Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(112)

Home has never been the clothes in my closet or the bed beneath my body. Home is my family, and for the first time, I’m leaving.

Stress has been quietly crushing me.

I zip up my bag and pause for a second, breathing through my nose. I abandon my duffel and exit my bedroom for the suite’s bathroom. I slip inside, kneel, and stick my middle finger down my throat.

I dry heave, nothing left to puke.

I hate that I can’t puke.

I hate that I want to—that it’s been controlling me this badly. I can’t block out the guilt anymore. Regret assaults me, and I breathe heavily for a second.

(Come on, Luk. Fight this.)

My eyes tighten shut.

I stopped fighting this monster about a year ago. It’s been with me since I was six, and I win sometimes. I lose just as often, but it’s there, you know.

Lurking.

I always think, I’ll do better tomorrow. When I’m this knee-deep in, I rarely do. But it eases me right now. The “I’ll do better tomorrow” thought. It helps me stand up.

I close the bathroom door and return to my room—the lights are on. Cautiously, I slip inside, not surprised by what I find.

Dimitri is squatting beside my duffel and inspecting the contents, plus the empty drawers.

He catches my gaze. “Going somewhere?”

Look, I knew I couldn’t tell my family I was quitting Aerial Ethereal. At least not until the last minute. They’d ask why a million times over, but I already emailed Marc Duval that I’m quitting, an informal written termination.

It’s done.

“To hell,” I say, pretty easygoing. My voice is never dry. “Want to come?” I pick up my duffel by the strap and zip it again. If I pretend like I’ll be back, I can leave easily.

It won’t hurt.

(Please.)

“Hell is too hot for your lily-white ass.” Dimitri straightens to a stance, and his gaze narrows for answers.

I almost smile. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll pick up some sunblock on my way.” I nod to him. “See you on the other side, dude.” As I turn, he guards the door with his six-foot-five frame. He’s dropped some muscle mass this past week, per Geoffrey’s request.

But he’s still huge.

“If you won’t talk to me, go talk to Nik,” Dimitri says seriously.

“I’m about to.”

He processes this, trying to trust me. I’m really telling the truth. I plan to tell Nik I quit AE, and then I’ll hop in a cab. I already booked a plane ticket to New York.

I figured I’d find an apartment in Brooklyn. Tap into my tiny savings, and then I’ll figure out where to go from there.

Simple as that.

(It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.)

Dimitri cocks his head. “If you’re in trouble, you know you can come to me.”

“I’m fine.” I try to pass, and he extends an arm across the door frame.

“Fine isn’t waking up at two a.m. to go puke—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Dimitri points at my chest. “You made a promise to Nik when you were thirteen. Did you forget that?”

“No. I didn’t forget.” I promised that if I ever felt out of control, to the point where I couldn’t function, I would tell him. I wouldn’t lie. I wouldn’t go at this alone. I’d ask Nik for help.

Dimitri stares at me like so what the fuck are you doing.

I rub my face once, wincing. Because I just want to leave, not confront these issues too. One is hard enough. Heaping them all on me at once—I can’t.

I can’t deal with it all right now. “Let me through, dude.” I can’t stay here.

Dimitri hesitates. “Tell me I’m not going to regret this.”

My throat bobs, but I try to smile, duffel strap on my shoulder. “Stay beefy. Or everyone will start calling you the Prius.” I pass him, patting his shoulder once, knowing he’ll let me go.

He sidesteps, his features solidified in pained confusion.

(Bye, Dimitri.)



*



I have a keycard to Nik’s suite.

I slip inside the darkened living area, curtains drawn closed over the windows. I glance left, and Nikolai is already exiting his bedroom, dressed in black boxer-briefs, hair disheveled and face set sternly.

He grips his cellphone, and I’m sure Dimitri called or texted him about me.

I don’t drop my bag. I won’t be here long. “Hey,” I whisper in the quiet.

Nikolai stops a foot from me in the small space between the bar counter and the couch. Instead of asking questions, he assesses my features for answers, his concern palpable.

In one breath, I say, “I quit AE.”

Nik frowns darkly. “No you didn’t.”

“Yeah. I did.” I keep my voice low, my stomach and muscles coiling. “I’m leaving. My flight is at nine, so I’m heading out now—”

“Wait slow down.” Nikolai raises his hands and then reaches out for my bag. “Take a seat.”

I back up, only one step. “I have to go.” It feels like someone is jumping on my ribcage. “I have to go,” I repeat, cementing this agonizing fact.

Before I can spin to the door, Nikolai clutches my shoulders. “Luka,” he says my name with force and urgency. “Luka, you’re not leaving. You have to talk to me.”