Page 14

Chapter fourteen

Levana

I haven’t spoken about Violet since that day. I don’t want to. I can’t. It’s better to keep that wound locked down—stitched tight and shoved somewhere dark where it can’t bleed into everything else. I know Patrick would listen if I needed to talk. I know he’d hold me again, just like he did before, but I don’t want to go back there. I can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But it’s made me feel closer to him, closer than I ever thought I’d let myself get to anyone again. It’s not just kissing and fucking and laughing, it’s something deeper and unspoken. Like some invisible line’s been crossed without either of us realising it.

“You’re doing great, almost done now,” I tell Mrs. Marsden as I glide a stitch between her gums. One loop, then another, before I tug the thread tight to seal her mouth closed.

I snip the thread and grab a damp cloth, folding it neatly in half before carefully wiping the corners of her mouth. Her skin’s thin and papery. Delicate, like a stretched petal, but she still has a toughness to her that makes her look like the kind of woman who wouldn’t have tolerated rough hands, and knew exactly how to keep people in line.

My phone vibrates through the silence and I glance over at it.

Incoming call: Elliot

“Sorry, Mrs. Marsden,” I say, snapping off my gloves. “Won’t be a second.”

I grab my phone and swipe to answer. “Elliot, you’re late. Again .”

“No—Lev, listen, I— shit , I’m so sorry, I just—” The words spill out of him, tumbling over each other in something barely legible. “My place is trashed. Properly trashed. The whole ceiling’s wrecked—water damage, mold, everything. I don’t… I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

“Wait. What?”

“My landlord. He wouldn’t fix the leak, and now the pipes have fucking burst or something. There’s water everywhere. My couch, my TV, everything. It’s all fucked.”

“I told you that guy was a piece of shit,” I snap, cutting across his panicked rambling.

“Yeah, well—” He’s still going, fast and frantic, not stopping for breath. “He said it was fine! Said the leak wasn’t that bad and now there’s—there’s water everywhere, Lev! My mattress is soaked through, my books— fuck , my books. I don’t know what to do—”

“El,” I cut in again. “Breathe.”

He goes silent, like his lungs have forgotten how to work.

“Go to the café, yeah?” I say gently. “Get yourself a coffee, sit down, and I know it’s hard, but try to relax. I have to finish up here, okay? I can be with you in, say, an hour? Maybe less, depends on traffic. Is that alright?”

His lungs start working again and he exhales hard. “Okay. Yeah, alright.”

“Okay. Love you, bye.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up, toss my phone back down, and rub a hand over my forehead.

“Sorry about that,” I mumble to Mrs. Marsden, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves before I finish up on her.

I make it there in record time—fifty-two minutes, to be exact—and now, I’m standing in Elliot’s apartment, staring at the mess.

“Jesus Christ,” I say under my breath.

The place is wrecked. Clothes piled in soggy heaps. The couch cushions are destroyed, dark stains blooming across the fabric. His awful faded rug he insisted was vintage, is soaked through.

The wall near the window looks like sponge, the paint blistered and cracked where water’s crept down from the ceiling.

Elliot’s moving through the chaos like a ghost, barefoot in his sweats, dark curls sticking up in all directions. He’s trying to salvage what he can, stacking his damp records in shaky piles, thumbing through ruined books with this hollow, exhausted look on his face.

“Well,” I say, kicking at a drenched sock by the door. “And here I was thinking this place couldn’t get any worse.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Guess I proved you wrong.”

“You’re staying with me,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Nah, that’s okay,” he fires back immediately, shaking his head. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Oh, will you? What’s the plan then?”

“I’ll—I don’t know. I’ll grab a motel or something.”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“What do you mean nope?”

“I’m not letting you stay somewhere you don’t know.” I jerk my head toward the door. “Come on. Grab your stuff.”

“Lev—”

“Elliot,” I say, cutting him off. “Don’t argue with me. Just let me help you, alright?”

He stares at me for a second like he’s weighing up whether or not to push back, but then his shoulders sag, and he rubs his face with both hands. “Yeah. Alright.”

His bag thuds against his knee as we pull up outside my house. His face is drawn and tired, like all the fight’s been drained out of him on the drive over. I kill the engine and glance toward my house.

Patrick’s car is parked in the lot, and he’s leaning next to my front door, hands stuffed in his pockets. As soon as he clocks Elliot climbing out of my car, he straightens. His face doesn’t change much, but I see the slight tension in his jaw as he flicks his eyes to Elliot’s bag.

“Don’t start,” I warn under my breath.

“I’m not gonna,” Elliot mumbles.

Their hatred for each other isn’t exactly subtle anymore. It’s obvious, always bubbling there. What started as little comments behind each other’s backs has escalated, and now they can’t be in the same room without firing off passive-aggressive remarks to each other. And honestly? It’s getting real old, real quick.

Patrick’s still watching as we approach, his eyes darting from me to Elliot, and back again. Before he can say a single stupid word, I step in close and kiss him.

“Hey,” I say when I pull back.

“Hey,” Patrick says, eyes dropping to Elliot’s bag again, but he doesn’t say a word, just steps aside as I unlock the door.

“Patrick, will you make coffee, please?”

“What’s going on? Something you wanna explain?“

Oh, here we fucking go.

I sigh, already halfway up the stairs.

“Elliot’s crashing here for a bit,” I call back. “His absolute asshole of a landlord’s let his apartment go to shit. Water damage everywhere. Place is a damn mess.”

I can’t be assed with this, so I keep walking.

“Wait,” Patrick says behind me. “Why are you taking his stuff upstairs?”

“So he has somewhere to sleep,” I reply.

“But… that’s your bed, Levana.”

“Yeah,” I say, pausing again. “We share a bed whenever we have sleepovers.”

“Excuse me?” Patrick asks.

“For fuck’s sake,” Elliot mutters from the landing.

“We share a bed when we have sleepovers,” I repeat, slower, like maybe he didn’t hear me the first time.

I can see the tension creeping into his jaw.

“Yeah?” His voice is tight. “And you didn’t think to talk to me about it first?”

“ Fuck me,” Elliot cuts in. “What the hell do you think is going on?”

Patrick’s eyes snap to him. “I don’t know,” he says flatly. “That’s the problem.”

“Oh my God,” Elliot groans, dragging a hand down his face. “She’s my best friend. I’ve known her a hell of a lot longer than you have.”

“Yeah?” Patrick fires back. “And I’m sure you’ve been waiting for your big moment ever since.”

“Oh, get fucked,” Elliot snaps. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’re constantly hovering. Showing up at work with lunch every day like you don’t have your own damn life. Texting her constantly. Taking up every spare second of her time like she’s not even allowed to breathe without you right there.”

Patrick’s face darkens. “I’m not—”

“You are. You’re practically glued to her side, like you’re marking your damn territory.”

“Unbelievable,” Patrick growls. “I’m just trying to take care of her. Which is more than I can say for you, too busy pretending to be some laid back best friend or whatever the hell this is.”

“Take care of her?” Elliot barks out a sharp, humourless laugh. “By what? Suffocating her?”

“Better than hanging around like you’re just her buddy, waiting for her to break down enough to let you slide in.”

Elliot’s face twists in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Patrick cuts in. “All that easygoing crap, like you’re not just hoping she’ll fall apart enough to land in your lap.”

“You seriously think I’m—”

“I know you are. You’ve been circling her like a vulture, always in her damn ear—

“Oh my god.” I snap, throwing my hands up. “Would you two just shut the hell up? You’re both pissing me the fuck off.”

My voice ricochets off the walls, sharp enough to slice through their bullshit. Both of them stop, staring at me like I’ve just slapped them across the face.

“I’m sick of this,” I snap again, pointing at Elliot first. “You’re my best friend.”

Then, I whirl on Patrick. “And you—fuck it, you’re my boyfriend! And you’re both just… at each other, every damn time we’re in the same room, and it hurts.”

“Lev—” Elliot starts.

“No, Elliot!” I bark, my voice cracking. “Just—no.”

My chest’s heaving now, tears stinging the back of my eyes, but I push past it.

“I love you,” I say. “And I don’t know what I’d do without you. But you’ve got to stop digging into this part of my life.” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I know you’re trying to look out for me, but this… this is mine. I need you to trust me, okay? Trust that I know what I’m doing—that I’ll tell you if I need you. But this constant pushing? It’s not helping. It’s just making things harder.”

I pause, watching his face, waiting to see if it’s sinking in. Then I turn back to Patrick.

“And you. If you’ve got a problem with something, you talk to me. Don’t just start poking and stirring shit straight away, because all it does is set things off, and nothing’s gonna get resolved.”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“Look… I know you don’t trust Elliot. I don’t understand why, I really don’t,” My voice falters, but I push through it. “But could you at least trust me ? Even if you can’t see past the fact that he’s my best friend, could you please just pay attention to me, right now? I want you, and I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

My heart’s about to snap through my ribs and make a break for it.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whisper, voice shaking now. “I need you two to stop.”

Patrick’s face softens just a little, enough that I know I’ve hit something. But Elliot’s still staring at me like I’ve grown two heads.

“Neither of you comes into my house and talks like that. Not to me, not to each other. If something makes you uncomfortable, fine, we can talk about it. But this?” I gesture vaguely between them. “This bullshit? This constant pissing contest? I’m done with it. We’re adults—act like it.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says first, his voice low but genuine. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Elliot mutters, sounding just as reluctant. “I didn’t mean to. Sorry, Lev.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the dull throb building behind my eyes. “Okay,” I say with a sigh.

“You,” I jab a finger at Elliot. “Take your fucking stuff into my bedroom for now.”

Then I turn to Patrick. “And you—make the damn coffee like I asked you to.”

For a second, neither of them moves, both too stubborn to be the first to back down. Then, finally, Patrick lets out a heavy sigh through his nose and heads to the kitchen. Elliot mutters something under his breath and drags his bag into my bedroom.

I stay where I am for a minute, tipping my head back until it meets the wall. My eyes squeeze shut, and I blow out a slow breath, like I can push out all the tension with it.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”