Chapter 9 - Marco
A few days later, I dragged myself to school.
I could walk, thank god, but the thought of sitting through an entire day of classes made me want to crawl back into bed.
My ass was still incredibly sore. I moved a little stiffly, trying not to wince too obviously as I met Rei at the usual spot near the front gates.
Some things had happened to him at that party but he didn’t want to tell me what; however, he seemed okay so I decided not to push too much.
He fell into step beside me immediately, silver hair catching the morning light. This time he had a red flower in his hair. Weird.
“Morning, sunshine. You look like you didn’t sleep much.”
I managed a small laugh, adjusting my backpack. “Just… rough night.”
We started walking toward the main building together. I noticed Dimitri almost immediately trailing a respectful distance behind us like a very obvious shadow.
He wasn’t close enough to talk, but he was definitely following Rei. It had been happening since Monday. Rei had told me a little about him.
He seemed to be okay with it but he kept reassuring me that I shouldn’t worry about him because I kept tensing whenever he walked behind us.
But Dimitri wasn’t really my fear. I tensed up whenever he got near not because of him, but because I knew Alexei could appear at his side at any moment.
And I was still very much avoiding the devil.
Rei noticed me glancing back.
“Don’t worry about Dimitri,” he said gently. “It’s okay really, he won’t hurt me or you.”
I smiled a little, trying to look casual. “Hm. Just be careful.”
We kept walking, the conversation flowing easily between us like it always did.
Later, I sat in the back row, trying to focus on the professor’s voice. My ass still ached badly from a few days ago.
The door at the front of the room opened.
I didn’t think much of it at first. Students came and went all the time. But then I looked up.
Alexei.
He had no business being here. My heart stopped for a second as he walked in. His green eyes scanned the room once before locking directly onto me.
He walked straight down the aisle and slid into the empty seat right next to me. The desk suddenly felt too small. His presence filled the entire space, his long legs stretching out, his broad shoulder brushing against mine.
I froze, gripping my pen so tightly my knuckles turned white.
He leaned in slowly, his mouth close to my ear, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“You’re sitting so carefully today, Malyshka,” he murmured. “Does your pretty little ass still hurt from how hard I spanked it? Or are you just remembering how you whimpered and leaked all over my car like a desperate slut while I marked you?”
My face burned. My cock twitched in my pants, starting to harden against my will. I shifted uncomfortably, the soreness flaring up again and making it worse.
Alexei’s lips brushed the shell of my ear as he continued, voice dropping even lower.
“The way you cried and begged while I turned that cute ass red. Did you touch yourself thinking about it when you got home?”
Yes, I did.
My cock was fully hard now, pressing painfully against the front of my pants. I was terrified someone would notice, but I couldn’t move. I just sat there, trembling, as his dirty words poured into my ear.
“Be honest,” he whispered, his hand resting casually on the desk between us, fingers brushing lightly against my thigh under the table. “Are you hard right now?”
I bit my lip hard, trying not to make a sound. My face was burning. My cock throbbed, leaking into my underwear as his filthy words sank in. I hated how my body reacted to him.
Alexei leaned back just slightly, but his eyes stayed on me, dark and satisfied.
I stayed frozen in my seat for the rest of the class, heart hammering, cock aching, completely trapped by his presence and the dirty promises in his voice.
This was going to be a long day.
***
By the time I pushed open the front door of the house, I was ready to collapse.
The smell of Mom’s cooking hit me instantly. She was in the kitchen setting the table, humming under her breath as she arranged plates. Dad was already at the table, flipping through his phone, and Luca was helping Mom carry a bowl of salad.
“Hey,” I called out, kicking off my shoes. “Something smells amazing. Did I die and go to heaven, or is Mom just showing off again?”
Mom turned with a bright smile, though she looked a little tired. “Flattery will get you extra portions, Marco. Come sit. I made your favorite pasta.”
Dad grinned, setting his phone down. “Careful, son. She’s been in the kitchen all afternoon. If you compliment her too much she’ll make you do the dishes.”
Luca signed quickly with a smirk. Too late. I already volunteered you.
I laughed and ruffled his hair as I passed. “Traitor. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Mom laughed, sitting down between us. “My boys, eat up before it gets cold. Your father has been bragging about his promotion all day. He needs the energy to keep talking.”
Dad puffed out his chest dramatically. “It’s true. Big things happening at work. Maybe we can finally get that new TV Luca keeps signing about.”
Big screen. For movies, Luca signed, eyes lighting up.
The table erupted in laughter. It was one of those perfect, cozy family dinners where everything felt right.
Mom passed around seconds, teasing Dad about his “fancy new job title” and how he’d better not start wearing ties around the house.
I kept the banter rolling, trading jabs with Luca about who got the last piece of bread.
He signed something about me being a bottomless pit, and I countered by stealing a crouton from his salad, earning a dramatic fake-offended glare.
Everything was light. Easy. Until it wasn’t.
I noticed Mom first. She stood up to grab more water, but her steps looked off, unsteady, like the floor was tilting under her. She swayed, one hand reaching for the counter.
“Mom?”
She turned, smiling weakly. “Just dizzy for a sec—”
Then her legs buckled. She crumpled fast, hitting the floor.
“Mom!” I was out of my chair in a heartbeat, rushing over and dropping to my knees beside her. “Dad! Call 911! Luca, get her a pillow, something!”
Dad’s chair scraped back loudly as he fumbled for his phone. Luca moved fast, grabbing a cushion from the couch and sliding it under her head. His hands were shaking as he signed frantically to me. What happened? Mom?
“She’s breathing,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady while my heart hammered. I held her hand, checking her pulse. “Mom, hey, stay with us. Ambulance is coming. You’re okay.”
She murmured something groggy about being fine, but her face was pale. Dad was on the phone, voice urgent as he gave our address.
The next minutes were a blur of paramedics arriving, questions, monitors beeping. They loaded Mom onto a stretcher while Dad rode with her in the ambulance. I grabbed Luca’s jacket and my phone, and we rushed out after them, catching the bus to the hospital.
By the time we burst through the hospital doors, my chest was tight and my eyes burned.
I was holding back big, stupid tears the whole way, swallowing hard so Luca wouldn’t see me crack.
Mom had always been the strong one, managing her diabetes for years.
But we all knew it was a tightrope. One bad day, one missed balance, and things could spiral.
Tonight was that spiral, and I felt useless.
Dad was already in the waiting area, pacing. He pulled us both into a quick hug. “They’re stabilizing her. Doctors are running tests.”
I could barely speak. My throat closed up every time I tried.
Finally, a doctor in a white coat emerged from the double doors, scanning the waiting area. “Family of Mrs. Bellini?”
We stood up fast. “That’s us,” I said.
The doctor nodded. “Come with me, please. We’ll talk inside.”
She led us to a small consultation room. Luca sat between me and Dad, his shoulder pressed against mine for support. I was still fighting those tears.
The doctor, Dr. Ramirez, sat down and folded her hands.
“Your mother had a severe hypoglycemic episode compounded by her long-term diabetes. Her blood sugar dropped dangerously low, which triggered dizziness, loss of balance, and the fall. We’ve stabilized her for now with intravenous glucose and insulin adjustments, but her diabetes has worsened significantly.
The complications are progressing faster than we would like - possible early neuropathy and cardiovascular strain.
She’s going to need regular insulin infusions here at the hospital initially, followed by a stricter management plan at home: continuous glucose monitoring, weekly check-ins, and possibly pump therapy or more frequent infusions if her levels don’t stabilize. ”
I swallowed hard, processing. “Infusions… like, ongoing? How long are we talking? Is this because of tonight or has it been building?”
Dr. Ramirez nodded patiently. “It has been building. Diabetes is a chronic condition, and despite good management, progression can happen. The episode tonight was acute, but her A1C levels and recent trends show we need to be more aggressive. She’ll likely need several days of monitored infusions to reset her system, then transition to an insulin pump or daily infusion support at a clinic.
We’ll educate all of you on emergency responses too. ”
Dad leaned forward, face etched with worry. “She’s always been so careful with her diet and shots. What triggered this exactly?”
“Combination of factors - possible missed meal timing during cooking, stress, or even a medication interaction. We’re still running full panels. The good news is she’s responsive and conscious now. But we can’t send her home without addressing the worsening control.”
Dad cleared his throat, glancing between us. “Doctor… how much will all this cost? Be straight with us.”
The doctor paused, checking her notes. “Initial hospital stay and infusions for stabilization: around eight to ten thousand dollars, depending on exact duration and tests. Transition to outpatient pump therapy and ongoing monitoring could add another fifteen to twenty-five thousand over the first year, including supplies and follow-ups. Insurance may cover portions, but out-of-pocket will still be significant.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat massive. Twenty-five thousand? On top of everything else? My mind raced through savings, possible loans, anything.
I straightened up, fighting the tears that finally slipped down my cheeks. “Start the treatment. All of it. We’ll pay. Whatever it takes. My mom comes first.”
Dad didn’t argue. He just nodded firmly, placing a hand on my shoulder.
Dr. Ramirez looked at each of us. “I’ll get the orders started immediately. She’s in room 312 if you’d like to see her soon. We’ll keep you updated on every step.”