S'il Vous Plait Rappelez Moi ( Please, Remember Me )

XIV. Then and Now

Levi was sitting on his bed, a glass of half - finished whiskey on his hand. He was terribly slouched, his once pure white shirt now covered in multiple, unidentified stains. His raven hair was a complete mess, and his unwashed cheeks were starting to show signs of a growing beard. It was very late in the evening, and he still couldn't take his mind off of all the events that occurred within five days that led him to this very unsanitary and pitiful state.

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling their dryness beneath his eyelids. He placed his left palm over his eyes and started rubbing them.

He felt a desperate need to just tear them off.

The moment he closed his eyes, thoughts of that fateful day haunted him, once more. In his mind, he saw the most important person in his life being rushed to the nearest hospital after a very painful attack that left wounds and bruises of unspeakable nature on her back.

It all happened right after the performance. After the curtains closed, he rushed to the studio, inflicting bodily harm on the same guard who stopped him from entering. He might get jailed for hitting a policeman, but he could care less, for he knew deep within his heart and mind that the poor innocent girl was suffering a lot.

And he was right. The moment he arrived, he witnessed the girl squirming on the floor, screaming in agonizing pain while the other performers looked, shocked at what they were witnessing.

Levi doused the whiskey in one, full gulp, trying to drown away the awful memories.

Alas, he couldn't.

The next thing he remembered, he was waiting helplessly outside the operating room, hoping for a change. Praying,... for her survival. He remembered all the people around him, talking to him or to each other. He couldn't remember every word he uttered as reply, but he did remember some of the things they said. He just couldn't seem to process which of them happened first. They were just in random pieces of collected information in his head.

"We contacted Mr. Ral." Kuchel was nervously wiping her tears with her drenched handkerchief. She couldn't stop crying. "What is happening to my pet?!"

Kenny was rubbing his sister's back, trying to soothe her. "She's gonna be alright,..." He didn't sound so convincing.

Another whirl of his unstable thoughts sent him to another memory. It was even more painful.

"She was the one who decided to not let you enter the studio." Marsha confessed. He was getting more and more accustomed to the different images of tear - stained feminine faces. "We tried to argue, but we just couldn't go against her wishes. We,... I,... just accepted it, thought it was for her own good. We're wrong. Oh, I'm so, so, so, sorry, Mr. Ackerman!"

"You know what,..." Connie began. He had an unfathomable look on his young face. "I'm starting to realize that whatever she did back there, it was all for you. Everyone calls me an idiot, but I do know that it was just her way of letting you know that she still loves you despite everything, and all that. That's what I think." He looked at him straight in the eye, his tired, golden - hued ones drilling holes into his soul. "You do realize that she told us everything, right?'

"How shameful." Jean interrupted. He was sitting three chairs away from him. His arms were lazily perched on his thighs, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. "I sincerely wanted to believe, in my own heart, that she was just seeing things, or that everything was just a complete misunderstanding. I want to believe, Mr. Ackerman, that you did not do what she said you've done that night, because I know that you will never, ever, do any fucking thing to upset or hurt her in any way. Because, if she's not wrong and you've truly done something terrible,..." Jean finally looked at him, his bloodshot eyes a testament to the sleepless night they dealt with her. "... I swear to God that I will fucking kill you,..."