"ALISON," Her mother knocked on her door for the fifth time today, "honey, you need to eat something." Alison had a habit of toning down her voice, drowning it entirely out. The ceiling cracks were far more intriguing than what her mother was saying. Yet, her voice remained into a simple whisper in the background; it occupied the silence.
In the last couple of days, Alison remained couped up in her room, moping away from anything outside that could end up hurting her in some way. Alison would do anything to avoid him. It was ironic how the roles have reversed, but Grayson didn't care either way again.
