The Class Prince

Chapter 12: The Devil's Den

The elevator ground to a halt and the metal doors opened. Ivan, who carried me all the way to his apartment, walked down the fancy corridors and stopped in front of a door. He took out his keys, and my body stiffened.

"I hope your parents won't mind me staying," I murmured. "Because if they do, I can just-"

"I live alone," he said.

Of course, he did.

"Oh," was all I said.

Not only did I have to spend the night at Ivan's place, but I also had to spend it with him alone. Why did he live by himself? When we were inside, Ivan flicked on the lights. I was expecting an apartment full of unfinished delivery food, unwashed dishes, and dirty laundry, but his house was pristine clean.

The living room had a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall, and there was a black leather couch made for at least a family of four. Most of the furniture was in monochromatic colors and had simple designs. Whoever decorated the interior definitely had an expensive and sophisticated taste.

But as impressive as everything was, the lack of personal touch struck me: No silly family pictures, no art crafts from his childhood, no green plants to give the apartment some life and color, nothing. Everything here was purely functional. It was a perfect but cold place, just like him.

Ivan set his keys on the counter and carried me to his room. His king-sized bed was in the middle of the room, big and high, draped in soft satin blankets. He had ironed every piece of fabric to perfection. He pulled out the black office chair from his desk and carefully sat me down.

"Was I too heavy?" I asked sheepishly, watching him roll his shoulders.

"I thought I was carrying a cow."

My nose made a funny nasal noise.

"Relax, I was kidding."

"I don't like your humor, sir."

"Few people do," he shrugged. He opened his closet, and I glimpsed his neatly ironed clothes that were color-coordinated.

"You really like keeping everything clean, don't you?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Which is why I might have to burn the chair you're sitting on."

I let out a nervous laugh, unable to tell if he was being genuine or if it was his dry sense of humor.

"You can wear these," he said, handing me a sweater and a pair of grey sweatpants. "You can use my bathroom to wash off the dirt and blood. I'll take a shower in the guest's room. Oh, and Desmond?"

The agreeable trace of his smooth, husky voice made my stomach do a somersault. It was the first time he had said my name, and I suddenly wished that he'd say it more often.

"Yes?"

His gaze met mine, and for a second, I thought we were having a moment.

"Don't bleed on my bathroom floor," he deadpanned.

Well, so much for having a moment. He left, and I wheeled the chair to the bathroom. I took in a deep breath before pulling myself onto my feet, using the walls as support. I winced at each step, trying to convince myself that the next footfall wouldn't be as painful as the previous ones. I made it to the sink, but when I looked up towards the mirror, I yelped in surprise.

Yeesh, my face.

There was a trail of dried blood that streaked down the side of my face. My left eye was more bloated than the other one, and I knew from experience that the surrounding skin would eventually turn an ugly purple. Discovering the bruises on my body as I took my clothes off wasn't a fun process either. When I stepped into the shower and water poured on my head, dirt and blood disappeared down the drain between my feet. I shampooed twice for Ivan's sake.

I had a love and hate relationship with showers. I was always too lazy to take a shower, and it took me a lot of effort and self-persuasion to get myself on my feet and to the bathroom, but once I was under warm water and surrounded by the rising mist, I never wanted to leave my newly founded sanctuary. Showers were when I'd reflect on my deepest thoughts, and I couldn't help but think about Ivan. My brain had embedded his face into my mind. It wasn't like I stared at his face while he was asleep in class. No, that would be creepy.

I studied his features for educational purposes, wondering how someone could have such vivid eyes like he did. I also liked his lips. They looked soft, like cotton candy, and I wondered what they'd tasted like... My eyes flung open and I stopped myself from thinking any further. What was going on with me? Why was I thinking about Ivan while showering? It must be the smell of his shampoo. Damn it, this stuff was like a drug. It was messing with my mind.

I finished showering and put on Ivan's clothes. The sleeves of his sweater went well past my wrists, and I laughed softly as I reminded myself of Charlie and how he was always being swallowed up by his clothes. Unable to fight the temptation, I brought the sleeves to my nose, inhaling Ivan's scent. I smelled nice. The house, the clothes, the shampoo, everything smelled like a wonderland of Ivan. My eyes flung open.

What's wrong with me?

I slapped myself across the face and yelped from the stinging pain. Good. That ought to bring some sense into me.

I left the bathroom as neatly as I could, and sat on the chair, strolling myself back towards the desk. Ivan hadn't returned yet, so I took advantage of his absence to study his room more closely. I tried to find an object that might hold some personal value to him, but there was nothing. There was a bed, a closet, a nightstand, and other practical items, but nothing that he'd grab first if his house were on fire.

I sighed, giving up, and rested my head on his desk, which was when something caught my eye. There was a picture frame that adorned his desk. It was a photo of Ivan when he was younger. He looked twelve or thirteen, but not any older. He was in what looked like a beautiful European street — the ones you saw in French or Italian movies — standing beside a man. Someone had taken the picture from behind so you couldn't see his face, only Ivan's side profile was visible. Ivan was smiling. That's right, smiling. And perhaps it was the bright weather, but the uncertain color of his eyes appeared clear-blue in the photo.

I felt a pang of envy. Who was the person next to him? A brother? A childhood friend? He must be someone special if he made Ivan smile like that. Before I could make any more assumptions, I heard footsteps outside the room and quickly put the picture back where it was. I turned my chair, pretending to contemplate something else in the room, but there was nothing but furniture to stare at, so I looked at my feet instead. I scowled. Why were my toes so ugly?

When Ivan walked in, I waited a few seconds before raising my eyes. I could see the contrast between him in the photo and him right now. He grew more handsome than he was before, but there was an undeniable loneliness in his grey eyes.

"What?" Ivan asked when he noticed me staring. I looked over his shoulder, fixating the sad, empty wall behind him. There was hardly any difference.

"Nothing," I replied. "Nothing at all."