Ten & Levan

39. Thirty Nine

TEN

I can't stop wondering how I ended up this way; so consumed by Levan that all I ever do is think about him. It's like I want to see him all the time, and if I don't, I might combust spontaneously. I wonder how I existed pre-Levan, and when I really put some thought into it, I can't even remember what it felt like. But is it alright? To be so damned consumed? To not even need a match to ignite?

When I finally catch a glimpse of Levan, something I've been craving to do all day, call it infatuation if you may, he's in his dad's room. It takes several moments of confusion and navigating around the shadow house, but the pungent smell of cheap alcohol is still wafting through the air like a trail.

Assuming that Levan has just put him to bed, I hang in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. I'm not sure if he has noticed my presence yet, so I observe him quietly. I observe him for new stains. And even though his eyes are livid as he stares at his father, and his breath is shaken, I don't see any new bruises or wounds except for the one Todd gave him three days ago. Maybe it's just that the wounds aren't on his skin anymore; they've seeped into his bones.

"Are you okay?" I ask, breaking through the silence that clings to him. His gaze jolts up to my face and almost immediately, he's leading me back to the living area. "Levan, I'm talking to you..." I remind him.

"I'm fine," he tells me quietly, his wandering eyes finally settling on mine. He takes a moment to get comfortable with me, like he always does. It's like every single time we meet, we're meeting for the first time; the way he can't meet my eyes straightaway, or how his voice is low and held back. But I'm glad that's only for a few moment, once we're eye to eye, it doesn't take long to get to heart to heart. "How was the rehearsal?" he asks, his mouth curling into a gentle smile.

"Amazing, I'm so excited for everyone to see it," I tell him, "and I really want you to bring Ava..."

"I don't think she's interested," he says, stealing his gaze away and scratching the back of his head.

"Levan, that's what you think, not her," I remind him, crossing both arms on my chest. He only looks at me, without replying. It doesn't take me long to read his silence, I know he doesn't want to give Ava any of his space, any of his time, any of his love. He's too afraid. "I wish you would let her in..." I blurt in a whisper, but he's standing so close to me that it's impossible for him to not hear it.

So without words, he tells me he's trying, and he's trying so hard it hurts. He asks me if I can't see how hard he's trying. I do Levan, I do. But you'll never find happiness if you don't go through, and straight across your pain.

"Do you wanna walk?" he asks, as we zap back to the now.

"I'm too tired to walk, can we just sit and talk?" I ask, he nods, and grabbing my hand, he leads me up the stairs, to his haven, to his cave. Is it weird that my hand feels overly warm tangled with his? Is it totally over the top if I want him to keep holding it? Am I going crazy? Do I need pills?

I let his grip fall away, as I walk over to his bed, making myself comfortable while he stands at the door, debating whether he wants to shut it or not. He stares at me for an answer, but decides to shut it anyway. Kicking my shoes off, I look around to find pages from his story, scattered on the floor.

"How's the book coming along?" I ask him, sliding back until I'm lying flat on my back. His sheets smell like him, like rain in a desert, almost calming. Levan rushes to collect the pages and tuck them away safely. I don't get why he's so determined to not let me see it. What is in there that he can't let me see? Have I not seen the worse already? This secrecy makes me all the more intrigued.