied Grayson in the face. The sound of Emily's laughter had brought back a warm feeling in his chest. It was something he could never forget, and now, he had a glimpse into what Alison meant.

"Now we're strangers, and maybe that's how it should have stayed. But now, as I'm about to start anew, it doesn't matter anymore. My parents are gone. Hudson's gone. And William..." Alison's voice cracked, but she steadied it. "I don't have friends; I've never had time for them. No family. No home. I'm adrift, and I just wanted to help you because when I look into your eyes, I see... myself."

They both remained silent, their breathing the only audible sound through the bathroom door that separated them. 

Alison's voice carried a heavy burden as she finally spoke, "I'm not a good person, Grayson. After all of this, I don't expect us to be together or anything but—" She stopped herself before she could say more, tears threatening to spill.

"I know you'll be leaving for Avery's birthday. The Social Contract has already been terminated, so there's no reason for you to stay." Alison's unexpected words hung in the air. "I'm sorry for lying to you, Grayson. I'm sorry for involving you in this mess," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry I couldn't fix you."

Grayson closed his eyes, unsure if he had truly heard Alison's next words. Her voice was so hushed that he questioned whether it was real or a figment of his imagination. She pleaded with a vulnerability that struck a chord deep within him.

"Grayson, please don't go..."