Chapter 3
872 Words
Nathan woke up the next day, his head pounding. The sheets rustled as he stirred, eyes fluttering open slowly.
Then, the memories flooded in. He sat upright suddenly, eyes snapping to his left wrist.
The string was still there.
It was not a dream.
Although now it was merely a bracelet, and Nathan knew it could only mean one thing.
Valentino was no longer in the house.
He didn’t know how to feel about that.
Anger?
Sadness?
Self-pity?
He swung his legs off the bed and rose to his feet. His steps were slow, more like a stagger, as he walked towards the bathroom.
Once inside, he stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection. He took in his eye bags—the result of crying last night—and...
The mark Valentino had left from holding his neck.
His fingers brushed against the bruised skin slowly, his eyes welling up. He sniffled, pulling his hand away.
What was the use of crying?
After all the tears, the truth remained:
Valentino would never love him.
And it wasn’t like Nathan liked the man, but the thought that his mate also rejected him, like Mikhail did, was too much to bear.
The tears fell anyway, slipping down his cheeks. His sobs were quiet as he hunched over the sink, gasping.
Nathan soon emerged from the bathroom, bathed, but he felt anything but fresh.
He slid into his clothes and walked up to the bedroom door.
His hand froze on the door handle, and he stared down at his left wrist.
It was still a bracelet.
Then, he turned it, and the door swung open.
As he stepped into the hallway, he couldn’t help but glance around. He knew Valentino was not in the house.
The string was evidence, but after what the man did to him last night, he felt more on edge than he’d ever been.
Once he was sure the hallway was empty, he walked through it and entered the grand living room.
The party had ended long ago.
His eyes landed on the few people sprawled out on the couch and ground. They were asleep.
The room was a mess of confetti, paper plates, bottles, and cups.
He felt a twinge in his heart. They celebrated his birthday without him.
Just then, a voice called out to him.
"Nathan."
It was Mikhail's.
Nathan’s heart pounded. He wasn’t ready to see him again after last night, but his body was already turning to face his friend.
"Where were you last night? We looked all over for you," Mikhail asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he folded his arms.
"Just tired," he replied, his voice hoarse.
Mikhail’s expression shifted to concern as he closed the distance between them by a metre.
"Are you good?"
Nathan nodded.
He wasn’t.
Resentment crept into his chest as he stared at Mikhail.
How dare he ask if he was okay?
But in the end, Mikhail couldn’t be blamed.
He was the one who fell for a man that could never be his.
Nathan’s eyes traced Mikhail’s neck, landing on the marks hidden beneath the collar of his robe.
Images of his friend and Elena being intimate flashed through his mind, hauntingly vivid.
He bit his lower lip, fighting back tears. Pretending to be fine proved harder than he’d thought.
"I have to go," he said, turning to leave.
"W-wait, Nathan!" Mikhail shouted, but he was already walking out through the front door.
He smiled bitterly as a thought rose in his chest.
If it had been before Mikhail introduced his mate, he’d have been all over him—cracking stupid jokes just to see him laugh,
Helping him with his homework, and
Putting up with his childish whims.
He’d given his teenage years to being more of a sidekick to Mikhail than being his best friend.
Nathan had always known he was not exactly the brightest, nor was he impressive in any other way.
He was introverted and socially awkward
But Mikhail—the polar opposite—took him in and gave him more attention than anyone ever had.
It didn’t take long before he found himself falling for him, and he came to know he was gay.
He exited the Ivanovs’ property and made the journey out of the quiet, empty street.
Once outside, he took a cab and occupied the backseat.
He slumped against the seat, feeling tired despite sleeping for several hours.
The ride was quiet, but Nathan’s head was filled with a low-pitched buzz. It was constant and uncomfortable.
The cab soon pulled up in front of his apartment complex. He slammed the door once he got out and walked into the building.
As he moved through the lobby, the ringing in his head grew louder and more obnoxious.
He kept rubbing his temple throughout the elevator ride to his floor.
Something was wrong.
He staggered through the hallway until he got to his apartment and jammed the key into the keyhole.
He twisted it, and the door immediately opened with a click.
The ringing had grown increasingly loud, his left wrist starting to burn.
He’d seen something about this before.
He knew what it meant.
Valentino was being intimate with someone else.
- Writer
