Chapter 10: The Ultimatum
The door slammed shut, the vibration rattling the lone picture frame on the wall. Leonid leaned his forehead against the cool wood, the landlord’s words—Friday, or you’re out—still buzzing in his skull like a trapped wasp. He could still smell the man’s cheap aftershave.
He pushed off, running a hand through his damp curls. The shower had been scalding, just like she’d said it should be. He hated that he’d noticed.
His room was a testament to managed chaos. Textbooks formed precarious towers on the floor. A volleyball rested in a dented clean laundry basket. On the desk, beside an empty energy drink can, lay the flyer. Thick, expensive cardstock. Marcus Van Hayden Welcomes You to His New Digs! An address in the Crestview lofts, the kind of place with a concierge.
A plan, cold and simple, clicked into place. It wasn't even a plan. It was an inevitability.
He pulled out his phone, thumbed to a group chat labeled The Benchwarmers.
Leonid: Party at Crestview tonight. New money kid. Open bar.
Dimitri: I heard. Parents bought him the whole floor. You thinking of going?
Leonid: We're all going. We're gonna be friendly.
A pause. Then Anton replied.
Anton: Friendly how? You done playing nice after your little performance today?
Leonid’s thumb hovered. He saw Jennie’s stunned smile. He typed fast, the old armor snapping back into place.
Leonid: Shut up about that. Meet at my place at 10. Wear something you don’t mind getting beer on. We’re helping the rich kid understand campus life.
They understood. No more details were needed.
The party was a sensory assault. Bass thumped through the polished concrete floors, strobe lights cutting through a haze of vape smoke and expensive cologne. People clustered around a literal ice luge. Leonid moved through the crowd, a pleasant, vacant smile on his face, accepting a beer he didn’t drink.
He spotted Marcus easily. He was the center of a laughing group, holding court in a designer shirt two sizes too small. He had the look of someone who’d never been told ‘no’ in a way that stuck.
Leonid watched, calculating. He saw the way Marcus touched shoulders, the condescending tilt of his head. He saw the gold watch, the careless way he left his wallet peeking from his back pocket when he leaned over the pool table.
“That’s him?” Dimitri murmured, appearing at Leonid’s shoulder.
“That’s him.”
“He’s already wasted.”
“Perfect.”
They waited. They played a few rounds of pool, lost loudly, laughed at Marcus’s terrible jokes. They were just a couple of cool, approachable guys from the volleyball team. Leonid felt a familiar disconnect, a hollow space behind his ribs where something like remorse might have lived. He thought of the gym, the feel of the towel in his hand. He pushed the thought away.
It was near 1 AM when they made their move. Marcus was stumbling toward the building’s rear exit, mumbling about needing air.
“Hey, man, let us help you,” Leonid said, slipping an arm under his. His voice was all brotherly concern. Dimitri took the other side.
“Thanks, guys,” Marcus slurred, his breath sour with top-shelf whiskey. “Awesome party, right?”
“The best,” Leonid agreed.
They guided him out the door, away from the thumping music, into the narrow service alley behind the building. The air was cold, smelling of damp brick and garbage. The festive glow from the windows didn’t reach here.
Once the door wheezed shut, muffling the noise, the act dropped. Leonid and Dimitri released him. Anton stepped out of the shadows, blocking the alley’s mouth.
Marcus swayed, blinking. “Hey. Where’s… the fresh air?”
“This is as fresh as it gets,” Leonid said. His voice had changed. It was flat, devoid of the party-boy friendliness.
Marcus’s drunken brain took a second to process the shift. Fear, slow and syrupy, began to dawn in his eyes. “What’s up?”
“We’re having a little financial seminar,” Leonid said, taking a slow step forward. “See, some of us have tuition. And rent. And landlords with ugly neckties who want money by Friday.”
“I… I can loan you some cash, guys. No biggie.” Marcus fumbled for his wallet.
“A loan implies repayment,” Dimitri said, leaning against the brick wall.
“We’re thinking more of a donation,” Anton added, cracking his knuckles. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet alley.
Marcus finally got it. The pretense of camaraderie evaporated. His face hardened, the spoiled child beneath surfacing. “Fuck you. You think I’m just gonna give you my money? My father will have you expelled. He’ll have you arrested.”
Leonid smiled. It was a cold, mirthless stretch of his lips. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, his fingers closing around the familiar, worn handle. He’d carried it since he was sixteen, a gift from an uncle who didn’t believe in peaceful resolutions.
He didn’t pull it out fast. He did it slow, letting Marcus see every deliberate movement. The click of the release was a sharp, final sound. The blade caught a sliver of distant light, a silver gleam in the gloom.
Marcus’s bravado vanished. His eyes locked on the knife, wide and white.
Leonid stepped closer. He could smell the sweat cutting through the whiskey on Marcus’s skin. He pressed the flat of the cold blade against Marcus’s cheek, just under his eye. Not hard enough to break skin. Just enough to feel the steel.
“You have rich parents, right?” Leonid’s voice was a low, intimate whisper, almost soothing. “They can spare a few hundred for my rent. They won’t even notice it’s gone. But I’ll notice. My landlord will notice.”
A tear, hot and sudden, tracked down Marcus’s cheek, meeting the metal. He was trembling. “Okay. Okay. Just… don’t.”
“Wallet,” Leonid said.
Marcus fumbled it out, hands shaking so badly he dropped it. Dimitri scooped it up, quickly pulling out a thick stack of bills. He whistled softly.
“Eight hundred,” Dimitri said.
“See?” Leonid said, the blade still resting on the boy’s skin. “Not even a thousand. Pocket change.” He finally lowered the knife, snapping it shut with a definitive click. The sound made Marcus flinch.
“Now,” Leonid said, pocketing the weapon and taking the cash from Dimitri. He stuffed it into his own jeans. “You’re going to go back to your awesome party. You had too much to drink, stumbled, maybe scraped your face on a doorframe. You don’t know what happened to your money. You lost it. And you will never, ever look at me or my friends again. Understand?”
Marcus nodded, a frantic, jerky motion.
“Good.” Leonid patted his shoulder, the gesture sickeningly friendly. “Get out of here.”
Marcus didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled past Anton, slipping on the wet pavement before vanishing around the corner, back toward the light and the noise.
The three of them stood in the sudden silence of the alley. The adrenaline was a sharp, metallic taste in Leonid’s mouth. Dimitri let out a long, shaky breath. “Christ, Leo.”
“It’s done,” Leonid said, his voice tired. He felt empty. The money in his pocket felt like a lead weight.
As they walked back toward the dorm, the streetlights casting long, distorted shadows, Leonid’s phone buzzed. A single notification lit up the screen.
Jennie: The optimal sleep cycle begins now. Your cortisol levels are likely elevated. You should be in bed.
He stared at the message. She was always there, a silent witness to everything, even when she wasn't. He saw the knife again, the terrified gleam in Marcus’s eye. He saw the clean, folded towel in the gym.
He didn’t reply. He just kept walking, the weight of the cash and the weight of her attention pulling him in opposite directions, stretching him thin. The rent was paid. The problem was solved.
So why did everything feel so much worse?