Color Me Crimson | 𝘙𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦

2͓4͢

I wish I had the willpower to rip out these damn stitches. Give them back.

A charity case—that's all I amount to in his eyes. Someone who makes his life harder. The same way my family saw me, a child that cost extra money and led to more responsibilities. Nothing but a debt.

My skin is angry and red as I scrub it over and over in the shower. All the soap has long since washed away, and the cloth is bare and rough.

I regret accepting any of Levi's kindness.

Steam curls along my arm where the stupid, ugly marks mar my skin. I hate them—that I made them.

I regret enjoying his company.

Tears burn my eyes and mix with the water as they wash over my face. Should we not have smiled, shared meals or a bed?

I'm a burden.

I never expected to be anything special. I never even hoped to become someone memorable. I'm not deluding myself about ever finding a lover, or soulmate, but the thought of burdening him leaves nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth.

And, somewhere between that fateful night and now, I started to believe I was worth saving.

I loathe these feelings. I loathe not knowing why I always return to this same cursed position, where I do nothing but cause problems.

Impulse prompts me to carve more marks, and I know I could, but harming myself will only cause more problems. Make me into a bigger burden. All I can do now is to wait until the wounds heal and I'm allowed to leave. Leave and fend for myself like every other time, with every other person.

It's old. Alas, there's no use in fighting it. I clean the remnants of my tears from my cheeks and put down the rag, rinsing off.

When I'm finished, my body feels refreshed, but my mind foggier than ever. Shrugging on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, I march into an empty living room. Levi's pillow and blanket are folded next to the couch, unused since last night. Sleeping out here still feels like an intrusion, but it's better than taking up his bedroom.

As soon as my head hits the pillow, I drown in the darkness; willingly let go and stop believing in any more hopeful tomorrows.

*

Contentment blesses my consciousness as I'm wrapped in a warm nest and half asleep. Cool air drifts over my arm and the constant itch is finally soothed. Turning, I stretch and seek out more relief. It spreads to my other arm and I sigh, trailing my fingers along the taut of skin forming over the cut, smooth between the rough edges and...soft? Furrowing my brows, I prod my arm with light fingertips, and feel the light moisture from the healing cream Levi uses.

"Levi?" I mumble, eyes still closed. I'm not ready to face him yet, but a part of me is glad he's here.

He hums in response. The sound finds a place in my chest, dangerously close to my heart. I try to commit this feeling to memory, to take at least that bit with me when I leave.

"Did you finish your errands?" I croak, voice thick and grainy.

Another hum. Another ripple of some emotion I can't—no, won't— name weaves through me. Fills me a little more.

He continues. "I brought back some shoes. They aren't yours, since I can't risk going to the apartment, but they should fit."

"You shouldn't have." I rub my eyes, awareness returning to my limbs. "I'll get a job soon and pay you back. For all of it." I don't have more space on my tab from his hospitality.

"I don't want your money."

"I'm not a charity case," I counter.

"You're not. I told you, I owed y—"

"Enough of that bullshit," I hiss and open my eyes, reluctance chased away by resolution. "I'm alive, aren't I? I'm healing and I'm fine. You paid your debt so leave me be."

Fuck, his eyes.

Peering from his crouched position next to the side of the couch, beautiful red eyes confront me. Levi's aren't filled with anger or resentment or ridicule. Nor entitlement and ego like Lucien's. Almost as if he considers me an equal. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, they soften as worry lines wrinkle his face.

Instantly I fear I overstepped and backtrack. "I'm grateful, I really am. But I can't be a burden. Not to you, or to anyone." I sit up, the blanket bunching at my waist.

His hand comes up to cup my face. I shiver—from the cold. Not from the way his skin feels against my warmth. Not from how his fingers, stoking over my check bone make me feel soft and delicate. Not at all.

"I upset you." His eyes latch onto mine, then glance down and away at a knot on the hardwood floor. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, barely caressing my skin before dropping his hand. "That statement was more about me than you. You aren't a burden, that's not what I meant. I..."

He trails off, and my eyes find the same spot on the floorboard that holds his attention. The way he apologized, how natural and sincere it sounded, dissolves my anger. I'm not sure I've ever heard those words, in that way, before.

I overreacted. Let my pain bleed onto someone who has nothing to do with it.

"You deserve to live," he murmurs. "You've been understanding and kind, and I enjoy..." Again, he stops himself.

The words swell with the silence, and instead of waiting for him to finish, I change the topic. "Why leave them out in the open—the razor, the kitchen knives, scissors—all things I could use to..."

I bite my cheek, words caught in my throat. To anyone else I could say it, admit what I've done in the past, but with him, the full weight of my actions hangs on my unspoken confession. If I had been completely alone earlier, I would've used them too. Despite our positions making me look down to see him, I feel small.

"Those things aren't the issue," he says.

I know. I've known all along. If it were, it'd be easier to fix.

Levi seems to have shaken off whatever was clouding his thoughts, straightening as he recaps the bottle of ointment. "If you want to talk, I'll listen."

I open my mouth, releasing the inside of my cheek, but no words come out. I'm not ready. Not yet. I don't even know how to start.

"Will you?" I ask. "Talk?"

The dark thoughts in my mind are old and worn out, to me at least. But he has demons of his own—I've seen them flash behind his eyes, make him hesitate more than once. What could a vampire struggle with?

A few seconds pass.

"Maybe," he says at last and looks up. "You're easy enough to talk to."

"I am?"

Here I thought all I'd been was difficult. A smile curves his lips, and I'm not sure why, but I smile, too. It feels good. Nothing groundbreaking, but it might as well be.

"I made dinner, why don't we eat first." He stands and walks into the kitchen. My stomach growls as I get up to join him. Dinner does sound nice.

Have you noticed I like my food? Lol.

❤️‍🩹 Siberia