Page 20

Chapter twenty

Levana

I can’t do this anymore.

Maybe I need to go to the doctor. I don’t fucking know.

I’ve been Googling it like an idiot, convincing myself it’s everything and nothing at the same time.

Maybe it’s stress. That makes the most sense

Maybe it’s some kind of nutritional deficit. I have been skipping meals and living on coffee and cigarettes like that’s a sustainable lifestyle.

Or maybe—and this one’s my personal favourite—maybe I’m dying.

Some creeping illness gnawing away at me from the inside.

A brain tumour, maybe. Or some kind of organ-eating parasite. Or one of those freak infections you pick up without realising, and then it quietly eats you from the inside out.

I shake it off, push the thoughts down, and keep moving. Work helps. It gives me something to focus on. So I stay busy. Tidying the prep table, restocking chemicals, wiping down the countertops. Simple, mindless stuff.

I pause at the autoclave, fingers dragging over the metal.

Maybe some time alone with it will perk me up.

But the second I bend down to grab a stack of instruments, the floor tilts. Just a little, like the whole room shifted half an inch to the left.

I blow out a heavy breath, waiting for it to pass.

It doesn’t.

The nausea pounces, boiling in my stomach, and saliva floods my mouth.

“Shit.”

I stumble to the bathroom, barely making it before I’m on my knees, retching so hard my ribs ache.

It doesn’t stop. It just keeps coming—wave after wave until I’m left gasping and shivering, forehead pressed against my arm, tears streaking down my face.

There’s a knock at the door. “Lev?”

I barely register it at first, too caught up in the sharp, sour taste coating my tongue.

“Lev?” The knock’s louder this time. “I’m coming in.”

I don’t have the energy to tell him not to.

The door creaks open, and through the haze in my head, I see Gordon standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “Lev. You okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m good.” I blatantly lie.

“You sure?” He snorts. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“I’m fine,” I croak. “Just something I ate or… I don’t know. Exhaustion, maybe.”

His eyes narrow like he’s mentally calling bullshit. He steps inside, shifting his weight forward. Not quite crouching, but leaning in as much as his bad knees will let him. One hand grips the doorframe for balance, the other gestures loosely toward me. “Look. I know you’re tough as nails, but this? This isn’t tough. This is you running yourself into the ground, kiddo.”

I let out a frail, breathless laugh. “It’s just been a long week.”

Gordon doesn’t budge. He never does. “Lev, go home.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Really, I just need a minute.”

“Lev,” His voice dips into something more firm. “You’re sick. Whatever’s going on with you? You’re no good to anyone like this.”

“I said I’m fine, Gordon!” The words snap out of me, sharp and jagged, loud enough to make my own ears ring.

I freeze.

What the fuck was that?

Fire floods my veins, and I can’t figure out what’s worse—the fact that I just yelled at Gordon, or the fact that I’m about two seconds away from crying in front of him.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Go home,” he sighs. “Sleep it off. Whatever this is, you’re not bringing it into a place of rest.”

Blood is roaring through my ears. I can’t even look at him. I’m so fucking embarrassed. I do my best to push myself up off the floor even though my legs are shaking. “Sorry, Gordon.”

I don’t even wait for him to answer. I just stumble past him, keeping my head down, my cheeks burning with complete and utter regret and humiliation.

I grab my stuff and practically run out as best as I can. The cold air stings, but it’s a relief—sharp enough to clear my head a little.

Go home. Nap. Call a doctor.

I’ll be fine. I just need sleep. A really deep, heavy sleep that sucks me under for a day or two.

Maybe Elliot can run to the store for me… grab some painkillers or something.

My fingers fumble with the keys as I unlock the door and step inside.

“Elliot?” I call out as I kick my shoes off.

No answer.

“Elliot?”

Still nothing.

I assume he’s out. Maybe at the store, maybe just giving me some space. Honestly, that’s better. I’m too exhausted to deal with anyone right now, even him. The painkillers can wait.

I trudge upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last, like I’m dragging myself through quicksand.

I push my bedroom door open, step inside, drop my bag.

And my world ends.

No. No. No. No. No.

My brain jumps. I can’t process what I’m seeing. I blink, trying to clear my eyes, in case my fevers have finally led to hallucinations.

Elliot’s sprawled out on my bed. Naked. One arm flung over his face like he’s been passed out for hours. His chest rises and falls in deep, steady breaths, dead to the world. The light from the window slants across his skin, throwing shadows over him, making the whole thing feel even more surreal.

My stomach clenches, but I tell myself I’m not seeing this right. Maybe it’s a blanket twisted around him, or a shirt, or something else that’s not this.

But it’s not.

Electricity sears through my bones, frying them to dust.

My skin ices over.

I almost gag.

It’s my underwear.

My underwear.

One of my nicer pairs, delicate black lace with tiny satin ribbons.

And it’s wrapped right around his cock.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

Am I seeing this right?

That’s not… no… that’s not…

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

The walls close in. I’m shrinking. I’m trapped in a nightmare and there’s something lurking in the corner of my bedroom, something awful and wrong and it’s not supposed to be there.

I stare so hard my vision falters, hoping that if I just blur it enough then it’ll vanish.

But it doesn’t.

He’s still there, sprawled out.

I stumble back a step, hitting the doorframe hard enough to rattle it. My legs feel unsteady, shaky like they don’t belong to me anymore.

I feel disgusting. Violated. Like something filthy has seeped into the walls of my room, into my bed, into me.

My mind’s racing, spinning so fast I can’t catch hold of a single thought.

Did he… did he drink too much? Is he high?

My brain skips to one thing—Patrick.

He was right.

All those times he warned me that Elliot wanted more than just friendship. All those times he told me Elliot had ulterior motives. All those times he told me he didn’t trust him in my house.

He was right.

Elliot’s been my person for years.

Years .

He’s the person I’ve cried to, laughed with, trusted with things I wouldn’t tell anyone. He’s the one who’s always had my back, the one who’s always been safe.

And all the while, he’s been here, living in my house, pretending to be my friend while he…

Hot, angry tears roll down my cheeks. Hurt and rage tangling together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

I feel like a fucking idiot.

You let him in. You defended him. You told Patrick he was overreacting, and now look—just fucking LOOK.

I swipe furiously at my face, tears smearing hot down my cheeks. I know I can’t just stand here staring at him like this, so I stomp down the stairs so fast I hardly feel my feet hitting the floor.

The kitchen faucet sputters to life as I crank it all the way to cold, filling a glass to the brim.

Do it. He deserves it.

I storm back upstairs, glass clenched in my hand so tight I’m amazed it doesn’t shatter.

For a second, I just stand there, staring at him, sprawled out and peaceful like he hasn’t done a damn thing wrong

I hate him for that. For being able to sleep so soundly after this.

“Wake the fuck up,” I snarl under my breath, and then I throw the water right in his face.

He jerks awake with a sharp gasp, coughing and flailing blindly for a second before his eyes snap open, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to pull himself out of his perverted little nap.

“What the—?” he sputters, dragging a hand down his soaked face. “What are you doing, Lev?”

I’m already shouting, the words tumbling out before I can even think. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Jesus Christ, Elliot!”

He looks blank, dazed, like his brain’s two steps behind everything that’s happening. “What?”

Then something clicks. His gaze drops to his lap, to the crumpled black lace twisted around his cock.

His face drains of colour, like the airs just been yanked from his lungs. For a second, he doesn’t even move. He’s frozen, hand hovering in midair like he’s scared to move.

“No…” His voice is barely there. Weak and breathless. “No, no, no. What the fuck is this?!”

His fingers tear at the fabric frantically, ripping it free and flinging it across the room like it’s burned him.

“I didn’t—I don’t—I swear to god, Lev, I didn’t—” His voice breaks. “I don’t know how—I don’t remember—I promise—”

He’s repeating himself, words colliding into each other like he’s trying to justify this absolute mess. But I don’t believe a word.

How could I?

“You’ve been in my house for months,” I snap, my voice breaking somewhere between a sob and a scream. “I trusted you. I fucking defended you!”

I swipe furiously at my face, my hands shaking so badly I can barely wipe the tears away.

“You’ve been acting like my best friend, like you love me—and the whole time you’ve been… you’ve been—”

I can’t even say it. The words won’t come out. The idea of finishing the sentence, putting it into words, feels too big, too real, too vile.

Elliot’s still panicking, his voice rising higher with every breath. “Lev, please. You know me! I would never—”

“Don’t!” I snap, my voice tearing through his. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“I didn’t do this,” he chokes out, his voice breaking hard, panicked and desperate. “I swear, Lev—I was… I was in the kitchen. I was gonna come into the home with lunch. I was making sandwiches, I had coffee and then I just… this.”

His voice wobbles like he’s struggling to keep it together, hands trembling against the sheets.

“Patrick,” he blurts out of nowhere. “You don’t think he—?”

He stops himself, shaking his head. “Fuck, I don’t even know. I mean… I wouldn’t put it past him, but—“

He swallows hard, eyes pleading. “Lev, I didn’t do this. You have to believe me.”

Tears start to spill down his face, and I hate how much it hurts my heart.

“I’d never—I would never do something like this! It must have been him, it has to be. You know he hates me, hates our friendship. I don’t know how but— shit— it had to be him. I’d never do something like this, I promise,” His voice breaks on the word promise, and he presses his hands over his face like he can’t even look at me. His shoulders are shaking hard, his whole body curled in on itself like he’s falling apart right in front of me.

“Lev,” he gasps, voice thick and muffled. “I love you. I love you so much. I’d never do this to you. Please, please believe me.”

His whole face is blotchy, and he’s sobbing hard, his breath stammering out in sharp, broken gasps as he grabs at the blankets, yanking them up over his waist like they might erase what I’ve already seen.

I don’t know how long I stand there, just staring at him, watching him unravel right in front of me as my ribs cut into my lungs.

“Why?” My voice wobbles out. “Why would Patrick do this? How would Patrick do this?”

“I don’t know,” he chokes out. “I don’t know, Lev. But I swear this wasn’t me.”

I hate him. I hate him so much right now. For being here, for dragging me into this mess, for sobbing like he’s the one who’s hurt.

“He’s deranged,” He says. “You know he’s had it out for me since we first met, Lev. He’s got something wrong with him. Seriously, something’s not right.”

I bark out a cold, ugly laugh. “I’ve just walked in to my best friend in my bed, with my fucking underwear around his cock, spinning some bullshit about how my boyfriend apparently, somehow did this to him. And you want to talk to me about how he’s deranged?”

My voice breaks on the last word, tears choking me. My lungs are on fire. My head’s spinning. My skin’s crawling.

“I can’t be here.” I push my hand into my sternum, trying to ease the blazing hot pain in my heart, but it doesn’t help. My breath’s still hitching, everything is so, so wrong.

“Lev,” Elliot’s voice breaks between tears. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “Anywhere but here.”

He stares at me, wide eyed and frantic, still gripping the blanket like its armour.

“I’ll leave,” he says quickly. “I’ll go. I’ll get out of your way, I swear.”

“You haven’t got anywhere to fucking go, Elliot! Stay here until you find something, but do it fucking fast, because I want you gone!”

I don’t even grab my bag. I just run.

I can still hear his ragged, choked sobs breaking through the walls as I book it out of the room, stumble down the stairs, and slam the front door behind me so hard the frame rattles.

What the fuck just happened?