Ten & Levan

37. Thirty Seven

TEN

I lie staring at the ceiling, hoping my face would stop burning, hoping my hands would stop shaking, hoping my eyes would stop glossing over, hoping my throat wouldn't feel so damned tight, hoping it would become just a tad bit easier to breathe.

I frown when my lungs start to burn. You know the drill, Ten, breathe in, breathe out...

But when the deep breathing doesn't quite work, I start to rub circles into my chest. I'm hoping that lying on the cold, hard floor would distract me from the constant thudding of my veins, the erratic rush of blood inside my heart, and everything in between. But what is the in between? Confusion and explosions?

I'm in the middle of hoping and dwelling on hopes when there's a knock. I throw my head back to look at the door.

"Ten..." says Levan who's already standing in the doorway, his hands to his sides. He's upside down.

"Levan," I barely choke out. He starts to say something, probably something about Heather, or maybe something about nothing, but I interrupt him anyway, "will you lie here with me?" I ask. He swallows, I hear it, but he's not nearly as reluctant as he would be if it was a month ago. Maybe it's time I got another medal.

So he nods and walks over to where I lie staring at the ceiling from the floor. Since he feels the need to, he takes off his shoes, and ever so effortlessly, lies down next to me. Even though the stickers on the sky of my room have faded, it still feels like we're under stars. So I rest my head on his shoulder, and take a deep breath.

Unexpectedly, Levan does for me what the cold, hard floor couldn't for so long.

"Your mother needs you, Ten..." he says to me. His voice is only an echo around the mountains and valleys of this world; this world we're in.

"No, she doesn't, Levan," I tell him, my voice airy but surprisingly steady, "she'll be alright...she's stronger than she seems; it just takes her time, but she'll get there," I say. He lets the breath he's been holding go, and there's silence but not quite. I hear the words coursing through his chest like a rumble before they pour out of his mouth.

"What about you, Ten?" he mutters, "Are you okay?"

I frown to myself. Am I okay? Am I?

"No," I say, looking up to smile at him, "but I guess sometimes, it's okay..." I shrug, "to not be okay."

***

I sip my juice in silence, glancing at Heather occasionally. At short intervals, she looks up from her newspaper too and smiles at me. Honestly, she looks better than I expected her to look. In fact, she looks great, her smile isn't fake. She looks happy. I think it's the fact that we basically kicked ex-daddy out of our lives and even further away last night, and not to sound wildly bitchy but, it is indeed relieving. I love this feeling.

"Mom..." I say, setting my glass on the counter.

"I knew you wanted to say something," she says, putting her newspaper aside and taking off her glasses. "What is it?"

"Just want to make sure you're okay?" I say. She tilts her head to a side and then the other.

"Of course, I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" she shrugs, her eyes boring into mine. "Ten, your father doesn't affect me anymore, I hope you know that."

I nod with understanding. "I do. And I hope you know that I'm extremely proud of you..." I tell her, encasing her hands in mine, smiling at her so that her eyes would shine.

"That reminds me," she says, "Melanie called to inform you that the rehearsal is at six this evening." I close my eyes and sigh. My heart beats a tad bit faster than usual. I should've told her myself, I should've been the one. But what's done is done.

"Mom, I know you don't approve of it-" I start but she clutches at my hands. When I look up at her again, she's smiling at me.

"Yes, I can never forget what happened last year and it scares me to think you'd be there again, but you're unstoppable. I can't keep you caged. I understand your passion about acting and I want to support you..." she says, her eyes gleaming "so that's what I'll do."

I want to tell her how much I love her, but the strange feeling in my throat doesn't let me, so I just hug her, but I hug her tight enough to communicate my words. And she gets them. I know she does.

***

I was right about Levan. I was right about him all along.

As I stand the doorjamb to the class, I watch him writing intently, sitting next to an open window, oblivious to his surroundings. He's lost, yes that's what I thought. He's so totally utterly lost, I can't believe it. I can see it, he's inside his own bubble, his thoughts surround him like friends do a bonfire and they tell him stories, all together, so he quickly jots them down. I wonder if it's even possible for someone's brain to think as much as he does, because he does, for sure, overthink.

So when I walk toward him, I don't expect him to even acknowledge my presence, given how occupied he looks, but he quickly wraps up his work and smiles at me brilliantly. I stop dead in my tracks for a moment, I'm struck so hard by the light radiating from him, that I'm left wondering if he's the sun or is the sun him?

"Are you smiling at me, Number Eleven?" I ask, pulling my brows together and settling into my seat with a grin of my own. He shrugs casually.

"I believe it was you who wanted me to smile more often..." he tells me like I don't remember it. I giggle, but I do, Levan. More often, more often.

Grinning ear to ear, I lean forward and give him a quick peck on the lips, which strips him of most of his smile. Clearly, he didn't see that coming, and instantly, as I pull back, he presses his lips together in a tight line. He becomes even more conscious, if that's even possible. A hint of color appears on his face, making me smile. His cheeks turn a pale blue and his eyes a dark azure. He looks like a dream, in all his shades of blue.

But I used to dream in every color I knew. Oh, Levan, what the hell did you do?