CHAPTER 37

I look like a million dollars.

I feel priceless.

You should see Hayden's bite marks literally all over my body. The ones on my ass and between my thighs are my favorite. Oh, and the bruises on my hips. I am red and purple all fucking over.

Yes. Hayden Ashford is a fucking beast.

Mrs. Ashford leaves. I wave goodbye until she's out of sight.

Hayden can't take his eyes off me. Somewhere inside my over-sensitized brain I sense that something feels off, but it's gone instantly.

"You're drooling," I tease. Then, feeling myself up, "You have the most amazing clothes."

He clears his throat. I think he wants to say something, but all he does is clear his throat again.

"Excuse me for a second, Levi," he says. Then, he's gone.

My Earl Grey tea sits on the counter. I pick it up and settle in front of the TV. It's a little strange, doing something so familiar in a place not-so-familiar, but my diaphragm doesn't bang with anxiety. It's buzzing inside my head, but those are for other reasons. Right now, I don't mind following my routine away from home.

I'm halfway through drinking my tea and have watched about ten minutes of Gotham and Hayden is still not back. So, I go looking for him, grabbing his coffee on the way.

I find him in his office, staring at A Place Not Found, which currently occupies the space on his desk. I almost regret taking it down. Almost. And why the fuck is he so depressed suddenly? We had the best sex last night and will most likely repeat it tonight and hopefully many nights after that.

"Hey, here. Your coffee's getting cold," I say to his back. "Why don't you drink it, and we can finish the episode together?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Let's go." He takes his coffee from me, and we return to the living room.

We watch the Gotham episode in silence, and eventually, I can't take it anymore. "Are you sure you're not the one with Bipolar Disorder?" I ask. It's meant to be a serious joke.

"We should go soon to get your meds," he says. He hasn't had his coffee.

Oh my God, what a bore. "I'd rather spend my Saturday exploring New York," I say, like I haven't lived here my whole life. "Life is too short, Hayden. You of all people should know that."

He drops his gaze, but not before I catch a flicker of sadness. I laugh. "Fuck, Hayden. Stop looking like somebody fucking died. I mean, I know that somebody did die. But like, time heals all wounds and everything. Jesus. Lighten up."

"I won't see you again if you don't take your meds," Hayden says.

"I won't take them if you don't tell me how you know so much about how to deal with crazy people."

"You're not crazy."

"And you're not answering the question."

He sighs. "You have two choices, Levi. You agree for me to drive us to your place for your meds, or I order you an Uber and whether or not you take your meds will be on you."

I puff out my chest. "You've said not a single word about my outfit. Do you know how long it took me to get to the back of your never-ending closet to find something that fits as well as this tux? And—" I wave my hand around dramatically— "Not a single fucking word."

He says nothing.

"Tell me how great I look in this tux, then we can go, and I'll take the fucking meds."

Hayden's voice gets all gruff. I like it and all, and it makes me want to climb him, but I hate all this melancholy. Life isn't that bad.

"You look great in this tux, Levi," he says quietly.

I sneer, hating the sound of my voice. "Just great?" I hate myself.

He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again. I wait for my deserved compliment.

"We should go," he says in that depressing voice again. I swear to God, Hayden is depressed.

"I look fucking fabulous, for your information," I say, dumping my half-full cup of tea on the seat next to me, spilling on the leather sofa. I don't care. He fucking pays someone to clean up. "Let's just fucking go."

We drive in silence. My phone buzzes several times. Finally, after several glances from Hayden, I check my phone and answer Dr. Emily. Yes, I'm fine. No, I don't need to come in. And to prove it, I take a selfie to send to her.

But wait. She'll take one look at my eyes, then she'll conspire with Laura, and maybe my mother too, to get me admitted. And there's no way I'm ever going back to a hospital. Ever. For any reason. I'll eat all those pills like candy before they can drag me back to a fucking mental institution. Psychiatric ward. Whatever.

So, I remove the picture from my text, and, instead, I tell her that I'll call her as soon as I feel like something is off. Currently, something is ON. Everything is ON, and I love it. My shrink doesn't need to know every single fucking thing that happens in my life.

I spend the rest of the ride (in silence) taking a million selfies. Half of them include Hayden, who keeps his eyes on the road like some kind of fucking buzz kill. Jesus. Fuck this guy.

At my apartment, I search high and low, turn the place upside down – and well, fuck – I can't find my pills anywhere. (They're in a little black plastic box stuck between my mattress and the nightstand. LOL) Hayden checks every corner of the apartment and comes up with nothing. I'm not even worried that he'll check by the nightstand. His forearms are so thick, even if he sticks his hand down there, he won't reach it. And you can't see it even if you're standing right next to the bed. You'll need to reach all the way back and you'll know how far to go only if you know it's there.

Speaking of thick forearms, I would pay good money to have them wrapped around my neck right now. So, I tell Hayden exactly what I think his arms are good for.

He looks at me from across the bedroom. He's standing right near where the evidence is. He should"ve brought a sniffer dog. Maybe that would've helped him find my precious meds.

"No," he says. "Call your therapist."

"After we fuck."

"Now, Levi."

Annnnd I'm done with this guy.

"You know what, Hayden. I don't even know what you're doing here. I'm just the guy who paints weird shit for you and a passing fuck buddy. No need to get alllll personal about it." Conveniently, I pretend to forget that he told me I was his not long ago, and that I told him I would be his forever. "I've delivered how many paintings now? Five? Ten? I'm doing a pretty good job there. As for the other part of our situation, if you don't want to fuck, then you need to get out of my fucking apartment."

"I'm not leaving until I know you're okay."

I laugh. Why is the room spinning? No. it's not the room. It's my brain. I laugh again, louder, this time. "You're not gonna leave?"

"No."

"You know, it's like you're obsessed with my mental issues, Hayden. Why are you so obsessed with whether or not I take my meds? It's like you don't see me. You see only this fucking – fucking – disease."

Fuck. I'm pathetic. Hayden gives me a blank look. And that just infuriates me. We're back to him acting like he's half-fucking-dead. "Okay. Well, you wanna know something else? You wanna know what the easiest thing is to get on a Saturday? Dick. Dick is the easiest thing to get. I think I'll go and get some."

"It's not even eight o'clock in the fucking morning, Levi."

"Should I wait for eight-fifteen? Nine o"clock? And what? You don't fuck before eight o'clock in the fucking morning, Hayden? I've seen the footage. You can fuck like a god anytime, anywhere."

"Levi—"

There's a warning tone in his voice. There's also something else in his voice. Fear? I don"t know. I don't care.

"Just call your therapist. Tell her we can't find the meds," he begs like a little stray puppy.

"Actually, Hayden, why don't you stay here, and . . . and, I don't know. Clean. You can clean this mess you've made," I say, waving my arm over the mess I created while I looked for my meds with grandeur while knowing exactly where they were the whole time. LOL.

And then, checking myself in the mirror one last time to make sure I'm still making this tux look hot, I walk out of the front door, slamming it for good measure.