A Game Of Chess With A Vampire
Chapter 386: Slow Down!

Chapter 386: Slow Down!

Olive took a deep breath. "I won’t force you to tell me since you obviously do not want to. I suppose I’m a stranger to you. You lied." He turned around and stormed out of the bathroom.

"Olive—" Valentine flinched at the sound of the aggressively closed door. He stared into nothingness and slowly turned to look at himself in the mirror.

It is better to keep it to myself than make them sad and pity me. He sighed and began to wash his nose, which had finally stopped bleeding.

He grabbed a tissue, folding it into a slim, long piece, and shoved it into his nostrils to block any more bleeding.

Valentine exhaled and left the bathroom. He turned to make his way to the guest room but came to a stop. His eyes shifted to the door that leads to Olive’s room, and he turned, proceeding towards the door.

He gave three light knocks. "Olive?"

But no response came.

Valentine sighed, understanding that he probably didn’t want to talk to him. Regardless, he had to give him an explanation; otherwise, he might not get a chance to do so again, thus ruining their relationship.

Not to mention the fact that he could possibly drop dead anytime, even a second from then.

With a deep breath exiting his nose, Valentine turned the handle and opened the door. He stepped inside, shutting the door quietly in order not to make too much obnoxious noise.

"Why are you here?" Olive, who was lying on his side on the bed with his back facing him, asked.

Valentine came to a stop. "I want to talk, Olive. Listen to—"

"Please leave. I’m not interested. And I really think you should go home. Whether competing or not, you shouldn’t be here." Olive’s tone was heavily cold as if he didn’t even want Valentine to take a step close to him.

Valentine stared at his figure in the slightly dim room, unwilling to leave without settling things with him. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge.

"I told you to leave, Valen—"

"It might be too late when you would be willing to hear me out," Valentine interrupted him, his voice empty and gentle.

Olive stared at him, his brows furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

Valentine turned around and climbed into the bed. He laid down on his side and faced Olive with an apologetic expression on his face.

"What are you doing?" Olive asked, frowning.

"I’m sorry," Valentine apologized, shifting closer to him.

"What are you sorry for?" It was obvious that Olive was angry. "You don’t have to apologize for not telling me anything. You are not obligated to do so."

Valentine gazed at him, and, absolutely peeved by his awful attitude, he flipped himself over to lie on his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Can you stop being so cold? I hate this side of you!"

"You didn’t appreciate it when I was being nice." Olive glared at him.

"I get it, and I’m very sorry, gosh!" Valentine deeply exhaled, exhausted. He ran his fingers through his hair that was scattered on the bed and closed his eyes. "You are really...my best friend, Olive. The only friend I have is myself and that is the truth."

"You are not a stranger to me, and you would never be. I am just not telling you what the issue is because I do not want you to worry, pity me, or try to do something you shouldn’t do. I don’t want you to feel sad for me or feel that I’m some kind of egg that needs to be pampered or else it might break."

"So you are saying that it’s not okay for me to worry about you?" Olive asked, feeling irritated.

Valentine quickly disagreed and turned his head to look into his eyes. "That is not what I meant. It is okay for you to worry; I mean, you are already doing so."

"Then what is the problem?" Olive questioned. "Why won’t you say something to me? Why won’t you give me an explanation?"

"Because..." Valentine stared and softly took a deep breath. "I’m dying, Olive."

Olive took a moment before he understood and processed his words. He blinked, propelling himself up from the bed to look at him. "You are what?"

"I’m dying, Olive. It is only a matter of time. I have this unknown illness, it is not contactable, but it has killed my system, and I can only live for so long. It probably won’t even be up to a month." Valentine shrugged. "It could even be next week, tomorrow, today, in an hour, a few minutes, or even—"

"Hey, hey! Slow down!" Olive yelled at him and moved over to loom above him, leaving him under him. "You are not dying, and please—"

"Olive, what are you doing?" Valentine asked, gazing up at him. "You are-"

"Shut the hell up, you idiot!" Olive glared at him, looking as though he could punch him in the face if he uttered another word. "What the hell do you mean by dying? What is this fucking illness?"

"I honestly don’t know." Valentine shook his head. "It is hereditary, and I inherited it from my mother. I don’t know what it is, nor do I know if it has an antidote. My mother died from it too, and the same fate—’

"Shut up about fate. I didn’t ask about that!" Olive glared.

Valentine frowned at him. "Why are you so agitated, Olive? I know that I didn’t tell you, but you don’t have to be so fucking angry."

"I don’t have to? I wonder how you would feel if your best friend was dying, but he or she never said a word about it to you. Would you be happy?" Olive questioned, growing nettled with every passing second.

Valentine had no way to refute his words. He could only turn his face to the other side, guilt written all over his expression.

"You are heavy," he muttered.