All This Time

39 ⦿ in which i go home

When the door opens, I'm surprised to see Levi standing there. "How—" I begin to ask.

"Brett told me you came to her place," he interjects, sensing the direction my question is heading. 

For a moment, I feel a rush of betrayal, and then it fades away in a slow, ebbing flow. Sometimes the intimacy of mutual friendships means secrets don't stay secret very long. It's never bothered me, sharing my friends. I've never looked at it as losing one friend to another, rather that all three of us only become closer than before. 

But this moment bothers me. Not because Brett blabbed my whereabout to someone, but because of all my friends, Levi was the one who I wanted to see the most - and the only one who I couldn't.

"Can I come in?"

At his question, I realize belatedly that I've fallen silent. "Oh, right. Sorry." I stand aside, holding the door open. "Brett already went to bed." I don't know why I tell him that - it's not like it's her he's come to see.

Brett's apartment is cramped and has an overpowering smell of Clorox disinfectant wipes. What she lacks in space, she makes up for in cleanliness. She religiously picks dead leaves out of her plants, straightens her bookshelves at least once a day, and wipes down remotes, keyboards, and kitchen appliances once a week. 

We move to the living room, which is about four feet from the kitchen and ten feet from the front door. Brett's couch, my bed for the night, is already made up with sheets and a plump pillow. The lights in the living room are dim because Brett buys high efficiency, low wattage light bulbs. Shrouded in yellow, unflattering light, the two of us stand there looking at each other until I can't take it anymore.

"Why did you come?" I ask, even though the real question I want to ask is Did Wolf send you?

Levi nudges the pillow away from one end of the couch and sits down, rumpling the crisp white sheets, obliterating Brett's painstaking efforts. "Wolf called me and asked if you were at my place. He called Xander first and said you guys had words and that you left. He assumed you'd come to me." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Why didn't you?"

"You're his brother. I can't talk to you about him." 

"I'm your friend, Charlotte. Always."

His earnestness hurts me, because I know that it's the truth. I sit down next to him, cross-legged, and try not to fidget. "I know that. I've always known that. Always appreciated it. But just like my first instinct isn't to run to Wolf, I shouldn't—I can't—keep running to you and Xander."

He frowns, as though my admission has wounded him on a deep, personal level. "Of course you—"

"Levi, I can't. You're moving and Xander's getting married. To Wolf's sister. It's not like I can expect him to be totally impartial."

It looks like we've reached an impasse. Both of us fall silent, each assured of our own viewpoint, but having the good sense not to argue about it further.

I look at him, memorize the lines of his face and the curve of his chin; outline the purse of his bowtie lips and the length of his neck. He looks back at me and I wonder what he sees. There is no scorching hunger or penetrating perusal like there is with Wolf. There is only careful scrutiny and warmth. It feels so much better than the former. A shaky breath escapes me, which he notices.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "Wolf...he wasn't really clear on what happened. Did you two have a fight?"

"No." I glance at my hands. "I just realized something that I should have realized a long time ago."