37: Treachery Without Cause

Soon, there are four voices in the shop. Then Caven leaves, and there are three. After a while, Caven comes back. Four again. Levi bitches about something, Kenny shuts him up, and suddenly there is only one sound of footsteps as three leave.

They're Caven's. She's the only one in the shop now.

It remains that way for some time. She's busy in the shop, then in the backroom. You hear her voice when she answers some phone calls, or an occasional curse when she drops something on the floor.

Then for a while, she leaves too and the shop is dead quiet. It's an eerie feeling, to hear not a thing and realize that you are absolutely alone in your prison. Not even guards outside to grovel to. It'd be a damn good time to plot an escape if you could move.

She's back eventually—just her—and she comes into your cell at long last, food in hand.

"Hey, here's—oh." She stops upon the sight of you, though you're not sure what exactly is startling her.

"What?"

"You're still in that chair?"

Is she making some sort of joke? You scoff. "Where the hell else would I be?"

"I mean—your cuffs are still on? He didn't unlock them?"

"Obviously not. I've really run out of any chance at sympathy from Kenny."

"Not Kenny." She steps closer, almost cautious of her prisoner. "Levi."

A bullet hits you. You don't remotely believe what you're hearing. "...What?"

"Levi has the key to your cuffs. Kenny gave it to him as a sort of reward for finishing his first errand."

You see red, utterly boiling over with indignation. To think that your rescuer, the single person you could maybe rely on, actually denied you a hint of freedom just infuriates you. "He...has the fucking key? And—and he didn't—"

"I guess he didn't." Caven quite casually concludes your thought. She puts your meal on the bed, unsure of where else to leave it. "Well, I'm not really interested in spoon-feeding you, so you'll have to wait until he comes back. Sorry."

"When?" you demand. "When are they getting back? How much longer will I have to sit in this stupid fucking seat?"

"Not sure. I don't know where they're off to right now."

"Caven!" You need something better than that. You need anything besides a neutral answer and she's not providing it. Nor is she sticking around; the door is already creaking shut behind her. "No—Caven, stay with me! Please!"

She must have better things to do right now. Her footsteps leave, abandoning you to drown in your own fury.

As the sun sets, your anger flares. You wait until the early evening, then the late evening, then the early nighttime, and still the Ackermans haven't come back. Your body screams with every slight movement, undergoing a torturous paralysis of posture and thus adding more flame to your rage.

You resent him. You absolutely loathe anyone cruel enough to deprive an innocent person of freedom when they have the chance.

He is horrible, as he always has been.

Throughout the night, you curse his name. You wish you had never met him, you wish he'd drop off the face of the earth, you wish absolutely any and all terrible fates to befall him. Above all else, you detest him.

After several hours, the rising sun is unwelcome. It only illuminates how ragged your clothes have gotten, how disgusting your cell has become. You look miserable, like a neglected circus animal. You've had a whole night to let your anger fester, and now it infects every rational part of your mind like a wicked cancer.

Hearing his voice makes you want to scream. Levi's here shockingly early, saying something to Caven in the shop, before his steps make their way to the backroom. To you.

You could kill him. Beating the hell out of him and strangling him to death would be a good warm-up for the muscles that have been trapped for hours. You just might break the chains yourself with how frenzied you are.

The bolt slides out of place, the door opens, and Levi hurries in.

He's got that look of concern, as usual. New clothes, probably a recent shower, filled with a good meal too. Doing fucking dandy.

"Hey, intern—"

"Don't you fucking dare." You shrivel back as he steps closer, balling up and rejecting the hand he brings forth. "Don't put your fucking hands on me."

He's shocked. Betrayed. Of course he is, but it's only fair. He betrayed you first.

It's startling to see his eyes so wide, his body so frozen. With an agape mouth he stares, absolutely lost for thought.

"What?" His word is even less than a whisper. "Why?"

"Where is that goddamn key, Levi?!" You grimace right after you shout, another zing of agony crawling through your muscles. "Where is the fucking key you kept from me, you fucking asshole?!"

"I—I have it." To soothe the beast, he almost instantly withdraws it from his pocket.

A tiny, stupid key, a single scrap of metal that brings you one step closer to autonomy. It's ugly in his hand.

Seeing it nearly makes you laugh. A bitter, sardonic chuckle, one that masks a new tidal wave of vexation.

Caven wasn't even lying—it wasn't some sick joke on her part. Levi actually had the key, and he actually denied you freedom when it was his to give.

Feeling tears well, you swallow down the lump in your throat and shake your head as he attempts an explanation.

"I am sorry," he starts, as usual. "It was—you worried me. I wanted to—to keep you safe. If you tried escaping—"

"Oh, do not fucking start." Your teeth are clenched, your eyes red. Your lungs constrict as the need to weep heightens. "Just get back here and get these stupid things off."

He's compliant instantly, taking a wide perimeter around your chair until he kneels behind your hands, frantically twisting the cuffs off. Finally, the bands come loose, and you're no longer attached to that godforsaken chair.

A hand touches your shoulder. He's trying.

"Absolutely not—fuck." You shoot up and step away, but your body is horribly underprepared and you end up crashing to the ground with underutilized muscles. Everything burns, like your body is too excited to be moving again. It just didn't know you'd be active so suddenly.

"You okay?" He drops everything and comes closer, still trying.

You kick heels into the ground and shimmy back, keeping your distance. "I said no. Do not touch me."

"Please—I am sorry." He gets on your level, crouched a few feet away. "You don't need to run from me. Let me make it up—"

"Make it up?" It's unbelievable, how easily he thinks the situation can be fixed. "Levi, everything hurts. I have been sitting in that stupid thing all fucking night—because of you. You think you can just say sorry a dozen times and everything's okay?"

"No—not at all." He wants to come closer, he so clearly wants to hold you, but he won't dare move another inch. "I didn't know when I would be back—I thought it would be sooner. I wanted to see you again before the sun set—but Kenny—"

"Yes, Kenny stopped you. Kenny had something else for you to do, or said it was bedtime, or said to go commit a million crimes while he watched. Kenny is always controlling what you do—he's controlling this whole fucking situation." You huff. "And I cannot believe that the only time you have a bit of control, you use it against me. Why—god, just why the fuck would you do that?!"

"Because," he starts quickly, keeping his voice even. "I can't let you try to escape. I couldn't—I don't know what Kenny would do to you."

"That is not your decision to make." Huddled against the bed, you muster the strongest glare you can shoot at him. "You saw me, and you chose to leave me the way I was. That's horrible enough."

"It—it was horrible, yes. I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do, especially with Kenny. I'm so, so worried—"

"You're scared," you correct. "You are scared of Kenny—scared enough to make me suffer more just to ease your fears."

"I—" His expression cracks and you nearly hear the horror in his voice. "Yes, I am scared. I am scared of Kenny and I want to keep you safe. I don't want to hurt you—I never wanted to hurt you. To know you've suffered so much already is fucking awful." He swallows, catching himself before more emotions burst forth. "But I couldn't live with myself if Kenny did something worse to you. You know I mean that, don't you?"

You hug yourself and avoid his eyes, feeling the tears trickle out of yours.

"Everything I said at the tea shop—I still mean it. I always will—"

"D-don't," you interrupt, though your voice is crippled and small. "Don't...persuade me with that shit right now. I'm not interested in hearing it—not after what you just did."

"Okay." He's not as sure as he tries to sound. "I'll save it, then. I'll tell you how much I need you a million times over, whenever you want to hear it."

Not now. Your mind is hardened over with embittered hate, too guarded to penetrate. No sentiment of his will speak to you.

Looking over you, searching for another way in, he sees the deep bruises on your wrists. They look awful, and they're made much worse since they're his fault.

He couldn't mention them, as that would only worsen the hostility. Shifting a bit closer, he tries for something else.

"Your—your hand," he whispers. "May I...hold it?"

His voice is soft, desperate. Pleading. Trying again.

You can't bear to hear it. Hateful cancer gnaws at your mind, twisting his words and deafening you to his cries for connection.

Though, the choice to say, "Not now," is not quite as spiteful as other choices would've been. A small part of you prevented you from saying no, turning outright denial into merely delay.

"I understand."

Tears have conquered your face, so you bury it in your knees. Clutching yourself with nobody else to hold, you ignore the sinner that watches his treasure suffer helplessly.

For a century, he stays right there. Only watching, starved of your touch. He's out of things to say, apologies to give. He can't possibly offer anything right now to save himself.

You hide your head even more when Caven comes in.

"Levi." She avoids any comment on the scene. "Come on. Kenny wants to make sure you get to Paradis today."

"I don't want to go." Levi doesn't budge. "I'll cancel."

He'll cancel on your class, the one you don't even have the freedom to go to.

"Just go, Levi." You reveal a single eye, one wet with grief. "Don't sabotage my class. For both our sakes, just go to Paradis."

He's almost excited to hear you acknowledge him again. His eyes hold a hint of hope behind the wall of terror. "No—I want to stay with you—"

"Well, I don't want you to stay right now." For once.

Just for a while, it'd be better to be with nobody at all in this hell.

"So go to Paradis. Stop pouting and just...do something."

It hurts even you to spill such vicious words, though you've fallen victim to the infection in your head. Tainted with rage, your tongue can't conjure any kinder words for him.

"Okay." He rises, spurred by your command. "I'll come back straight away. I..."

He might have more to say, but it's not immediately coming to mind. Too cautious with his words, he decides against giving any at all and just steps out.

When Levi is gone and Caven is in the shop, you finally lift your head and rub dried tears from your cheek. It's quiet now, requiring you to face your thoughts.

And your pain. Pang after pang of hunger wracks your belly, flipping your stomach inside out. Your wrists ache with deep bruises hugging them, every turn of your hand reminding you of the cuff's effect. Touching the agonizing tattoos hurts, your skin rendered tender and delicate. Besides that, your head spins and commands your heavy eyelids to close, demanding your body get some sleep.

Wincing, you lift yourself onto the bed and take the meal Caven left behind a while ago. It's a boxed salad made up of soggy leaves and dripping with just a little too much dressing. Finding a plastic fork, you push aside the dark kelp and stab a mushy grape tomato.

It's adequate. You scarf down the whole serving, forgoing taste for sustenance, and toss aside the container when finished. Cleanup will come later. Sleep takes priority.

Once buried under the lone blanket with your head in the pillow, you almost immediately pass out. It'll be your first proper rest in days, even if it is happening in the middle of the day.

Truthfully, it feels good. You're dead still for hours, wandering through dreams, nightmares, or nothingness as the world keeps turning around you. You sink deep into the mattress, your body curled into itself like a newborn child. It's the best form of solace you've gotten since you came here.

It's dark out when you wake. The work day must've come and gone. You lift your head and turn it over your shoulder, squinting in the dark. The door's cracked open, a blade of light shooting across the floor. In the chair, Levi sits.

You have to wonder how long he's been waiting. Since he came back from Paradis, at least. It's late in the evening, too—he must've convinced Kenny to let him watch over you instead of going home.

His brow lifts when he sees you're looking at him. He wants to speak, but he waits.

"Levi." You say his name neutrally, devoid of both relief and hate. Hoisting yourself to a seated position, you glance at the hopper window before looking him over. "Are the other two here?"

"Just Caven. She's in the main area."

"Okay." Rubbing your forehead, you attempt to start up your mind again and think of something to do. Escape is still on your mind, naturally. Levi is here, willing to talk, but your mind is so numb you can't show him appreciation nor animosity. "Paradis?"

"Paradis was fine." He's being so polite in answering you, careful to treat you kindly. "Though Erwin's poking around. He's asked where you've been."

"Right." You can't seem to care. Nothing, absolutely nothing is stirring through your mind.

Dropping your wrists into your lap allows the light to attack them, showing the darker skin just below your palms. The sight wounds Levi.

"Your wrists," he tries, shifting closer in his seat. "I'm sorry. They must hurt like hell."

They do. It's his fault they do.

A flicker of irritation sparks. You remember his villainy.

"They hurt," you mumble.

"I...brought some things to soothe them. If you'd like." He gets up, slowly, and withdraws two small bottles from his jacket pocket. "Some supplements, for inflammation. I used to use this brand all the time—ages ago. Lotion, too. Good shit, not that cheap drugstore crap. It really helps with cooling and blood flow."

He's trying to act like himself again. Swearing, hating everything about the world—his usual self. Join me, you feel him ask. Let's talk like how we used to.

"Okay," is all you say.

He wants to keep going. "I can...apply the lotion, if you'd like. It...might be hard to do on yourself."

Nothing about it would be hard. Use one hand to apply on the opposite wrist, then vice versa. He's simply looking for a way to connect.

You're angry, but that doesn't dispel the loneliness swirling around you. With stone walls built and defenses high, you keep your head down and your eyes away from him.

"Be gentle."

He's teleported to your bedside, moving at the speed of light. He only slows when he takes a seat on the bed's edge, careful not to disrupt your nest.

In your narrowed vision, you see his slender hand reach out to take yours. Gently, ever so gently, he slips fingers under yours, one by one, until he holds four. With the lightest grasp a human can muster, he takes your hand and draws it closer to himself.

He's never held you so delicately. His strength can toss you across a room and pin you down, but now it's been stored away so he can present himself as passively as possible. It's like he never knew how to hurt.

You don't watch him put lotion on your skin, but you feel it. Tiny daubs of cold cream are portioned across the area, then his fingertips begin their nimble work with slow circles and sluggish lines. He nearly holds his breath, moving like he's performing heart surgery, and he shares not a word like you'll send him away should he speak.

You say nothing, too. You just stare at the bedding as you sense your hand in his, his fingers like ice against your burning skin.

"I'm sure it's really tender," he comments just above a whisper. "I hope I'm not hurting you."

You can't lie: it's awfully pleasant. His body is a natural cold compress and the lotion he works into your skin is doing wonders almost instantly. For a moment, you wish he'd just get to the other wrist already.

"You're not." But your mind is still cold and your tongue follows its will. Don't forget to resent him, your mind tells you. Whether or not your heart agrees, it cannot overtake your hostility.

Scrapping together his resolve, he nods to himself and slows his work. "I will keep apologizing, as I said. I really fucked up and made a choice out of fear."

He sets down one hand and takes up the other. The process repeats.

"I wish you hadn't," you say. If he hadn't, he could still be trusted. He could still be a reliable cornerstone and not another possible opponent that you have to be apprehensive about. He's placed more emotional burdens on you than necessary all because he made the choice to keep you chained up.

"I'm sorry." Holding your wrist, he cloaks your fingers and brings them to his cheek, puppeting your body into consoling him. With his cheekbone pressed into your palm, he shuts his eyes and basks in your artificial comfort. "You are so precious to me. I don't want to lose that—to lose you."

Your fingers twitch against him, your mind and heart clashing in a vicious battle. Lost for advice from either, you can only sigh.

"I need time." On this, you're firm. "Time away from this place, too. I can't think straight here."

"I understand that." He sets your hand down, putting an end to his short heaven.

"Do you?" Your tongue grows sharper, your eyes flickering with betrayal. "If you understood, you'd be helping me leave."

"I...want you to get out of here." He clasps his hands, promising no more attempts to connect with you. "But...Kenny is—"

"He is." He's everything Levi fears and more. That fact hasn't changed. "And he always will be. We have to start overcoming that instead of cowering in fear forever."

The pivotal difference between you and your mentor, and perhaps what causes his lack of action, is that he has lived under Kenny for years. It is enough time to develop and foster a fear, to learn all about a horrible individual and build festering resentment towards them. He hates Kenny with every fiber of his being—and you do, too—but he also has fear that puts a lock on any motivation to fight. He will battle when he has the advantage, something that he has been denied of now.

"You're...you're right." He can't agree confidently, but he is agreeing. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Please. It might be the only thing keeping us from getting out right now."

He takes that to heart, allowing your declaration to latch onto his fear and rebuke it.

"Levi!" Caven calls. "You gotta go. Can't stay any longer."

His lips become a thin line, his head dropped. "Okay," he whispers. "I have to go. I'll be back."

"I know you will." You watch him tread through the darkness, trying to piece together what exactly you should feel about him. "I just hope this doesn't become a routine."

"Yeah, me too."