Page 74 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

The fury peaks suddenly, dramatically, like a wave cresting after building for days. Before I can stop myself, I'm lashing out – sweeping the table with an arm that feels too weak to cause such destruction. Papers fly everywhere like confused birds, food splatters across sterile floor tiles, containers crash with sounds that send spikes of pain through my skull.

The silence that follows feels absolute, broken only by my ragged breathing and the steady beep of monitors recording my racing heart. For the first time in days, I'm forced to actually look at her, to see what I've done.

The words die in my throat.

Eva stands amid the chaos I've created, papers still drifting around her like snow, but it's her face that stops my heart. Her left eye is swollen nearly shut, mottled purple and yellow spreading across her cheekbone. A butterfly bandage holdstogether a split in her eyebrow, while another covers what looks like a deep cut along her jaw. Her bottom lip is split and swollen, like someone hit her hard enough to make her teeth cut into it.

Tears spill down her cheeks, but I know instinctively they're not from my outburst. These are older tears, the kind that come from deeper wounds than just scattered papers and spilled soup.

"Who the fuck hurt you?" The question emerges as barely a whisper, all my previous anger transmuting instantly into something darker, more protective.

She doesn't answer immediately, just stands there letting tears fall silently. One hand comes up to touch her split lip like she's forgotten it was there, while the other clutches a research paper now stained with soup.

The medications in my system make everything too bright, too intense, but I can't look away from the evidence of violence on her face. Each bruise feels like an accusation – while I've been wallowing in self-pity, while I've been pushing her away and following Domino's lead, while I've been trying to scrape her off like gum on a shoe, someone has been hurting my Evergreen.

And I think I know exactly who that someone is.

The fury returns, but this time it has a proper target. This time it's not just the impotent rage of illness, but something focused and sharp like a scalpel.

I did this, I realize with sickening clarity.By choosing Domino's side, by abandoning her, by letting her face his cruelty alone – I might as well have put those bruises there myself.

"Please tell me," I try again, my voice cracking. "Please, Eva. Who did this to you?"

But I already know the answer. Can see it in the way she won't meet my eyes, in how her fingers tremble slightly as she tries to gather the scattered papers.

My brilliant Evergreen, still trying to help me even when she's the one who needs saving.

"I'll clean this up," she says quietly, that broken smile somehow worse than any accusation could be. "And I'll rewrite the projects so they don't have soup stains. The teachers won't even notice."

I watch helplessly as she kneels to gather scattered papers, her movements careful like someone trying not to aggravate hidden injuries. Each tear that falls onto the papers she collects feels like another weight added to my chest, making it harder to breathe than even the chemotherapy does.

"The soup..." she pauses, voice wavering slightly. "I probably can't go home to make another batch tonight, but I'll try to bring some tomorrow. I can leave it at the nursing station so I don't..." she swallows hard, "so I don't bother you."

The guilt is crushing now, making the constant nausea from my medications feel trivial in comparison. Every tear she tries to hide, every wince she can't quite suppress as she bends to clean my mess – they're all evidence of my betrayal. The drugs in my system amplify every emotion until I feel like I might shatter from the weight of what I've done.

She works methodically, gathering soggy papers and broken containers with the same careful precision she used to show in the lab. Even now, even after everything, she maintains that inherent grace that first drew me to her – that ability to create order from chaos, to find solutions where others see only problems.

When everything's cleaned up, she turns that heartbreaking smile on me again. "I'll come back later, okay? But you should rest tonight. The new treatment protocol they're trying looks promising – I saw your charts, and the preliminary numbers suggest your body's responding better than?—"

She cuts herself off, probably remembering how I just raged at her for caring. For trying to help. For being the one constant in my increasingly uncertain world.

"Just... keep fighting," she finishes lamely, turning away. "You've got this."

But as she spins toward the door, I catch sight of something that makes my blood run cold despite the fever burning through me. Through her white uniform shirt, I can see distinct circular burns – the kind that could only come from cigarettes being deliberately pressed against flesh.

"Who the fuck hurt you?" I demand again, voice stronger now despite how the drugs make my tongue feel too thick. "Was it Domino?"

She shrugs, the movement making her wince slightly. "You need to rest," she says instead of answering. "And eat something when you can. Your body needs fuel to fight."

"Stop." The word comes out rawer than I intended. "Stop coming here. Stop... stop pitying me."

She pauses at the door, one hand on the frame like she needs the support. "I don't pity you at all, Marcus." Her voice carries something I can't quite identify – sadness maybe, or resignation. "Why would I pity someone who's capable of surviving anything they put their mind to?"

The words hit like physical blows. Here I am, surrounded by the best medical care money can buy, with parents who'd burn down the world to save me, and I'm drowning in self-pity. Meanwhile, she comes to school with cigarette burns and split lips, goes home to God knows what kind of horror, and still finds time to do my homework and make me soup.

The medication makes my vision blur, but I can still see how carefully she holds herself – like someone used to hiding pain, used to pretending everything's fine when nothing is fine at all.

"Eva..." I start, but what can I say? Sorry I abandoned you? Sorry I chose popularity over loyalty? Sorry I watched Domino's cruelty escalate and did nothing to stop it?

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