Chapter Thirty-Five
W e spent all night debating our next moves—Lemuel, Byron, and myself. Together .
Quite the turn of events.
We’ve also been debating what to do about the very dead twats formerly known as Doctors Johansson and Hassan.
I suggested hacking them up and inconspicuously burying one piece at a time in the garden, and while we all agreed that seemed fun, ultimately we decided it might arouse suspicions if Byron and I took up gardening out of the blue in the middle of a war.
I suppose I’m still trying to figure out which is the lie from our game all those weeks ago… It’s between loves gardening and has never sneezed , and I just cannot fathom that the latter is true.
At any rate, our primary focus was tending to Lemuel’s wounds and getting him cleaned up, since he was in pretty rough shape.
We did what we could with limited options, brought him some clothes from the guards’ quarters, and I must say, he’s much better off.
Still, there’s an air of wrath about him, decorating his aura in a palette of flames.
While we were fixing him up, Lem told Byron and me about what these doctors had done to Felix when he was away— evidently dealing with the aftermath of my killings .
As a sexual assault survivor myself, I felt a deep pang of empathy for The Carver.
I can say with full sincerity that Dr. Hassan will be rotting in Hell right alongside this Templeton character—whom Felix and Lem already exacted their bloody revenge on—and his boss, Johansson, whose lack of interference makes him just as complicit, as far as we’re all concerned.
The thing is, Lem’s collar was removed when Hassan and Johansson chained him up, meaning he can escape if he wants to. But as eager as he is to find Felix, he’s insistent on being patient, and smart.
The Ivory quite literally has eyes everywhere, his mob of cartel men scurrying to and fro at all times like busy insects. I’m not certain they even sleep. Sneaking out would be a highly dangerous venture, and once The Ivory realizes Lem is gone, he’ll be out for blood… Most likely mine to start.
We weren’t able to locate the remote for the collars anywhere on either of the bodies, but the good news is that few people know the tombs even exist. Nobody comes down here.
That’s not to say The Ivory won’t decide to pop in on Lemuel just for funzies, so we are on a bit of a timer to figure something out.
Byron and I aren’t exactly itching to leave the way Lemuel is, though. After all, he’s a direct enemy of Manuel Blanco, and he has someone out there waiting for him. Velle sees us both as enemies now, and if The Ivory finds out I killed the doctors, there goes our good graces.
I’ve isolated Byron in a very precarious position. The guilt of causing so much strife and impending doom for him is heavier than cinderblocks stacked on my shoulders. Whether I chose it or not, I’m indebted to Manuel Blanco; trapped in a labyrinth of calamity, and unable to see a way out.
“You’ll never come first… Because he is all of it. ”
Those words keep coming back to me, from the hushed voice of a stranger behind a thick metal door. It makes me think about the cage in the aviary…
“So we just… leave the bodies here?” Byron asks, frowning at them.
Lem nods. “It’ll make it more believable that I was the one who killed them.” His amber eyes sparkle with veracity.
Apparently, he’s been gunning for the doctors since Felix was assaulted, hence his defecting to Team Velle.
Losing the trust of Manuel Blanco threw a wrench into his plans, but then I killed them.
Unknowingly doing him a solid while also sparing him from excessive torture.
And now he’s in my debt— his words, not mine .
The fact that Dr. Love is pledging any loyalty to me after what we did to him and Felix is perplexing. Alright, I did most of it. Except the cum-lube. He must not know about that…
Still, his willingness to forgive brings warmth and fuzzies to my chest that I’m quite unfamiliar with.
Is this… friendship? Bollocks, I haven’t felt it, real , in so long…
I’m much more familiar with obsessive infatuation and blinding wrath… And what I feel for Byron.
“As far as anyone is concerned, I killed Hassan and Johansson and got free,” Lem says matter-of-factly. “The Ivory knows I’ve wanted them dead. It’s more than believable.”
Byron chews on his lower lip. “So… What happens now?”
Lem loses a bit of his visible confidence. But then I recall…
“Here.” I pull out the cellphone and hand it to Lem. “I found it outside,” I explain, mostly to Byron, because he’s giving me that look again… The one that says, I have no idea who you are or what you’re hiding. “You’ll need it more than me.”
Lem takes the phone, nodding. “I’m going to explore the tombs… See where they lead. Maybe try to get ahold of someone… But I promise, I’m not leaving until we can all get out.”
Byron’s lashes flutter. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be fine. Just watch out for yourselves,” Lem hums, rather gallantly. Protective of us . “Keep your eyes open. Things are going to get much worse before they have even a prayer of getting better.”
“This is headed for disaster…” The voice grates inside my skull.
“You know that, right?” My eyes flit about in glaring frustration at my so-called friend I can’t see, because he’s just such an unsupportive wanker sometimes.
“Keep giving me that look, mate, but you know I have your best interests at heart. No one else’s.
You’re not meant to be part of the pack . You’re a lone wolf.”
“That makes no sense,” I growl under my breath, rubbing my eyes.
When I look up, Byron and Lemuel are gawking at me. They exchange glances, and my spine stiffens in irritation. It reminds me of how people used to look at me in Riverwoods. Like I’m an unbridled nutter.
“Trev… let’s go get some rest,” Byron patronizes me with that appeasing tone.
“Fine,” I grunt, stalking off, not waiting for either of them to say another word.
I take the stairs two at a time from the basement, rushing across and up to our floor, all the while kicking myself. Hating myself for not knowing how to do this. How to be with someone.
I know how to be alone. How to be an addict. How to seek revenge… And most of all, I know how to demolish good things and leave them in rubble. It’s what I did to Alice…
It’s what I’m good at.
I’d love to give Byron more of me. Fuck it… All of me. I want him to have me in full, so that I can have him in full. But I have this nagging bloody voice in my head that spouts nothing but doubt .
“Blame me all you want, but I know what’s best for you…” Leo grumbles.
I whip in his direction. “For me! Me , Leo! It’s just me, because you don’t exist! You are me, and you’re holding me down, suffocating me because you’re afraid!”
He looks hurt, like I’ve just stabbed him with one of those ninjatos on his back.
“You’re nothing but fear, and I hate it,” I whine breathlessly. “That’s why you disappear every time I need you… Because you’re bloody terrified. I am… and I don’t want to be anymore. I want to try. Can’t I try , at least??”
“Trevel, Jesus…” Byron’s voice startles me, and I jump, spinning to face him with wide eyes. “What’s going on?? Who are you talking to??”
I stare at him, jaw slack. I assume Leo’s gone, but this time, when I peer left, he’s still there. He looks just as afraid as me.
He’s afraid… Not me.
Leave the fear with him.
“Tell me what’s going on, Trevel,” he whispers, begging me. “Please tell me something , violet eyes, or we can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” He’s in visible pain. I can tell he doesn’t want to end this. But he will … If I don’t give him something.
I have to… step out of the shadows.
I release a slow breath. “Okay. I’ll t-tell you… All the things.”
Byron nods and whispers, “I promise, I can handle it.”
My lips twitch, a soft chuckle fleeing my lips.
Fuckin’ hell, he’s perfect. Such a hard shell around so much mushy sweetheart, I swear. Like Alice.
Wandering over to the couch, I take a seat and pat the cushion next to me. Byron joins me, nestling up by my side. Facing me. Giving me his full attention. I’m nervous, but also amazed by how much he wants this.
Is this all he’s needed the whole time? Just… more? More of me?
I peer at Leo, and for the first time, he’s not warning me against what I’m about to do. He’s just watching me.
Be strong, be fearless, be kind.
Be Leonardo.
“I told you I left London when I was young because my parents were shit,” I begin.
Byron nods subtly. “Well, I didn’t tell you how awful they truly were.
My father was abusive… In just about every way one can be.
He used to beat me, degraded me… The worst sorts of things, like cutting my hair uneven, making me drink his bottle of lager with cigarette butts in it.
He’d whip me with things, force-feed me foods he knew I hated, put a cockroach in my bed.
Real mean, mind-fuck type shit. And then…
Well, I was barely eight years old by the time he started… touching me.”
I pause to swallow, remembering to breathe through it; the pain and rage that’s still fucking there, lodged in my chest cavity like a tumor that can’t be removed.
Byron’s eyes are wide, and I think he might move away… But he doesn’t. He moves in closer, taking my hand in his, threading our fingers. I hear him in my mind, like all those times in the showers…
Go on, violet eyes. I’m listening.
“My mother didn’t care,” I croak. “She did nothing to stop it. In fact, I think she enjoyed it, for some reason I’ve never been able to figure out.”
I’m staring into Byron’s eyes, but my gaze is far away. Only for a moment, and I pull myself back.