Murderous Lewellyn’s Candlelit Dinner - Chapter 1.9

The spring had been wandering around the window of the apartment since Friday morning, covering the world with apricot light at 5 p.m., near the time of the promised dinner with Lewellyn. The smell of flowers was strong, and the sound of grass bugs was small but clear from the large tree near the apartment building.

It was a warm day. The windows of Room 303 were open and the curtains were wet. Through the open window came a savory smell of baked bread and the sweet smell of fresh cheese. Of course, the light spiciness of onions could also be smelled.

Will Lewellyn like it?

Thinking, Shavonne, who was mixing onions in the dish, sighed.

He’ll probably eat it because I put onions in it.

Shavonne knew the fact that it was polite to serve a formal dinner when you invite someone. He didn’t intend to screw it up, so he tried, but Shavonne couldn’t serve a formal dinner. No, it may be an accurate expression to say that it was impossible for him to serve a formal dinner.

Everything was good. It was until Shavonne, who used to eat only bread, cheese and cheap tea, went to the grocery store and looked up the ingredients. The problem was that Shavonne’s cooking skills were poor. In a way, it was natural. How excellent could Shavonne be at cooking after eating only bread, cheese, and cheap tea for his entire life?

Shavonne cooked a mess. The quiche was so bad that Lewellyb couldn’t say that it wasn’t bad even to be polite. It was so disgusting that if Shavonne had been the one to be treated, he would have had to turn the table upside down or suppress the urge to do so.

Not only the quiche, but also the syllabud, curly broccoli cheese, and shrimp salad tasted and looked terrible. The pasty looked fine, but after tasting it… He was not sure. If he wanted to repay Lewellyn, that wasn’t the best method.

It was already 4.30 p.m. when three-quarters of the ingredients were blown away like that. Shavonne had to give up his desire to serve a romantic dinner because not a single dish was made when dinner was just around the corner.

Shavonne’s choice was roast beef, a gravy pudding and cheese omelet. He took out the bread and cheese to fill the empty spots. He didn’t forget the jam he hadn’t touched since he bought it. The table became plausible. It looked shabby just at a first glance.

In 29 years, Shavonne had never invited anyone. Not even once.

Shavonne had lived in an orphanage until he was nineteen. For the first 16 years, he was a student and for the next 3 years he was a chores worker. The orphanage wasn’t Shavonne’s home when he was a student or a worker. He couldn’t have invited anyone in such a situation.

After he became independent, there was another problem, which was that Shavonne had no one to invite. A friend? For Shavonne, a friend meant only Dr. Fawkes. Lover? Shavonne had dated for 8 years a total of 29 people. It meant that he met each lover for an average of three months. There was no love in particular.

What Shavonne needed wasn’t a partner or a lover, but a person’s warmth. Shavonne barely exposed himself, except to give his home address for the purpose of communicating.

His lovers understood Shavonne. From the first lover to the 28th lover. August, the 29th lover, was “excessive”and did what he wanted. It was useless hating him.

August visited Shavonne as he pleased. No matter what, he came into the house without permission and didn’t stop being rude (and often had quite forceful sex after that). August was an uninvited guest so it wasn’t wrong to say that Shavonne had never invited anyone in 29 years.

So, this was the first time he invited someone home.

He knew, of course, that Lewellyn was probably a murderer. He knew better than anyone else. However, Lewellyn was his lifesaver, whether he was a gentleman, a ruffian, a manslaughter, habitual offender, family of the deceased or a murderer, that fact had not changed, and Shavonne wasn’t shameless enough not to thank his savior and not to apologize for his wrongdoings.

…Such a shitty mindset.

While thinking, Shavonne smiled helplessly. He wasn’t wrong. There was no dog that didn’t follow its owner, whether the owner was a gentleman or a ruffian, a manslaughter, habitual offender, family of the deceased or a murderer. The dog followed its owner because an owner is an owner, and there was no more reason than that.

Dogs had the same nature as humans. Give me a meal, give a house, give love. It wasn’t easy not to follow the existence of someone who protected your life. Even more if you were in a position to be left alone in the world without the existence of that someone.

Anyone would do this.

Anyone.

Anyone who has wanted to invite someone for 29 years but has never been able to.

The sound of knocking on the front door when he was thinking was heard. Tok, tok. Shavonne hurried to check his watch. 6 p.m. It was time for the dinner he promised Lewellyn.

He could hear knocking again. Shavonne thought Lewellyn was a bit nervous while knocking, but he wasn’t. It was quite cheerful. If someone asked if he could distinguish nervousness from cheerfulness with a monotonous sound, Shavonne would reply that he was wrong, it was never monotonous.

Tok, tok, tok, toktoktok, toktoktok — the knock started with a slower rhythm – toktok, tok, toktoktok, tok, to a fast tempo. He slowed down then. Shavonne thought it was a familiar tune. It was a children’s song “Cous Cous”.

Cous Cous. Because of the director who was particularly attached to the song, Shavonne had to listen to it every day throughout his 19 years in an orphanage. The director played the song every morning and evening by turning on the phonograph. Shavonne wanted to break the phonograph every morning and evening. If only he had had the money to pay for the phonograph, he would have done so.

“I’ll open it for you!” He headed to the front door, and the sound of knocking never stopped. Shavonne got on his nerves just by listening to <Cous Cous>. He couldn’t stand it anymore. “Stop with Cous Cous!”

When he shouted, the following reply came back from beyond the front door.

“Then can I do <Yellow, Yellow, Yellow Squirrels>?”

Oh. Shavonne didn’t know if he was an adult man in his mid-twenties or a five-year-old kid. Shavonne opened the front door, crumpling his face to the point where he couldn’t do it more.

“I’ll let you in even if you don’t rush me. Please stay sti…”

Shavonne couldn’t finish his words. ‘Still’ got stuck in his throat before he could finish. Shavonne stared blankly at Lewellyn in front of Room 303, looking dumbfounded. Shavonne knew he would look like a dork, but he couldn’t take my eyes off him. Anyone who knows Lewellyn, as well as Shavonne, would have.

Unlike usual, Lewellyn was wearing a sleek suit and his hair was neatly combed. Like most poor citizens of Bunch, Shavonne has never dressed well because he didn’t have a chance to earn the money to buy a suit.

But the only difference between Shavonne and a normal Bunch poor citizen was that Shavonne knew the standard of formal attire. Just as an illiterate at a school suddenly had a work that involved writing, Shavonne, who ghostwrited an upper-class novels by John Gray or Adam Ayle, also learned clothing etiquette.

He knew as soon as he saw it. Lewellyn’s suit was literally the norm in suits. The shirt, collars, rapels, the number of buttons, the width and length of the sleeves and cuffs… flawlessly perfect.

Whereas Shavonne …

“You… you have cleaned up nicely.”

Shavonne’s mumbling voice was crestfallen. At least, it wasn’t incomprehensible. The subjectively ungainly clothes Shavonne wore and the objectively trashy dinner (a pudding made with meat broth, cheese omelet, bread, cheese, and jam he had never touched since he bought it) were on his mind.

“What are you talking about?” Lewellyn squinted. Unlike the dead appearance Shavonne had, Lewellyn looked alive.

Shavonne quietly let Lewellyn in. No, he was going to. But the moment he inadvertently passed Lewellyn, Shavonne couldn’t help but feel awkward.

“… Mr. Lewellyn.” Shavonne called him, but he wasn’t facing Lewellyn. Lewellyn looked back at Shavonne with a question mark on his head. Shavonne continued to talk, keeping his eye on Lewellyn. “S… Shake your hair.”

Only then did a roguish smile come to Lewellyn’s mouth.

“Why?”

“It’s burdensome.”

“Because I’m so handsome?”

His voice didn’t hesitate to ask. Furthermore, Shavonne couldn’t find any hesitation on his face too. After sighing in his mind, Shavonne shut his mouth. He forgot that the more he talked to Lewellyn, the more he lost himself.

Lewellyn saw Shavonne shaking his head, but he didn’t give up, sticking to him and saying the last word.

“Doesn’t the silence mean that I’m right? You feel uncomfortable because I’m so handsome, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“How come you feel so burdened?”

“You’re in Ira, so you don’t get along with the apartment feeling, that’s why I feel burdened so much that even if I was the one to ask you for dinner, I want you to walk three steps away from me.”

It was worth paying back one by one for “how much” Shavonne was in debt with him. Lewellyn stepped back. One step, two steps, three steps. Just three steps, as Shavonne ordered. Only then did he respond to Shavonne’s request to tangle his hair.

The problem was that it had unexpected consequences, and if Lewellyn’s cleanliness was awkwardly good, then such a mess was… Shavonne tried to stop thinking before he came up with an unbearable expression. This is all due to being in abstinence for too long.

All the way to the table, Shavonne was bothered by his home. He cleaned it up, but he started to notice some dirty parts he didn’t see while cleaning. Shavonne was worried about the stains, mold that can’t be covered, and dust on a bookshelf that he forgot to sweep away. He opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” asked Lewellyn, who was following him three steps behind. It was a question that was hard to understand because Shavonne didn’t know if he was asking because he really didn’t know it or he was just pretending not to.

“The house… it’s not that clean.”

“No, I like it because it’s different.” Lewellyn said. “It reminds me of a dungeon and a cave.” Shavonne couldn’t tell if he was just teasing or wanting to start a fight.

Soon after, the table only had roast beef, pudding made with meat broth, cheese omelet, bread and cheese, and jam Shavonne had never touched since he bought it. When it was all ready, Shavonne thought it was a plausible table to look at, but now it doesn’t look like that at all. He would have rather offered only onions. His mind was filled with regret, but it was already too late to change it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” asked Lewellyn, who was sitting at the table with a napkin. Again, it was a question that was hard to understand because Shavonne didn’t know if he was asking because he really didn’t know it or he was just pretending not to.

“Dinner… it isn’t that great.”

“No, I like it because it’s different.” Lewellyn said. “It reminds me of a prisoner or a caveman.”

Now Shavonne could see whether he was teasing or starting a fight. It was both. He seemed to be teasing, starting a fight, and teasing again, but he thought that if he counted the ratio, it would be 7 teasing and 3 starting a fight.

The meal was quieter than Shavonne thought. Of course, it was “more than he thought” but the first problem was that Lewellyn looked down at the fork and knife in his seat and rolled the knife around in the spare napkin. When asked what was wrong with him, Lewellyn explained as follows.

“I can’t touch the knife.” A soft laugh came to the mouth of Lewellyn, who added. “It’s too dangerous.”

The second problem was the fight. Even though it was a minor fight to the point of not getting hurt, a problem was a problem anyway. Lewelly tested Shavonne’s roast beef.

“It tastes like a stone fireplace.”

…that was the drawing line. Of course, the next Shavonne said was.

“Have you ever tasted a stone fireplace?”

What he said started a fire.

The third problem was silence. As they were eating the (even if it tasted like a stone fireplace) roast beef, pudding made with meat broth, cheese omelet, bread,cheese, and the jam he had never touched since he bought it, the silence gradually increased.

It was a one-sided silence, though. While Lewellyn remained unchanged, Shavonne only nodded two or three times and didn’t open his mouth. For example…

“This pudding is delicious. It’s like a pudding made by the world’s best chef after 30 years of retirement.”

“…”

“This jam is for decoration, isn’t it? It seems like you’ve never touched it since you bought it and just left it in the cupboard.”

“…”

… He was right.

He felt his chest heavy. Shavonne’s obsession with revealing his intentions after the meal was still wandering on his mind. Shavonne’s hand moving the spoon slowed down. The speed of emptying the bowl also slowed down.

Watching it, Lewellyn himself began to move his spoon slowly too. Eventually, it lost purpose and they were only stirring the bowl. Shavonne didn’t realize that Lewellyn was adjusting to the speed of his meal.

But nothing lasts forever, meal or silence. All the dishes on the table were empty now. Shavonne was looking down at the empty bowl when he thought that it should be easy, but thought it wasn’t. Lewellyn gazed leisurely at Shavonne, with his fingers interlaced on his knees. His eyes were yellow.

“Mr. Shavonne.”

Lewellyn called him. Shavonne took his eyes off the bowl and raised his head.

“Tell me.”

It was night. It was black outside and the house was black and blue. The only thing that illuminated the house was the gas light that Shavonne had turned on for the first time in a long time, and the light was intermittently flickering, perhaps because it was broken. Shavonne tried to look at Lewellyn and opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? For the roast beef? Or for the pudding or the jam?”

Indeed, the taste of dinner made him feel sorry. Lewellyn, who added that so loudly, had a straight face. Shavonne decided not to take jokes as a joke because then he might miss the chance to talk.

“… I misunderstood you.”

Lewellyn was quiet for the first time in a long time, just looking at Shavonne with his sunken eyes. Shavonne wanted to let out the words he had prepared. These were words that he carefully chose, but when he said them out of my mouth, he couldn’t stop.

“I thought you were a stalker. I didn’t have proof, so I just decided to keep an eye on you, but then suddenly… you gave me a bunch of money, you gave me flowers, you gave me onions or lemon juice, so I was suspicious. So I ignored… no, I rejected them. Understand, everyone would do the same to a criminal. Oh, damn it. I’m sorry about it. I don’t like when people do me a favor. Everyone who did that tried to take advantage of me. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

It was gibberish. It wasn’t clear whether it was delivered that Shavonne was sorry for his rudeness and that he was grateful for Lewellyn saving his life.

“Damn it. You know what I want to say.” Shit, shit. Shavonne wanted to brush his hair, embarrassed. “Say that you do, please.”

“I know. Of course.”

Lewellyn smiled. Lewellyn was a much nicer person than Shavonne thought.

“I wouldn’t have sent such a messy letter.”

“You’re right. You wouldn’t have sent such a messy letter. I guess I don’t have an eye for people. How can someone nice like you send…?”

Shavonne suddenly stopped talking.

Have I ever shown him the letter from my stalker?

“Mr. Shavonne.”

Lewellyn said. In the light of the gas lamp, one face of Lewellyn looked bright and the other looked dark. Shavonne felt a chill in the back of his neck.

“I said I didn’t send that dirty letter, not that I’m innocent.”

The intermittent gas light turned off. It was all dark.

“You saw it.”

***

Shavonne.

Do you still have my candle?

So, that’s when Shavonne started avoiding him.

-Good night.

Good night, he had to say it to the closed door and back off. Right, he needed to set his mind to it, but he just stood around looking down at the door handle of Room 303 and couldn’t do it. The idea of whether Shavonne would let him in if the door was opened was wandering in Lewellyn’s head.

– Mr. Shavonne.

He called in a low voice. There was no answer.

Shavonne.

There was no answer again. He knew what ‘his’ silence meant. He couldn’t help not knowing. His bloody eyes stared at the door without a single flicker. The white part was scarlet and his gold eyes shone.

Lewellyn couldn’t even ask Shavonne why he was avoiding him. He couldn’t even greet him, let alone ask a question. Shavonne didn’t want to deal with him. All he could do was borrow Newell’s name and write “Why are you avoiding me?”. If Shavonne was tactful, he would notice that Newell and he were the same person. Even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t avoid Lewellyn because of the guilt he felt after reading the letter.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He meant to only write that sentence, but the problem was that what he was writing while being filled with emotions without realizing it. He scribbled out the letter. He didn’t care if the letter paper was torn or wrinkled. He couldn’t afford to care.

Soon the letter was fulled of Why are you avoiding me? Why are you avoiding me? Why are you avoiding me? Why are you avoiding me? Why are you avoiding me?

Why are you avoiding me? He checked the mailbox on his way back from sending the letter . Of course, not the mailbox of room 302 where he lived but of room 303 where Shavonne lived. He knew he was being impolite, but he didn’t care because he wasn’t very moral and didn’t intend to be a moral person.

There was a letter in the mailbox of room 303. He was going to let it slide if he hadn’t looked at the surface of the envelope, but the name “friend” as the sender caught his eye.

Friend?

He couldn’t let it slide. He tore the letter open. He knew he was being impolite, but he didn’t care because he wasn’t very moral and didn’t intend to be a moral person. He only tried to check what Shavonne’s friend had sent him, and he had no intention of stealing it like a petty thief.

At least, until he saw the letter.

“…”

The letter was blank. There were no words cut from the newspaper, no words written in ink. But the blank letter didn’t have a fake address as it usually had, and something had dried up from the center of the letter paper. He could know without looking closely. It was semen.

His face hardened as he checked the messy letter. He felt bitter. He should have hunted this person as soon as he realized their existence, but it was his mistake to overlook the second-ranked “foreign substance” while putting his relationship with Shavonne first.

He crumpled the letter in his grasp. The sound of the letter crushing under his grip was stiff. He was now like a petty thief, but he couldn’t help it. Even if he became a zombie, not a thief, he couldn’t let the letter with foreign substance fall into Shavonne’s hands.

The chance to catch him quickly came.

The starting point was that Shavonne suddenly stopped going out. After going through the management office, he began to visit key shops one by one around the apartment buildings in Ira. He followed in the footsteps of Shavonne. He had followed him before, so there was nothing new.

He didn’t follow him as if he was his shadow. At least in a dictionary sense, he didn’t. However, the situation changed in less than ten minutes. He hid his presence. He hid his footsteps and breathing sound as if there had never been any in the first place. Now it followed the dictionary meaning.

There was one more thing that changed. It was no longer Shavonne that he followed, but Shavonne’s ‘friend’.

“Friend.” That stalker who peeked through the door or mailed a semen letter and wrote “friend” in the sender’s column of the envelope.

The prey crawled on its own in front of the hunter. A faint smile rose over his hardened face. He was a hunter. He was born that way and grew up that way, except in extremely exceptional cases.

It wasn’t the hunter’s job to dispose of the prey immediately. That was what a butcher did. As always, impatience wasn’t the required skill for him. Hunting must be relaxed. If it wasn’t leisurely, it wasn’t hunting.

Stalking a stalker was easier than hunting a hound or killing a murderer. His skills were outstanding, but stalkers were also insignificant. At sunset, Shavonne was leaving the store. As soon as he was caught, the stalker ran off across the alley.

Lewellyn and Shavonne went after the stalker. It was an alley with discarded pieces of paper, cans, unidentifiable dirt, shards of glass, and mud. Mud was engraved on the soles of the stalker, Lewellyn and Shavonne’s shoes. Because Shavonne’s running was slow, there was no face-to-face encounter between the stalker and Shavonne.

However…

“You run really well. Nobody would think you’re an ordinary person.”

It was a dim alley that didn’t have a single light. The stalker, who was sitting on the side of the alley and holding his breath, flinched and hardened as if he had been struck by lightning. There was a strong sense of vigilance on the stalker’s face looking back at him.

It’s not that he couldn’t guess who it was when he saw him from a distance, but Lewellyn became sure from a close distance. It was an incomparable sight, but the stalker didn’t seem to remember him. He only glanced up and down at Lewellyn like a stranger.

“Don’t you remember? We’ve met.”

He smiled. The stalker spoke with the vigilant look still on his face.

“I don’t know.”

“You know,” he replied, still with a smile on his face. His smile tilted as he tilted his head. “You guys broke up in front of me. You and Mr. Shavonne, the one you’re stalking again today.” He added nonchalantly. “Your relationship is shattered to the point where you can’t stick it together again.”

Not sure, the stalker questioned his relationship with Shavonne. Lewellyn decided to answer obediently. He had a secret intention, but tried to look mild anyway.

“I’m close to Mr. Shavonne.”

Very, very close. He eyesmiled.

No sure, the stalker questioned how close they were. He decided to give a soft answer. It was a provocation, but it seemed like a mild answer anyway.

“I don’t know. You and Shavonne are sleeping under one roof?”

He wasn’t wrong. Lewellyn and Shavonne were sleeping under the “one” roof of the Ira apartment house (divided into 302 and 303, respectively). Lewellyn thought he was only born with a handsome face (and this and that), but he was about to praise himself for being born with a natural talent as a demagogue too. The stalker attacked him. The stalker’s eyes were boiling with fierce jealousy.

At the moment, he didn’t know if the stalker was trying to choke him or grab him by the collar. But there was one thing that he knew.

The next moment, the stalker plunged to his feet.

The stalker fell and couldn’t move. He looked down at the stalker. Lewellyn didn’t mean to kill him. It wasn’t the hunter’s job to kill people recklessly. That was what a butcher did. As always, excessive suppression wasn’t the required skill for him.

Wolf hunting takes place in Bunch every fall. It was a hunt that earned money and honor as it caught an object, but all hunters hunted only adult wolves. They didn’t catch the baby wolves and let them go.

Of course, Lewellyn didn’t let them go. He amputated a baby wolf’s foot. It was just one foot. It didn’t matter whether it was the front foot, back foot, left foot or right foot. The purpose was so they weren’t a threat to people when they grow up. Unlike a wolf with all its limbs, a wolf without one was easy to subdue.

He thought. That also applies to people.

“You know what?” He opened his mouth. “It’s going to hurt a little.”

A wolf without a limb or a one-armed stalker. It was the same.

The problem was that the stalker was desperate. He broke into the apartment building in Ira with his broken right arm and attacked Shavonne. It was like a wolf without a limb trying to bite a person that approached.

Lewellyn couldn’t make head or tail of it. If he were him, he would retreat. Moving forward was like committing a blind suicide. The target he was attacking wouldn’t be Shavonne but Lewellyn, the one who broke his arm.

But the stalker didn’t. He couldn’t tell what the stalker was thinking, how he felt, and what strategy he was planning. It was very difficult to understand ordinary people.

It was up to him to deal with the stalker. He was going to kill him, but Shavonne put a limit on him not to kill him. Lewellyn was thinking of human trafficking, but Shavonne imposed restrictions on human trafficking. That’s why it became more cumbersome to deal with than he thought in the first place.

The outskirts of South Bunch were deserted. Even more so at an ambitious point of view like now. It was night. The alley was dark because the lights were off and the sound of leaves scattering could be heard whenever the wind blew.

The stalker didn’t wake up. The body lying on the floor was as still as a dead body. Sitting on the banks waiting for the stalker to wake up, he glanced down at his watch.

2:29 am.

Lewellyn thought he would wake up in an hour, but since he couldn’t open his eyes even after an hour and 20 minutes, the stalker seemed to have poor physical strength.

It was quite some time later that the stalker woke up. His eyelashes seemed to tremble, and soon he opened his eyes.

“Hello.” Lewellyn said with a lovely voice. “I’m sorry to see you again.”

Lewellyn rose from the riverside and walked to a stalker. The stalker tried to get up but couldn’t. He was cringed like a bug, either because he just woke up, or because I couldn’t use his right arm, but he repeated stretching. Meanwhile, Lewellyn had already arrived before the stalker’s eyes.

He sat down and raised the stalker’s chin with his fingertips to raise his head.

“I thought I warned you enough, but I guess I didn’t.”

He added. “Or maybe Mr. Basch ignored my warning.”

The stalker looked up at him. The focus was slowly returning to the blurry eyes. As soon as the stalker came to his senses, what he said was somewhat out of his expectations.

“Sleeping under one roof with Shavonne… That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

The stalker laughed. It was a laugh that made the viewer feel uncomfortable.

However, Lewellyn couldn’t break his pace with such provocation. He was calm and took it casually. “Of course. You didn’t think it was a lie?”

“You don’t have any relationship with Shavonne, were you?”

As expected, he was calm. Lewellyn took it casually. “I don’t know. We’re going to be in a relationship soon, so I can’t say for sure.”

“No. It’s never going to happen.”

The laughter started again after the stalker spoke. His lips dried up and Lewellyn could look into his gums. He couldn’t guess. Lewellyn, who had to be calm, who had to take it casually, would lose his temper at the next moment when the stalker added something.

“Because Shavonne loves me.”

Lewellyn stopped. Not only his body, but also the heart, blood flowing through blood vessels, memories, thoughts, and five senses seemed to have stopped. He couldn’t see anything and couldn’t hear anything. He didn’t feel anything. The moment was as long as an eternity, and…

He slapped the stalker on the cheek with his hand supporting his chin. It did not end at the level of bending his head because the hit was powerful. The stalker turned round with a sound of a sound. He collapsed and crumbled and spat something out like throwing up. It was bloody saliva and teeth. The teeth rolling on the floor were white.

Lewellyn approached. He stepped on the back of the stalker’s head. The dirt on the sole of the shoe scattered among the stalker’s hair. The stalker groaned but Lewellyn didn’t care.

“He loves you?”

The face asking was cold. The bright yellow eyes were flickering with strange light.

The stalker didn’t answer. It was a matter of course. The back of his head was trampled on, so his nose was covered on the ground. Rather than talking, he couldn’t even move his lips. The soil penetrated into his mouth, which was not closed or opened. The stalker’s expression was distorted.

He kicked the stalker’s head. A peculiar dull sound sounded when he hit something hard. The stalker was knocked out. Blood ran down his forehead. It was indistinguishable because of the dark night. Lewellyn didn’t even look at him.

“Shavonne never loved you.”

He grabbed the stalker’s hair and lifted it. The stalker couldn’t see him as he was busy spitting blood and dirt. It wasn’t until Lewellyn pulled his hair back that he could finally face him.

While Lewellyn was expressionless, the stalker’s expression was crumpled, as it was very painful to have his hair pulled, pulled back, and his head sharply bent. He looked down at the stalker. Lewellyn’s gaze felt like a stuffed animal in the shape of a person because there was no blinking that a person would have.

Soon, he opened his mouth. A voice that sounded as if chewing flowed through the lips.

“You’re just a disposable toy.”