Sugar, Secrets and Upheaval

We were in the greenhouse, a sun-drenched sanctuary of vibrant greens and exotic blooms. It was truly something else – a towering glass structure brimming with a symphony of flora, from delicate orchids to broad-leafed tropical plants, all thriving under the controlled warmth and humidity. Birds, small and colorful, flitted amongst the branches of larger potted trees, their soft chirps adding a melodic counterpoint to the distant, rhythmic patter of rain that still graced here.

We sat at a small, elegant table nestled among towering ferns. A cup of dark tea warmed my hands. Levi took a measured sip from his mug, a hot chocolate, of course.

"Presidential election is in… three days," Levi said.

"Yeah? Are we gonna vote? You know I'm apolitical, although… knowing that you made that election happen… kinda makes me think I should vote," I said, a piece of crisp bacon caught on my lip.

"It is denominated democracy, dear. You may cast your ballot, or you may choose to submit a blank one; it is entirely within your prerogative. All of the candidates, three in total, are demonstrably competent individuals who were, in fact, selected subsequent to your suggestion regarding a presidential candidate survey. Therefore, I am presently inclined to select one at random."

"A random choice? Don't you think that's a bit too… detached?" I asked, taking a sip of my black tea. Damn. These mansion servants really knew how to prepare a good breakfast. I was in a heaven of savory and umami from the assortment of breakfast delights.

"I do not care." He took a bite of his pancake. "I performed my deed. I abolished the monarchy, I instilled the democracy, I changed the currency, and I orchestrated the first presidential election in this country within its five-century-old history."

He paused, a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze, though his voice remained even. "To be candid, an infant democracy such as this would likely not possess the fortitude for an open election of this nature; it would invariably result in either a provisional coalition or an already designated president selected by the ministers."

"And after all that, you're just going to randomly pick? Don't you feel any... ownership over the outcome?" I asked, pushing. It was baffling.

"Hm…" he hummed. "Are you imagining a scenario where I might impeach the selected president, on the grounds that that individual succumbs to corruption, or abuses their power?"

If anyone could ‘impeach’ a president purely on logical grounds, it would be Levi. He would see it not as a political overthrow, but as a necessary system correction.

“Kinda, yes. I mean, I know how hard you worked for all of this. What if you don't like that president? Are you going to abolish democracy, too? Because it didn't work?” I asked, a genuine concern lacing my voice.

He chuckled, an almost childlike sound. “Gods… Democracy will obviously not work, dear. The main, obvious problem of the democracy is the masses. They will possibly select the one with the smile of a dog, and possibly create endless hurdles for ministers to overcome.”

“But,” he continued, his voice dropping, “the greatest weapon of democracy is those same masses. If that mentioned president does not execute their responsibilities, I do not necessarily have to do anything, other than leveraging my influence, as the Saint of Ascaria. Just as they did not resist the transition to democracy, they will also not resist the ‘impeachment’ of the president.”

"You realize most people would find that utterly terrifying, right? The idea of a hidden hand guiding everything," I said, a shiver tracing its way down my spine despite the greenhouse's warmth.

He shrugged. "It is not my fault if those people bestowed upon me that moniker, along with such considerable influence and power," he replied, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

“Your competence is acting like a benevolent person, while you literally feel nothing for the victims directly benefiting from your charity, Levi. Stop with your god-complex. You manipulated an entire nation,” I said, my voice sharp.

“You see, dear Raphael,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Unlike you, or the many individuals who own charities predominantly for the purpose of tax evasion, I am meticulous, competent, and attentive. Must I weep for sad puppies, or for orphaned children? I am incapable of producing such a physiological response. If the said nation, Ascaria, possessed insufficient discernment to perceive beyond the facade, then it is not, in fact, my culpability.”

"And what about your own pleasure? You said you find pleasure in our silence, in mundane details. Is that just… an efficient physiological response too?"

“Hm… Was this question pertaining to my philanthropic endeavors?” he inquired, his deep blue eyes holding mine across the breakfast table.

“Yes.”

“Well,” he began, tilting his head back slightly and looking at the vast glass ceiling of the greenhouse. "When I initially established my foundation, its primary objective was to gather evidence of the nobility’s systemic crimes by reaching out to their victims, offering them shelter and monetary assistance. Julia, at the time, mistakenly conjectured that my intent was to launder funds, a notion I found quite idiotic, as I had, by that juncture, already amassed such considerable wealth through the bankrupting of various noble houses that I could no longer effectively store it. Therefore, I commenced the charity."

He paused, a smile playing on his lips as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. "I selected the most outcasted segments of society: minorities, individuals with disabilities, those possessing distinct gender and sexual identities, immigrants… Offering them solutions, since their predicaments presented themselves as intricate puzzles, generated a profound satisfaction derived from resolving said puzzles. Subsequently, I initiated my rather audacious machinations concerning the dissolution of the nobility."

Levi's gaze drifted back to me, the glint in his eyes now sharper. "This encompassed significant societal changes: the legalization of gay marriages, the establishment of divorce laws, the reform of inheritance rights, the implementation of alimony laws, the enactment of disability acts, and the upheaval of citizenship processes for immigrants, from which you, my dear, directly benefited. These legislative reforms were funded and systematically propelled by me, leveraging the extensive influence of my foundation. In due course, citizens, having experienced the advantages of these new laws, bestowed upon me the aforementioned moniker. From that point, the affluent individuals of this country began to contribute to my foundation, which further augmented my capacity to exert influence. I assume you have now grasped the general schema."

He leaned forward slightly. "You see, I necessitated those specific societal transformations to cultivate a more liberal populace, ensuring they would not offer significant resistance to the abolishing of the monarchy, which was to be immediately followed by the instilling of democracy. Given that the society now possesses a more liberal disposition, the potential emergence of an incompetent president will undoubtedly be met with vigorous public resistance, likely culminating in widespread civic unrest. I have nothing further to do, dear. I have already performed the requisite actions." He took a final sip of his hot chocolate.

He built the machine, set the parameters, and now it runs itself, designed to reject anything that deviates from his intended course. And he did it all without a single drop of emotion, just... ruthless logic.

"And now that your 'task is completed,' what's next? What new, intricate puzzle are you going to solve, now that you've finished with an entire country?"

"Hm... Concerning the civil war in Cyrusia, which continues, there are still small influxes of refugees along the borders. However, I have already established the necessary protocols for their housing and documentation, and their subsequent relocation to other nations. It was my first puzzle concerning multiple countries, but it is completed, too.

"Three days later, we will elect a president, and my consultation job at the government will be concluded, as the power vacuum will be nullified. Unless I am explicitly requested for another intriguing puzzle, I am quite ready to wash my hands of governmental work. I will be fully occupied with my company, the research and clinical trials of Aethelorchis Hereditas, and our domestic equilibrium," he said, giving me a smile that was both serene and deeply content.

He's finished playing god with nations, and now he just wants to come home to his chemicals and his Raphael.

“That was… really sweet, Levi. But… the civil war reminded me of my family. They did not reach out…” I choked out.

"Do you require me to arrange another attempt at communication? Though, as I advised, it would likely culminate in a similar futility."

I… I shouldn't be the one to reach out. They are the ones who should.

"They need to make the first move. If they ever do," I said, feeling the burn in my eyes.

"Dear," Levi said, lowering his voice to a calming tone. "If you wish to communicate with them, despite the nature of your differences, that is… not inherently wrong as you perceive it to be."

"Even if it's not 'inherently wrong,' it feels like conceding defeat. Like admitting I was the one who needed to change. I'd be condoning their... lack of acceptance."

“I understand,” he said, an intake of breath preceding the word. “Dear, they might never reach out. And you might never reach out either. I am regretful to state this, but certain individuals unequivocally refuse to accept such circumstances. This is particularly true for those who adhere to ingrained beliefs and established traditions.”

My father's words echoed in my mind.

"There's no compromise for them, is there? No middle ground, just their 'truth' or nothing," I said, my voice cracking.

“Even if there were, dear, it would not be the acceptance you justly deserve. It would invariably be wrapped in a shroud of ignorance and denial.”

It was precisely that logic, devoid of false comfort, that shattered my composure, and I felt the hot welling of tears spill down my face.

Even if they ever did reach out, it wouldn't be for me. It would be for the version of me they pray for, the one who abandons myself to return to their "truth." It would be a form of insidious erasure, a victory for their prejudice. And having it articulated so starkly by Levi, it's like the last fragile thread of hope, one I didn't even realize I was still clinging to, has just snapped.

I'm not angry at Levi; how could I be? He's just saying what is. It’s the grief of a relationship I'll never have, a family I'll never truly return to.

Levi stood from his chair and walked around the table. The soft, diffuse morning light, filtered by the glass ceiling, seemed to follow him. He reached me and placed his warm hand on the top of my head.

I leaned into his touch, a sob escaping me. "There's no fixing this, is there?"

He stroked my hair strands. "All is not entirely lost, dear," he murmured. "They are alive and well. Perhaps, after a significant passage of time, you and your family might reconsider and attempt to communicate once more. You observed, did you not, their lack of education on certain matters; they did not even comprehend how homosexuality is not a choice. But yes, the possibility of a fruitful reconciliation, I concede, is… low."

A significant passage of time. A tremor went through me at the thought.

"It's just hard, Levi. To accept that they'll never truly see me," I said, as I pressed my head against his abdomen.

“Hm,” he mused. "Words or constructs such as 'families,' or 'parenthood' do not possess any inherent significance for me," he said, his voice even. "However, I will endeavor to perceive you for who you truly are, dear Raphael."

He doesn't need to feel it to commit to it. He just needs to process that I am who I am, and he will make the effort to acknowledge that.

"And I will endeavor to understand you, Levi. Always," I promised, pressing a soft kiss to his shirt.

“Well,” he said, his voice returning to its even cadence. He continued to stroke my hair, his gaze now distant. "We can commence with my sexual identity, then. Since I remain uncertain regarding its precise classification. Am I bisexual? Or perhaps homosexual? It is an ongoing inquiry. Possibly agender? Not necessarily gender fluid, as I derive satisfaction from presenting as masculine, or perhaps it is not, in fact, enjoyment, but merely an intrinsic predisposition of my neurological configuration. I genuinely do not possess a definitive conclusion."

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“Ah, I see,” I said, a wry smile playing on my lips. "You are envying that I articulate my identity as gay openly, and with such unwavering confidence, are you not?"

“Perhaps,” he replied, completely devoid of defense. “Or perhaps it is simply that our existing lexicon does not possess a precise label for my particular neurological configuration, much like many other neurodivergent individuals who contend with this same classificatory problem.

"Let us propose, for the sake of immediate categorization, that I am, in fact, homosexual. Very well. What, then, shall we determine regarding my gender? I do not, fundamentally, perceive myself as belonging to any of the conventional societal constructs. The inherent characteristics associated with 'masculinity' and 'femininity,' or even 'androgynous features,' do not necessarily exert a definitive sway over my internal experience. So, what, then, is my gender? It is a question without apparent conclusion, dear Raphael; the possibilities are, quite literally, endless."

“I understand your frustration, and believe me, Levi, neurotypicals like myself also traverse that journey, much like you are experiencing right now. But yes, yours is undeniably a little complex. Although… You are simply Levi. You do not, in fact, need a definitive, all-explaining label. You do not fit into any box already, so… we can certainly take our time in choosing a label for you,” I said, my fingers tracing patterns on his shirt.

“I am glad to hear that, dear.”

“Oh… You always do this. I fell into your trap again,” I groaned. “I presented you with a problem, and you reciprocated by striking me with a broader one… Gods, it was so obvious!”

“It was,” he confirmed, his deep blue eyes sparkling with dry amusement. He was a smug bastard; he didn't even attempt to conceal his satisfaction.

"Only you could turn my heartbreak into a philosophical debate on gender and sexuality. And make me forget I was even crying," I said, a defeated laugh escaping me.

“Excuse my rather unconventional methodology for soothing emotional distress,” he said, the smug smile still playing subtly on his lips. His warm hand traveled gracefully down my cheek, his thumb beginning to rub circles against my skin.

"You're not excusing it, you're bragging about it," I accused softly, a smile playing on my lips as I gazed up at him.

“Perhaps,” he said, and his pointer finger traced a slow line along my jawline, from my ear to my chin.

“Levi,” I breathed out, my voice catching slightly, the sudden flush spreading across my face. “You know my spine practically turned into jelly after yesterday, right? It hurts and aches,” I said, the memory of yesterday’s… ferocious activities causing the flush to deepen even further.

“Hm... We do not, in fact, have to be vigorous, do we? Although I can readily offer you a topical analgesic cream or an oral medication, should you desire alleviation from your discomfort."

“You really are not subtle, you know,” I said. I felt the heat radiating closer to my throat. Not because of my flush, no. But because of his… a distinct, half-erect form was attempting to pierce through the fabric of his trousers.

"Indeed. The physiological response to your continued presence, dear Raphael, is, as you observe, rather unequivocal."

Gods, this bizarre man. Did he get horny because he looked at my tear and snot-streaked face?

"So, my distress… acts as an aphrodisiac for you? You're impossible, Levi," I grumbled, the words muffled against his abdomen as I tried to suppress a bewildered laugh.

“Aphrodisiacs are a myth, dear Raphael; there is no verifiable scientific evidence regarding their purported effectiveness. They are, at best, a placebo,” he stated. "Mine is… an aesthetic appreciation."

“What do you mean by aphrodisiacs are a myth? What about that weird thing we drank at Cassiel's mansion? It made you turn into a feral animal,” I protested.

“Dear, that particular concoction was, quite possibly, sildenafil citrate, or a similar phosphodiesterase inhibitor, which would account for the acute physiological responses observed. It functioned by causing us to become hypertensive, thereby increasing blood flow to specific areas. It was not, I assure you, a magical potion designed to induce unbridled ardor, but a pharmaceutical compound with predictable vascular effects."

My "feral animal" was simply a "hypertensive" response.

“Gods. Cassiel played me… Is that why we felt so… feverish? Because we were drugged?” I asked, a fresh wave of disbelief washing over me. "I thought it was ancient herbs or something, not pills," I added, a hint of disappointment in my voice.

"Dear, yes, we experienced a feverish sensation precisely because of the hypertensive state induced by the aforementioned pharmaceutical compound. Furthermore, it is entirely probable that in the heat of the moment, we might have employed a lubricant containing propylene glycol, which is known to produce either heating or cooling effects upon application, depending upon its specific formulation."

Not the wild abandon of two souls consumed by passion, but chemically induced heat and a vasodilator. Cassiel truly did play me for a fool.

I gave him a wry look. "It was still quite the night, regardless of the chemical breakdown, you must admit."

Why did I say that? The memory of that night came back in a rush. Crawling butt naked on the floor like a dog… That was the moment I realized I enjoyed being degraded. Fuck my mouth. Gods, please save me.

“I do not necessarily remember the first half of it, it was a blur for me,” he said, a little thoughtful, his eyes gazing distantly beyond me. The smug smile had vanished. “Gods, I was still utilizing opioid narcotics back then. I might have been at risk for a localized cerebrovascular event, or a blood clot due to the combination of substances. No wonder it necessitated such a prolonged duration.”

I rose from my chair immediately, causing the breakfast dishes to rattle. My voice, thick with a terror that superseded all prior emotions, cracked as I yelled, “What the fuck, Levi? You could’ve died?”

He saw my outburst, his eyes widening, and his hand moved to my back. “Dear,” he murmured, as if attempting to soothe a frightened animal. "I am alright. I was simply contemplating a statistical possibility." He paused, his thumb rubbing circles on my back. "Also, quite obviously, Raphael, I was, at that juncture, a drug addict, so yes, I might have been somewhat irresponsible in my pharmacological combinations."

He was risking that. And the terrifying realization that I was there, that night, completely oblivious to the danger he was in, to the danger he was.

I pulled away from him. “Why… Why did you not confide in me about your addiction, Levi? Why? Did I truly have to witness you, a blade pressed against your throat, to see that you were an addict all along?

“I am aware that addicts lie. And you did say, before that, maybe, had our relationship been founded upon trust rather than a contract, you might have felt inclined to disclose it… But I… I still find myself utterly unable to reconcile myself with this reality. I cannot accept it.”

He looked at his hand that had been on my back moments ago, his fingers clenching before he slowly met my gaze. His eyes were ice.

“Raphael,” he said, his voice even, yet with an undercurrent of frigid steel. “While I comprehend your profound distress, I find myself utterly unable to alter the inherent chronology of past events. I was a suicidal addict, Raphael; you were not the victim on that particular day. I was the individual with a blade pressed against my throat. I was the one on the verge of an overdose.”

He is indignant. Indignant that I would dare to frame myself as a 'victim' in his narrative of near-death. Updates are released by novel-fire.net

"You're right. You were not the victim of my pain. You were the victim of your own fight. But,” I said. "It doesn’t negate the fact that you broke my trust, Levi.”

“Gods,” he breathed out, his fury still palpable, radiating off him in frigid waves. His eyes blazed with a chilling accusation as they raked over my face. “How selfish, and how self-absorbed are you, Raphael? What? You purport to feel betrayed by an individual consumed by an addiction? No other living soul knew about my addiction, including yourself, who, I might add, was residing a mere five feet away from my personal study, where I injected myself nearly daily, some days even more than once.”

Five feet away. Daily. More than once.

“Get out of your victim complex for a second, Levi!” I yelled, my voice cracking. I threw my hands up, taking another step back.

“How was I supposed to know what was going on in your steel-doored, two-security-cameras-in-the-door, six-digit-passcode study? How?” I demanded, my voice rising. “There was a clause in our contract that literally forbade me from ever setting foot in there! I'm not blaming you or shaming you for being an addict, Levi! That’s not it! I’m blaming you for not trusting me! I’m blaming you because you hid something as monumental as a twelve-year-old addiction from me!”

He looked directly into my eyes and did not close the distance that still separated us. “I am also not placing culpability upon you for your lack of prior knowledge, Raphael. I was conveying to you that it was unequivocally my addiction, and consequently, my autonomous decision to conceal it. Do you genuinely believe I would have jeopardized or dismissed the discretion of all those years, the careful compartmentalization of my existence, for the sake of an individual who did not even possess the foundational comprehension of what neurodivergency entails?” A derisive smile touched his lips. “We were not as intimately connected as your current emotional state appears to inaccurately reflect.”

It's cruel. It's utterly, chillingly cruel.

That's it, then.

The entire edifice of what I believed our relationship to be, the depth I thought we had reached, he has just flattened it with a single sentence. All my attempts to understand, to cherish, to love this baffling, brilliant man… he just saw them as inaccurate reflections of my own emotional state. It's a bitter pill, one that makes my vision blur, but this time, it's not from tears, but from a sudden, blinding rage.

How dare he say that?

“You’re right, I didn’t understand neurodivergency back then. But I tried, Levi! I tried to understand you! Was that just ‘inaccurate’ too?” I yelled, my fist clenching tightly at my side.

“Raphael, why are we prolonging this discourse? What is the definitive outcome you seek from this analytical revisiting of past grievances? It has been, by chronological decree, eight months since I commenced my sobriety. I have been entirely clean for eight months.”

A derisive smile touched his lips, and his gaze sharpened, boring into mine. “And, I must remind you, we were contractually united. Three of those months, you were away. The initial month of our marital arrangement was, by mutual acknowledgment, simply a period of calculated, reciprocal kindness, given that our union was, in essence, a sham. So, in fundamental essence, you purport that I was obligated to confide the profound detail of a twelve-year-long addiction to an individual with whom I had shared, at best, a cumulative duration of approximately four months of genuine, unscripted proximity?”

All the stolen glances, the quiet moments, the shared silences, the subtle shifts I felt in his presence, the way my world started to revolve around him… all of it reduced to a 'four months at best.'

I was never close enough, never worthy of the truth.

“I was trying to build something real with you, Levi, something that went beyond that contract!” I said, my voice hoarse, aching with the effort to make him understand. “And you just… you just watched me, didn’t you? Watched me try to connect, knowing you had this massive secret, and all the while, you deemed me ‘unworthy’ of it. Is that truly what ‘trust’ signifies to you, Levi?”

“’Unworthy of it’ were not the terms I employed. That particular assessment pertains to the chronological context of eight months ago, Raphael, when that information was first disclosed to you.”

So, I wasn't explicitly labeled worthless in his vocabulary back then. That's… something, I suppose.

“Eight months ago or not, you broke my trust, Levi. You knew I was trying to connect with you, truly connect, but you didn’t let me know your biggest secret, perhaps your most monumental burden.”

“Gods,” he breathed out, his fury still palpable. “What can I do, Raphael, in this immediate moment? Other than dedicating myself to a sustained state of complete sobriety? I have already provided you with the security passcode to my personal study after my return from the rehabilitative facility. What more is it you require?”

Those are monumental, yes, undeniable facts. But they don't magically erase the sting of twelve years of addiction kept secret, of being told I wasn't "intimately connected" enough to warrant the truth.

I took a shaky breath. "I need... I need you to see what you did, Levi. Not just for your addiction, but for the secrets you kept, and how that felt to me."

“Raphael,” he said, devoid of any warmth, “I acknowledge your current distress, and I comprehend that you experienced emotions classifiable as sadness, anger, or whatever other negative affect one might typically encounter in such a moment.” A faint, almost imperceptible shift occurred in his expression, a subtle tightening around his eyes.

“However,” he continued, his tone unwavering, “if your expectation entails that I might consequently feel regret or remorse for my past actions, then you are… simply substantiating my earlier assertion regarding your insufficient comprehension. You did not, in that prior phase, truly know me. And yes, I withheld the existence of my addiction, because, Raphael, I was intending to terminate my own existence.”

“You could have confided in me about that… too.”

“You even hid your suicidal ideation. I saw the signs, Levi. But I… I lacked the capacity to compel you to seek professional intervention, to attend a therapist, to accept any form of assistance.”

“Your observations were indeed astute, Raphael. However, my decision to terminate my existence was precisely that: my decision. It was not a subject open for collaborative discourse or external intervention.”

His jaw tightened, and his voice became laced with a cutting disdain. “And you are being… entirely preposterous, Raphael. Who do you fancy yourself to be in this scenario? What? Do you genuinely believe that a prolonged, pleasant discussion concerning the inherent value of my continued existence would have sufficed to avert a state of absolute and determined self-destruction?”

Does he think I’m so utterly naive, so foolish, as to believe that a simple chat could cure suicidal ideation? No, he is not misunderstanding; he is knowingly twisting my words.

He is right about one thing: I couldn't have stopped him. But to hear him express such utter disdain for my very concern, to frame my heartbreak as ‘preposterous,’ ignites a new, searing rage.

“You…” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Fuck you.”