Tw(s): obsessive and possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, coercive control, stalking, isolation from others, psychological abuse, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dependency, implied emotional abuse, invasion of privacy, and yandere themes. This work depicts fictional toxic relationship dynamics and should not be interpreted as healthy or aspirational behavior.
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Husband Leon who makes sure you never lift a finger in anything. Whether it's housework or cooking, he insists on doing it all by himself, shutting down your protests and attempts to help by a ‘You should rest, darling’.
Husband Leon who, despite his exhausting work, wakes before you to prepare a tray of breakfast and brings it to your shared bed before gently shaking you awake, sealing a kiss on the very middle of your forehead then murmuring a honeyed ‘mornin’, sweetheart.’ against your skin.
Husband Leon who makes sure you eat. Skipping a meal is almost impossible during his constant watch and if you happen to manage he becomes a tad between upset and angry. ‘Do you want to make me sad, darling?’
Husband Leon who adorns you from head to toe with gifts. Expect jewelry, roses or a box of chocolates as soon as he steps a foot into your shared apartment. If you ever throw a thing he gifts you away or shift an atom of your expression to dislike, he'll look at you with those blues of his, arming a sadness that causes your heart to stumble on its own rhythm with guilt. ‘Don’t you like it?’
Husband Leon who every evening asks about your day, in complete detail, unabridged. The littlest details are something he regards as precious, wanting to dig deeper and see how your mind engineers him. ‘Do you miss me when I'm away?’
Husband Leon who at any given chance, wouldn't keep his hands and lips to himself. A kiss in the morn, one in the evening, and a rain of them before bed. Holding you among his arms, cradling your head just above the heart. ‘You have no idea how much I love feeling you.’
Husband Leon who waits by the room’s door when you're on the phone with someone. If the call gets too long, he chokes you with questions. ‘Who was that? Why did they call? What do they want?!’
Husband Leon who immediately frowns when you mention you want to be alone. ‘I was just worried about you.’
Husband Leon who glares at you when another name but his rolls off your lips. ‘Who are they?’
Husband Leon who, despite all of his loyalty to you, can't help but to sense you're unfaithful. ‘Darling, are you playing behind my back?’
Husband Leon who aborts all of your attempts to leave, using his connections and resources. A job opportunity vanishes, a landlord rejects your application and someone who knew you for a very long time steps out of the picture. It leaves you frustrated, disappointed, and at loss. Before you can cry, he's already there, wrapping his arms around you like a vice. ‘Don't cry, you have me, forever.’
Husband Leon, who truly does not imagine letting you go. Who thinks you're part of him and he a part of you, like two hearts conjoined by a sole artery. ‘We're one and together, baby, never let go of me’.
Synopsis: Debt-stricken and broke, you accept the attention of Mr. Kennedy, who seems almost too happy to have you. But after one careless confession, the man who adored you begins to reshape your world in ways you never imagined.
Based on this short piece.
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This story contains sugar dating / transactional relationships, power imbalance, manipulative or possessive dynamics, psychosis, female body horror, violence, and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised. Minors please do not interact.
Chapter Tw(s): psychological manipulation, emotional abuse, coercive relationship dynamics, gaslighting, trauma and PTSD discussions, grief and bereavement, references to suicide and its aftermath, death and parental loss, survivor's guilt, implied stalking and possessive behavior, alcohol intoxication leading to loss of inhibition, panic attacks and nightmares, graphic threat imagery (including imagined axe violence and intrusive thoughts), depictions of fear and paranoia, unhealthy power imbalances and nudity.
Multiple-Chapter Work II AO3 Il previous chapter.
𝐼𝐼.
Awakening broke like a false dawn, deceptively bright and too early for it's dark. In, out, about, above and below¹, there was nothing but a veil of dimness stained with red beneath. A taste of rust bloomed in the back of your tongue, ceasing not no matter how much you swallowed, a drum thumping in your skull on a troubled rhythm. Slowly, you opened your eyes: the sun had just begun blinking, ray casting shyly through the curtains. You rolled on your back, groaning a little too loud and stretching your limbs to shake off the slugs crawling under your skin; the ceiling is too high and the mattress is too mushy— this wasn't your apartment.
Sitting up, nervous system flouncing like an animal caught on fire; the room was strange and the corners sank empty, wallpaper pallid and the sheets’ scent too strong to belong to your skin— It was Leon’s. This is his room. recollections of last night flooding back to your mind: you slept while studying for the anatomy’s exam, which was mere hours away. In an image of a cat thrown in water, you jumped from the bed, running around the room in search of your stuff; desperate for a cold shower, a breakfast and most importantly a haste revision for whatever your brain caught from yesterday’s notes.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.”
You turned around, none other than Mr.Kennedy. For whatever reason, seeing him was a juxtaposition of relief and unease. like you were not alone and at the same time you had your back shot with many cosmic stares. You rubbed your eyes to soothe the burn of sleep, catching a few tears in your fingertips “Morning…”
Nude as Apollo, water drops pearling that pale fabric of his flesh, trickling down from the very root of his hair to the nail of his toe; some sort of an aphrodisian prime. You had seen his body thousands of times before yet it seems the more you let your eyes wander the less you see the man and further you clutch the sculpture: hewed collarbones dunking in the frail cushion just right under the trachea, a bow of a spine curving outwards (He'd been hit so many times on his back for nearly thirty years. ‘It hurts like a sonna’fa hell whore’ he said.), you suggested he should try postural therapy; his response was a snort accompanied with a ‘How about you specialize in bones and treat my back yourself? You'll have your hands massaging my back this time’. you were concerned more for the fact that he had to get his spinal cord twisted for a living. His pectoral muscles took a double square space across his chest, placed atop a set of six packs— a feather over his head that gave him the charm. Normally at his age there’d be a jellying belly above his pelvis, instead there was a trail coating muscle down to a manhood of which ignoring was impossible.
“Like what you see?” you were pulled to the shore from your reverie at his inquiry. You averted your eyes back to his face to where a ghost of a smile with a knowing look glinted “You've seen me lots before,” he rotated the towel on his chest, slow and precise, purposely making the pec muscle jump “What’s different now?”
A desert in your throat. swallowing to balm the heat was of no use. Waking after a long slumber, still in dress and bra —now that you've caught up fully with your body— and with someone as noticeable as Mr.Kennedy. You'd wonder at times how you managed to punch above your weight by having his attention— he did like you when you cleaned his wound one night, according to him. When you had your shift, barely awake and ready to cuss, he came limping with a trail of blood on his right arm. It wasn't that you lacked confidence or self esteem, it was how oddities of catching a big fish actually happened. There were many —if not whole— far better hunters than yourself, possessing natural pizzazz and arming glow with a mere smile, you won nonetheless.
“Don't you get tired of it sometimes…” Before you could stop your thoughts from being voiced, you watched his hand holding the towel freeze. He asked, squinting his eyes “Tired of what?”
There was no sense in keeping it to yourself now, he heard you and seemed to get the gist. Leon hated secrets and valued honesty the most. You thought of a better wording, gesturing towards him and the room, no idea of what you trying to get at “Y'know… being…”
He crossed his arms. Waiting for your question to land properly.
“...looked at in that way?” you mustered at last. When his silence stretched uncomfortably, you added, hoping he'd either not answer or sweep aside the topic “...You told me before you didn't like when… certain people looked at you like you were a candy in a wrapper and it bothered you a lot…” daring not continue, you let it sink quietly. This is a lesson from many other thousands of the importance of thinking before speaking.
Never had there been a time when stupidity suited itself on you. Standing across him like a student waiting for the teacher's wave of scolding in front of the whole class, you couldn't do anything other than the luxury of regarding his expression; the way he munched the inside of his cheek, lips pressing in a thin line, eyebrows meeting in one spot before he asked, curt as a wire “Is that what you see?”
Your heart sank “N-No, I meant other people—”
“You're no different.”
You tilted your head backwards, the directness of it jolting surprise. Mr.Kennedy, at times, gushed out all the sharp things he hid at once, burying them long enough till they feathered against his skin. Dealing with his moods was much like setting foot in a shore of calm; waiting for a sudden, massive wave of water to strike. It was irregular, can be too close or suspiciously tame. Men are the emotional ones. Nana said during a random call one night. They can't keep the snake down their knickers let alone how they feel. A particular tale for her example was an angry rant about how a cousin of hers flipped the whole dinner table just because he lost in a cockfighting match in the neighborhood. Spending hours cleaning a mess of food on the floor cost a week worth of groceries and good teeth. Leon wasn't violent or loud— he didn’t need such ways to let others (including yourself) know when they've crossed the line or when the last candle of his patience burned. A strong sign of strength for sure, you admired that. However, facing a mountain was a trudge in glass, so is handling a quiet man with a background you almost knew nothing of and with a ton of connections.
Remaining putty was the only way out. You clasped your hands, letting him gut out all what he had to say.
“I've seen plenty like you. But you happened to be smarter.” he moved the towel to an arm, wiping equably “You know when to stay, you know when to disappear, you pay attention, you learn, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like that about you.” The acute pale blue in his eyes jarred you, unnatural in their gape; blood moon illuminating a dark valley. In rare occasions of his exhaustion, the pale blue discolored into a worn gray, glitter of something in the bloodshot waterline. Kissing him even with eyes wide shut made your nerve endings spike.
He switched to the other arm “You don't pretend you're different either. You know when to drop the act, most don't.”
You were well aware he was knowing of your chameleonic facade: if Leon was in a good mood you had to play on the harp of his joy. if he appeared to be grim you had to make him feel better. If he had a terrible day, fawning on him was to be done. It was part of the unspoken ‘agreement’; hearing him explicitly call it out was out of the ‘rules’. He's a grown man— of course he knows you're pretending doll for cash, so why does it surprise you and —apparently— annoy him? Last night's conversation in the car was out of character too, he never questioned casual things so deeply.
He threw a razor-sharp look at you, mouth resting naturally “That's why you're still here.”
You do get the point he's trying to slide across. You relate to it on a daily basis. Mind you, he paid you to be with him, he bought your wishlist, he keeps in touch, he clears all of your debts and pays all your bills in a way a genie in a bottle can't handle: without limits and for a simple exchange. What would make him upset now? logically, putting on a show then complaining of the leers coming your way was absurd. If he wishes for something real, he shouldn't grab at illusions so hard.
Meek as milk, you delivered the antidote to his sour tenor “Who said I wasn't happy to be with you, Leon?” Stepping closer, you took the towel from his fingers, wiping his shoulder “You make my days better. I can't imagine how my life would go without you in it.” You smoothed the towel on his shoulder blade, drying it well before planting a kiss on the muscle; tracing scent of his shower gel fragrant to the senses “Don't be mad at me. I know I wasn't the best lately but I promise you're always my first priority. I’m just so busy now— y’know how college goes” you imprinted your digits on the ashen cutis, crimson meat and light bone and nerve underneath sensitive in a sense of detecting your hand. “Speaking of which, you're driving me to my apartment first, then to med school. I have an exam and I wasted a lot of time staying over.”
He took back the towel in a gentle manner, maybe he did calm down. “There's no exam,” he responded. “a fire broke out in the lab building. Everything got cancelled for today.”
When? there were no updates posted nor did Mai text you about it—
“Check your phone.” he said coolly, opening his closet to fetch some clothes “Emails were sent, the group updated, the whole department knew except you because you had your ass knocked out yesterday.”
That landed a tad up aggressive. you held back a sassy remark in favor to get his own old ass taking you back home. “You still have to drive me. I gotta shower and change—”
“You're not going anywhere”
At that, you scoffed. “And why is that?”
“You're going with me tonight” putting on a wife beater, he explained “a friend invited us for dinner. Got you a dress and those coco shoes you've been chattering about for days. Make sure you keep your pretty mouth in the line”
“I am in the line, Mr.Kennedy” you rolled his last name mock-respectively “Didn't know there was a dress code for breathing too. anything else my lord?”
The glare in his eyes didn't match that drop of amusement in his lips. No doubt he enjoyed being vexed sometimes. “That's enough. I just want you to be more polite, that's all darling.”
“I am, always.” As he reached for a boxer, you asked “And what's the occasion? why would you introduce me to your friend?”
“They're just curious about you and want to see you.”
“They?” you puckered your lips, chaining the rising smile “Multiple friends or…?”
“Yeah. Three.”
Half of the devil’s number.
“What makes them ‘curious’ about their dear Leon’s sugar baby?”
Quicker than you can think, the loud slam of the closet's door alerted your sensorium. Flinching back, you didn’t quite pick at what made him livid this time till he inquired, pressing on every word “Is that what you want?’’ his forehead fissured sorely, blues a frosted glass. His breathing slowed nothing of relaxation; you successfully stepped on a mine you didn’t know was there.
“Want what?...’’ it came out small, butchered, so out of character. you took pleasure in rattling his cage most of the time, what made it different now that he was dead aim serious. The strained pause swelled, daring you to speak further and tenderize things with that honeyed tongue of yours as you usually do, but now your instinct ordered you to keep quiet.
He closed a fist on the door’s handle, knuckles losing drops of blood “If things are going to be this way, then you should stop asking questions about my life. You're here to look good on my arm and keep your mouth shut unless you look pretty talking. Is that what you want? another list of things you couldn't buy? a dog you whistle at to come drive you back and forth? I can stop being nice and start treating you like trash if that will make you serious about this.’’ he exhaled loudly, dragon blowing fire “You know damn well you wouldn't last another year in that precious little school If it wasn't me at your back. If you want to be a doctor then you'll have to work hard but apparently you're just a lazy, selfish and an evil wrapped in a little beautiful face to do anything yourself. Do tell me, do you go around using guys like this? am I the only one or do you have a side hustle?’’
You were too stunned to counter back. This wasn't a casual argument you both had; It was way more personal and never in those three months he lost temper like this. There had been a miscalculation which made the road filled with more rocks; Leon wasn't one to get angry over words. There's no way a simple ‘sugar baby’ can upset him because it is what this whole fiasco is about. You've dealt with a handful of men before: classmates, professors, ones who wore ego a shield, none coming near to the all jumping Leon made you do.
What did he truly want? You can never understand.
“You're right…’’ you droned, looking down at your feet. “I am the worst…instead of appreciating what I have, I was too busy thinking about my career while I should've been spending more time with you” You raised your head, altering your eyes at his so a mark of remorse would twinkle, a very opaque tear at your waterline. “I'm sorry for ever making you feel like you were not important, Leon”. dropping his name with a hushed reverence must have cast the spell: the old man's eyes softened; sharp blue now a deep midnight. “You don't know how much I love you… I wasn't showing you enough and it's my fault I don't communicate, but I promise you” slowly, you took his palm and placed it above your heart, locking eye contact “You'll always be my top priority, I promise.”
You waited for the mountain to collapse. It started very subtly that no eye minus yours could see it; the lines and contorts of his forehead and near his eyes relaxed, then his breathing deepened to a resting cadence. The cutting blade of his stare was there still, but sheathing little by little. For long seconds, he didn't say anything, seeping your words and weighing each promise you made. This old dog still panted for praise no matter how worn out it became, and you were happy to throw him a bone.
Leon licked the front of his teeth and zipped his lips as thin as a thread before quietly saying “Go shower, I'll give you my shirt to wear.”
On the pallid wall crested four fixtures, their frames wood except a one in golden hue.
Your hands were on autopilot, drying your hair in a motion their own muscle memory came up with; the old photos —two black and white, the other two polaroids— laid under glass; free-standing reminders of time lost. The far right one caught your eye: two men, handsome if the sharp lines of their jaws whispered something. One slightly taller, both having the sweetest smiles you've ever seen. They either were brothers or buddies closer than the vein, for the way they held each other and snaked an arm around each’s shoulders was unmistakably storgic². Under the picture, a haste scribbling of a sentence was written, you were squinting to try and read it until Leon clarified from behind you: “La famiglia Chinnici”.
You furrowed your eyebrows. He explained, not giving you a chance to ask the question “My father and my uncle. It was taken in 1955.”. Glad he gave a bit of context, it would look stupid thinking the taller one was Leon— both looked like Leon. Plus, he isn't that old to be photographed in the fifties.
“Which one is your father?”
“The short one.”
“Ah-ah!” you half-laughed, feeling warm at something isn’t yours. “So your father was the precious one?”
“No," Leon stretched his arms to pop his shoulder blades, cooly correcting “He was the eldest.”
“He seems like a nice man" You couldn't help but behold: Leon’s father must have told the best stories and given the brightest pieces of advice. “Will you introduce me to him one day?” His old man would love you, you're sure. Staring at the polaroid which had him hold a little Leon in his lap tickled your nerves sweet; so cute.
Only after a while of gawking at the pictures did you take notice of the sudden silence. You turned around— Leon went as rigid as a statue. You did it again, shoving your foot on it.
The disgusting crawl of slugs on your ribs rose to your throat, mucus and guilt soaked. He did refer to his father by using ‘was’, you were just too careless to pay attention. You collected whatever stray letters to stammer anything for unstiffening the air; him cutting your rope of thoughts short when he took close steps to the adorned wall, blasé expression contradicting a dark tone as he regarded the ghosts inside each image. “If you want to meet my old man, you're gonna need a shovel and a lot of free time.” He traced a finger on the wooden frame. “Or we can wait till a bioweapon takes out this city and you can say hi when you see him claw his way out of the dirt. Though I doubt he'll be able to say hi back when he's busy choking on worms and mud.”
It was like a bolt of ice striking your head. The way he spoke so casually with a tang of an inky scent reeking from his words— What was Leon anymore? you wondered. He had a sense of humor, yes, dry and dark; But this went to an extent you couldn't laugh at. Not like you would laugh at someone's dead father. The living room shrinked, walls threatening to cram your ribs. You wanted to jump out of the balcony and run, anywhere where you were away from this Leon. He wasn't to be handled in such situations and you've made sure to not dig too deep when first knowing him, yet your attempt at flattery played out poorly.
Wordlessly, he made his way back to the couch and sat, leaving you to eat your own tail. I'm not a boy. His words echoed like a siren from the distance. I know what I see and what I should have. I'm not interested in things that come and go. For sure, Mr.Kennedy is too earnest for any tricks. Playing a fool of yourself and ignoring the elephant would cost you if you don't act soon.
“I'm so sorry for your loss, Leon.” you whispered, the taste of remorse bitter on your tongue. You forgot at times he was beyond what he could offer. It'll be rude and straight up heartless to not give back the bare minimum of comfort. “I didn't know that… He's in a better place now and I'm sure he's proud of you.” Fondly, you held his neck from behind among your arms, cradling his skull and playing with the discolored locks of his hair. He didn't budge an inch, the same tight lines on his mein plastered glue; perhaps too upset to spare you forgiveness this time.
You sealed a sweet kiss near his eye “Are you still mad at me, babe?”
“No.” cold as the ninth circle came out. He, with no doubt, was upset.
“C’mon, y’know I didn't mean that,” Your index roamed on his sharp jawline; his stubble, unshaved and crass, pricked your fingertips. “I only wanted to get to know you better.”
“Now you want to know about me?”
“It’s fair since you already know nearly everything about me,” His neck still bloomed with the essence of his showergel, gulping it in your lungs long enough was just irresistible. “My schedule, all my modules, hospital rotation times and you even wanted to speak with Nana!” you giggled. “I don't think there's something you don't know about me. Either I'm a wide open book or you're a pro stalker”
What you hoped for was sweetening the mood. A bit of bratty play you usually carried out and made the smallest dot in his mouth’s corner twitch upwards. You were met by a set of wide eyes instead, a look of letting you know that you've said the prohibited.
“I’m a stalker for wanting to know my significant other better?” Leon asked, slowly delivering each word. As soon as you dropped that word, your work of comfort coagulated into a clotting stress on his nape and shoulders.
Significant other? Now it’s official? All that toeing around made you tired. “I didn't mean it that way.”
“You always don't mean what you say. Do you ever think before you speak, darling?” You could tell the last candle of his patience burned. The way he broke free from your embrace, facing you, dismayed face enough to compress you into rue. “I’m starting to think you do this on purpose because you hate me.” His lour mushed into something soft, hurt. “You said it yourself earlier… you're here for the money… aren't you?”
On which day he ever made you feel like a sugar baby? none. Leon cared; he asked about your day, he sent red roses, he helped you with many essays (even though you promised you'd watch a movie together), drove you whenever he had the chance, sacrificing the little time he needed for good sleep and proper eating. Only for you to pay him back with stepping on his wounds.
You wanted to talk to Nana so bad; to actually rest your head on her lap and ask her to dissect all of your fears and doubts, reduce them to small-girl issues you'd soon pass from. You chewed on the lower corner of your mouth: twenty-five, pretty, free as a bird yet in an aching need of comfort from your grandmother. What about Leon? orphaned from a time he barely remembers, torn apart from his youth till this very moment he's sitting distraught in front of you. He had no Nana, no one to come home to… Just a woman who uses his altered spine as stairs to her career.
For the next hours, you could merely give him a silence he craved to clear the fog out of his mind. He adored your voice, paradox being he didn't want to hear another word out of your mouth. It made you on edge how his silence dwelled even when driving to his friend’s place.
The incense of rosemary and garlic emerged from the inside, slow-cooked enough and soaked in olive oil to become part of the walls. You adjusted your fur coat around your shoulders, looking around, hand in Leon’s as you both got inside. The air was humid, typically cozy for an evening of a calm dinner; not enough for you to shake off the disquiet, however. Perhaps it was the fluorescent light in the dining room, or how the small chandelier hovered upon the table, looking less like an ornament and more like a surgical lamp. You shook Miss Birkin’s hand first— she was eager to finally have you around, you could tell; The warm vibration in her hand tingled yours into jelly. She had the face of a bakery’s poster girl: all sunshine and rainbows, radiant as a tree of pearls. Miss Redfield followed after, a tad bit less energetic but kind nonetheless. If it had not the dissimilarity in appearance, you would have believed that she and Miss Birkin were sisters, something about the energy around them just sings it.
Captain Redfield was an exception.
You felt it in your bones: the edge of his gaze, the brusque nod when he introduced himself, the slight press of his thumb on the soft flesh beneath your thumb. Leon spoke of him in a way a man told about a tough-loving brother. It wasn't absent to you how he, apparently, saw you like a jaguar in a cage, hesitant to let it roam around Leon. You shot him a wide smile, making sure to have the lipgloss shine extra for his analytical eye. That’d give him more reasons to overthink after this night.
“I'm so glad to be here,” you sweetly said after an exchange of introductions with each. “It means a lot to me to meet the most important people to Leon.”
Miss Birkin’s lips have not moved a drop from her welcoming smile.
“You make it sound like you're meeting royalty,” she giggled. “We're just people.” Her blue eyes drifted between you and Leon “Although I've honestly been wondering what kind of person could get him to leave work long enough and have a social life. He talks a lot about you, y'know.”
Miss Redfield nodded. “We've never seen him as invested in someone before as you.” she squinted her eyes, dropping the joke “Did you put something in his tea?”
You huffed, mock-offended “If anything, he was the one to put a thing in mine.”
Laughter erupted from the women. Leon glanced downwards at you “You'd trust me enough to drink it.”
You didn't miss the blush of jocosity beneath the words. Surely, you'd do. “I'd happily gulp it all. You can even put rat poison, bleach, anything you want, just make it taste sweet.”
Miss Birkin’s eyes carried the smile this time. She turned to Leon “She's lovely, Leon. You picked well for the first time in years!”
He rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall “She's got a terrible habit of handing me loaded weapons and acting surprised when I pick them up.”
Make the deer feel like a hunter. At times, you’d think Mr.Kennedy and Leon Scott were two different people walking as one. The former with claws and canines, the latter with eyes and lashes of a doe. Contradictions do make a man.
Miss Redfield ushered her head at the table, prompting everyone to sit. “Dinner is served, we can continue this while we eat.” Her gentle mein faced you, “And you can tell us more about yourself.”
A smile was all what you had to give.
You took your place next to Leon, as expected. vis-a-vis from you, Miss Redfield— Claire, as she insisted on being called, took her place. Chris (whom you thought didn't like you) sat next to her, grinning at you out of the blue, insisting you'd call him by his first name as well. You weren’t surprised when you were told they're siblings. The eyes said everything.
“Leon told us you're a medical student” Sherry ignited the table’s first conversation as her hands worked on serving each plate with generous portions of food. There was absolutely no nanosecond when did that smile change or alter in the slightest.
“I am!” you answered, coloring your tone bright yellow to match her energy. “Last year before specializing, actually.”
“That's amazing.” Claire said. “What are you picking?”
The food, for the very smell that it printed across the walls and your nose earlier, didn't meet the bare expectations you set in your head. It lacked color and the heavy vapor of a freshly cooked meal; something Nana would call a ‘cotton soaked and then served’. You grabbed your fork nonetheless, they were over the clouds to have you here and it's rude to criticize what took them hours to make. You replied politely “I'm thinking of pathology—”
It was as if you shot an arrow on each’s head that their spoons’ clanking halted. Chris’ face froze in the bite he took. Sherry didn't look up from her hands. Claire tilted her eyes at an empty corner. You rotated your head to look at Leon; he was just as silent.
And stung by something that wasn't meant to be let free.
“...Or surgery.” you continued, in an effort to ease the tension. It hasn’t been a minute and there's an elephant in the room already. “I've always wanted something that wasn't easy to do.”
Chris, with the spell freeze broken, resumed chewing and asked “Why would you go for pathology?” Swallowing, then taking another forkful, he clarified “Leon said you're the kind of person who’d fix anything easily. I'm sure it goes for people, too.”
How much did Leon tell them? Even in the eyes of someone who likes themselves a little too much as you, ‘fixing’ was a big word. The question now was more of ‘What did Leon really tell them?’
You twirled your fork, examining the question and choosing the best vocabulary, “I like finding out why things happen. Most people want to treat a disease, I want to know what caused it in the first place. Pathology feels like detective work,” You looked over at him, his greens took you in like a lens would. “And I enjoy researching things.”
Chris hummed. “That was what we used to say, too. Not to discourage you but trust me,” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, although he was clean. “You don't want to see the aftermath of disasters.”
Your eyebrows met in one dot they almost melted into each. “Why?”
The inquiry traveled longer than ten rounds of this room. Flying around heads like a bat in sunlight. Chris paused for a short time that extended uncomfortably, disclosing at last, clear as fog “Because eventually you stop seeing a body of someone.”
His fork, stricken by a gush of life in a way a fish out of the water was, thrashed between his fingers —you assumed he was toying with it to pass the line of thinking— added after a while “You start seeing numbers instead. Calculating casualties, making useless math to minimize how bad it is. Even when you're a good person, you lose the very same thing that makes you different from mindless monsters— empathy.”
A ghost of things, perhaps people, times, or places, haunted the four pale walls. When Chris went gravely, the other three went as well. You felt rude, all of a sudden, like a guest expecting a gala and arriving at a funeral singing. Lurked in a corridor within their brains a shadow you couldn't see to believe nor comprehend. They all were more than twenty years apart from you, but the age wasn't alone what made you stick out like a sore thumb among them— they shared a story you didn't know the least bit of.
Claire patted her brother lightly on the back, lost in thought herself. Sherry’s smile vanished. You almost forgot about Leon next to you.
“I know it's… extreme to bring this up while we eat…” Claire cut the silence, still patting Chris “But Chris’ right. He saw a lot of horrible things here and around the world— we all did.”
“We went through a traumatic experience once.” Sherry’s voice lost its warmth gradually, it was uncharacteristic, even for you, the one who just knew her for twenty minutes. “It changed all of us forever. Yet I’m thankful it made me come across Claire and Leon,” the smile returned, however, a tad of melancholy loured it. “They saved my life.”
At her heartfelt avowal, both Leon and Claire shot her a grateful smile, So did you; what was there else to hand anyway?
“I'm glad you found each other!” you just said, the salad plate on the table’s center looking suddenly interesting. You dared not ask what was the ‘traumatic experience’, you were already walking on thin ice and more awkwardness would ruin this evening.
She hummed. “But that was nearly thirty years ago. We're in the present now,” as spring sun would rise after a long winter, her beam returned like it was never gone. “Tell us more about yourself!”
“Yes,” Chris agreed. “If you matter to Leon you matter to us too. Consider yourself part of the family!”
“Don't be shy,” Claire urged right after. “You can trust us.”
Bless Nana. One of the very things she taught you was how people older than you weaponize politeness and acceptance to lure you into opening yourself wide like a book. The way to break out was playing completely stupid to see how far their facade would go. You mentally prepared yourself before saying, jolly as Pippa³ “I'm so happy to be in your company, really. No wonder why Leon is your friend.”
None spoke or countered. They were waiting for something.
They looked eerie. Blue to green shades of eyes catching the light and reflecting it in a way, least to be said about, reminded you of an island of dolls⁴, an uncanny valley you stood on its edge, staring at the thousands of light eyes gawking from the abyss. The chandelier casted a cutting illumination to make their skin a fabric of pure white— not a drop of blood, tan or blemish appearing.
Almost unreal, out of an Orwellian world.
Your lips parted, thinking of anything to ward off the fear that crawled like a disgusting slug. You ended up huffing a little laugh “It's almost like I’m joining a cult or something,” you gestured vaguely between them all and the room “Am I going to be sacrificed?”
The last word fell like a vase on a marble floor. Awaiting the tiniest shift in their comportments was a lost hope; no one laughed nor blinked. Turning aside to see Leon, his eyes were vacant as a blind man’s.
The agony ceased when Claire muttered, neutral “We're not,” her hand moved a spoon that didn't need to be moved. “You're too young to die this soon. And we still need you around.”
“You didn't answer my question.” Sherry reminded.
“Didn't Leon tell you enough about me?”
“Not what helps us know you better.”
“What do you want to know?”
She neatly placed her elbows on the table, gaze direct and can never be negotiated with. “How’d you meet him?” her eyes flickered to him and returned to you as quick. “How was it for you?”
You drew in a deep breath, the memory of that October night leaving traces in your mind’s eye. “I was on my night shift months ago. He came with a forearm laceration, which I helped in cleaning and stitching.”
“That’s all?” Claire doubted.
“Well… yes.” What were they hoping for? it wasn't a fairytale or some magical red-string-of-fate romance.
“Leon told us you took care of him all night,” Chris popped the joints of his fingers, one by one. “You checked up on him a lot.”
The furrowed brow atop your eyes sensed the twisted recollection before your ears did. Looking at Leon from the corner of your eyes, you noticed that not once did he ever utter a word or move a muscle. “Technically, this happened, but I had a resident guide me since I can't be completely responsible over a patient.” Your fingers took the glass’ stem, it was freezing cold. Taking a sip, you explained “I was instructed to check up on all the patients, including Leon, a little extra on a woman who had… attempted.”
Sherry’s forehead lines smoothed at the last word, a strike of compassion hitting her. “Oh that's awful. Did she get better?”
“Yes, but unfortunately at a cost.” a sigh flew off the twig of your rib. “She became paralyzed from the neck down. The last time I heard about her was when she got discharged. She had a few to support her.” The water in your glass fused into pure transparency, your mind summoning images of that young girl with the shell of eyes and the marks of rope around her throat. “I hope she's doing better now. I'm glad she survived.”
Was survival in her case to be rejoiced? your happiness for it seemed selfish to you— many who were almost lost to darkness couldn’t function even with fully able bodies. The wounds on the psyche were not like the wounds of the body; the latter can be cured, the former possibly never. What about her? who is both severed in flesh and soul? Would the love of others be ever enough to make her truly live?
Chris seemed to hear your pondering in his own head. If the distant look in his eyes conveyed anything, it’d be how deep he had a bell jar of an unpleasant memory stored somewhere in the shelves of his anamnesis. “Sometimes surviving is the hardest part.”
His sister’s posture mirrored his, as if both were connected by a thread moved by one person. or a thing.
“Years ago, I watched a man’s head fly off his body in Africa. There wasn't anything or anyone who could help him.” His eyes took the plate, not really catching any image. “Ever since then, I've never taken survival for granted. I used to feel unworthy of every breath I took after riding out a catastrophe that had people better than me, kinder than me or younger than me die in the most brutal ways possible. But the more I live, the more I realize that we make it for a reason.” He took his glass and shook it for a bit, watching the water swirl in the bottom. “Claire would be lonely without me as much as I'll be lonely without her. She’s the family I still have and I’d never trade her for an eternity of regret.”
A content sound left Claire’s throat before she held his hand in a silent gratitude. You figured that these two weren’t any ordinary siblings, even for someone who has none —like you—. not like you wished for any.
“If I was given the choice between living everything I've lived so far over again, and having a normal, quiet life where our parents were still alive or me being like everyone else; I'd pick the first in a heartbeat.” She mused, similarly in a manner Nana thought in. “I think our lives are exactly following the line where they should walk on. Everything happens for a reason. I read somewhere that we consciously choose our lives after living past ones⁵, and I can't help to think sometimes: if this life is what I chose and accepted, how bad were my past ones? It comforts me to know that despite all the sadness and pain my current life brought me, it was my will to live it anyway. And If I settled for a different fate, I wouldn't have met Leon or Chris, saved Sherry or—” she threw you a quick playful grin “lived enough to see Leon’s girlfriend.”
Spiders crept from below your spine to your nape at the word. There was a cardinal sin in putting such labels on yourself: girlfriend, significant other, lover… with you too above them or them further than you on a map. Blind loyalty is for dogs only, and you are absolutely no man’s best friend.
Sherry took the torch of talking. “I read something similar before. A philosopher⁶ called it amor fati.”
The Latin in your textbooks did nothing to help. You tilted your head, hoping for an elaboration, which she did, “It means ‘love your fate’. To accept everything that happened to you in life, not only the good things, but the bad things too; as if you’d choose to live the same life all over again.”
You laughed, “This is insane to be honest. If you were someone who lived comfortably, of course you'd choose the same life again. But others who were less lucky would pick something else or to ditch out completely.”
Her smile, for all its brightness, concealed a thing beyond your understanding. Your reflection in her eyes looked back at you. “Maybe.”
A pause.
“And that's exactly the beauty of it. It's not supposed to be fair.” She took her glass, smiling into the rim, “I think it asks whether there is even one thing in your life you’d refuse to lose. If changing one moment in the past meant you’d never meet that special someone, would you still change it?”
The answer for everyone wasn't much needed to be spoken loud. As for you, you were at a loss. Would you still change the very moment you met Leon if it meant having a better life, where you're a successful business woman or a rich brat? It should be a yes, but it was painful to think of it, let alone see it unfold.
Did you really want Leon in your life? you, the one who planned to block him and vanish once you became a doctor with a clinic of your own, now growing attached to his existence?
That wasn't part of the plan.
Sherry laughed, “See?” she turned to Leon, “Would you, Leon?”
“Never.” For the first time in the evening, he spoke, with certainty of a prophet.
A zephyr blew in your bones. Before you could register it, your head rotated to look at him: he already had his eyes at you.
“Even knowing everything that happened?” she asked him again.
“Even then.”
The room drowned in a midnight blue serenity that made you on edge. Apparently, no one has to die to go through purgatory. Sherry’s eyes found yours, patient, gentle; arming no accusation.
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes,” she made a faux-oblivious expression, mocking your answer. “You. would you still choose this life again, if it meant meeting Leon again?”
Your tongue tied itself within your mouth. You imagined yourself running around the corridors of your skull to fetch whatever reply was good for this. Wishes of an annoying sudden call from Mai, a vase falling to the floor or a terrorist explosion breaking outside seemed like a dream even a fairy wouldn't fulfill. You tapped the side of your glass, pretending to give the question genuine thought.
“I don't know, really,” you gave up. “If I had to relive this exact life forever, I'd ask for a user manual. or a skip option.”
Claire snorted. “I don't think this is how eternity works.”
“Then I'll file a complaint.”
“To who?”
You raised both hands, hoping the Plato in the room leaves. “Whoever approves this save file”
“You’d argue with the universe?”
“I argue with automatic doors.”
Sherry hid her mouth with her hand, "They're automatic”
“Exactly. They have one job.”
To your joy, the table bursted in hearty laughter. You took a deep breath, feeling the tension knots across your shoulders untie. You sipped your water to hide your own smile, not at the terrible excuse of a joke.
After a whole minute, Chris was the first one to recover, “Ethan would love this one”
It was just a small word of five letters, a name, yet it sent shockwaves through your nerves. Ethan? did they already figure it out? Does Leon know? Did you leave your phone unlocked with Leon before?
The panic was screeching and raw beneath your skin, if it wasn't for your static face and makeup, they would have noticed it as the sun at day. You asked, trying as best as you could to mask the tang of fear, “Who is that…?”
Chris’ mirth melted immediately. A melancholic remembrance befell him. “He was my friend.”
“Oh.” you sighed in relief; making it look like you were wearing the same skin of sorrow he had on. “I'm so sorry for your loss, I bet he was a nice man for you to remember him so dearly.”
“He was.” Chris said, eyes downcast at his hands. “Ethan was just like you. He put others before himself, made the air less tense; he was a great person. You two would get along well, but unfortunately, he isn't with us.”
You smiled sympathetically, "He's in a better place now. I'm sure he's watching everything from above.”
Thank the lord. This was a different Ethan, and whoever he was, you bought Chris’ words about him: he'd like you too, for sure.
“I hope he is,” Chris sighed. “It's tough. He left a little girl behind.”
A bird of blue nested. You felt your heart stumble on its rhythm.
A little girl left behind.
“That’s…” you reached for a word you felt in your marrow but found no letters for it. “Sad…”
“It is.” Claire murmured. “At least she was too little to remember it. Loss of loved ones hurts most when you remember them.”
“Even when they weren't the best.” Sherry added. “You feel the gap regardless of what shape it used to take in your life. Like a phantom limb.”
“I can understand," you expanded, glad that there was a little square you all stood on even in terms of parental absence. “My parents are out of the picture themselves, but at least I still have my grandmother. She took care of me ever since I can remember.”
“Oh that's so sweet! Leon did tell us you talk to your grandmother a lot.” Sherry said. “Do you call her often?”
“Yes. It’s a must.” you sipped your water. lukewarm. Wanting something colder in February would seem odd. “She’s the only one I can count on.”
“What does she think of Leon?”
‘He has something wicked behind his eyes!’
Nana’s words unleashed in your head like traps that waited eagerly to snap. She was, although all loving of everything and anyone, thinking of him like a ghost or a sleep paralysis demon. His eyes are terrifying. At first, you didn't see exactly where the terror was in a set of blue eyes; Leon wasn't the first nor he would be the last to have them, au contraire, they're beautiful. Yet recollecting on how this day started, how he gazed and glared, how the wrinkles around those eyes softened and pulled; you thought how that gray flash blinked in a heartbeat then left as fast as it came. An emotion sewed under his skin by time you only had to flay him and wear it to feel it.
Rage that hatched from long anguish. At the world? at you, perhaps?
You wouldn't be surprised if he was angry at you all along. You could picture it— Mr.Kennedy holding back the urge to bang your head open on the wall while stroking your hair; or splitting your stomach open with a hunting knife while laying in his lap. It felt closer, more romantic, ridiculously enough.
The corners of your mouth jumped. Before you realized it, you laughed. Genuinely amused; actually enjoying this dinner for the first time in hours.
Your ribs kept bouncing back and forth, warmth pooling under your eyelids, head light and butterflies swooshing in your vision. Part of you didn't care if it was inappropriate or rude anymore— you thought you'd gain catharsis from throwing a glass at someone, but the other part caught itself and arranged you back.
“I'm sorry…” you covered your mouth, laughter calming. “It's just… Nana thinks that Leon is a psychopath who'll kidnap and kill me… I feel like he is, sometimes…”
The cruel lamp above the table gawked as strong as ever, although now, with you feeling like you could walk on air, it appeared like a heavenly gate luring you into a paradise of everything you dreamed of. Maybe you are already dead, and you actually made it to heaven by Nana’s intercession. You let the words pour, honey in milk, circling the glass’ rim with an elegant, manicured finger, “She says his eyes are scary— they are,” you laughed quietly, a scene from months ago replaying in your head, “When he invited me for a coffee that day, I thought he was gonna arrest me; turns out he just wanted to buy me a cup of coffee!”
Giggles rising, your thoughts trailed, loud enough for the whole room to absorb. “I didn't complain though. He was super nice, doing all what nice men do: pay for me, call me pretty, ask about school…the thing is, I never asked him to do any, but he did anyway…”
Each atom of your face was on fire; joyous, enlightened by an exotic ecstasy no man's heart or liver could bring you. Your reflection on the spoon danced, casting you a sight of you rising as Aphrodite. You let your back rest against the chair, a draft of the apartment’s air hitting your exposed cleavage. You rasped, talking to the lamp above more than them, “I feel like the most dangerous men are the ones who do this… I've seen this before… acting all gentleman and paying for everything like you're homeless or something… but they just want to be seen with you… they don't like you, they just like how you look… I don't mind though… I just don't like the ones who pretend they're above it… those who act too strong to admit they’re weak… the ones who play rough… I don't like when men play rough…”
You fanned yourself with your hand, taking deep breaths between butchered laughs before continuing, “...The scary ones aren't loud…they’re quiet… they listen…they remember your birthday… your favorite color… they call you… they ask if you got home safe… All while waiting for something in return… thinking they have you…”
You played with your bracelet, twirling it left and right, taking a stupid glee in seeing the piece of jewelry glitter, “But they're a bunch of idiots, I know them well… but Leon though… He never lets me see it… he never asks for anything… and that bothers me. I kept waiting… I wanted him to prove me right… because then I’d understand him…”
A long exhale escaped your lungs, filled with so many things you kept locked, now leaving you in a single rant. relief soaked your senses during letting everything out, years of dolling were exhausting burdens which you were more than happy to let go of. “But he kept on being nice… So I kept bothering him… asking for him to pay for my stuff… asking him to drive me like he was my personal chauffeur” you dropped the last word with an accent, chuckling. “But he isn't making it easy… he keeps being nice like a dog… and I didn't know what to do… so I pushed him further… I told him to shave his face because I hated how his stubble pricked my face… and he did… I put sugar in his coffee many times although I knew he didn't like it… I kept joking about his age although I knew I liked how old he is… yet he still kissed me goodnight and sent sweet texts…God I’m such a mess…”
The silence was absolute. Alone at the end of the world, with your thoughts, the weight of your confession and the mass of your sins; you envelopped your face in your hands, waiting for the judgement to draw as it was near, but none came.
It was an unspoken law that ruled this shadow show⁷ called life: the most ruthless are loved by whom are the most merciful.
You heard it first.
The rain splattering across the passenger’s window, how the wipers rushed back and forth in working rhythm, and how Leon inhaled and exhaled, so quietly but too loud for your own ears that you heard it from the twilight of your consciousness. Slowly, the colors flew back into your vision and you saw him: eyes catching images of the road ahead, hands on steering wheel, and face sculpted in that idle expression, worn to tell nothing.
“How long have I been out…?” you asked, rubbing your eyes.
“An hour.” he answered.
You nearly jumped. How and why? You were talking to Sherry, then—
“I didn't help them with the dishes…” placing a hand on your forehead, you scolded, “You should've woken me. I don't want their first impression of me to be that I fall asleep at important times.”
“Don’t worry about it. They like you.” He turned, giving you a quick glance before bringing his eyes back at the road. “And I like watching you sleep.”
You exhaled, letting all the weight fly out. “I’m glad they do. So…” you smiled, showcasing a vixen comportment, “Did I pass the test?”
“There’s no test.”
“Ah quit being subtle. You wouldn't invite a young lady to have dinner with your closest friends if you didn't want their opinion on her.”
“I never needed their opinion in the first place. I chose you myself. They wanted to meet you in person, that's it.”
You chuckled, “Did I meet the standards?”
He sighed, tone clipped, “There are no damn standards. Shut up.” he looked at you, forehead wrinkled. “If there were any, you would've failed the moment you compared us to a cult.”
“It was funny though.”
“It wasn't. You're unfunny.”
“That's rich, coming from the man with the stupidest one liners.”
“People love me for them. You made them feel guilty. They were doing their best to make you feel at home and you call them a cult?”
“It was just a joke.” you fixed your dress strap, “They were so miserable and I thought they’d laugh.”
“Miserable?” he glared.
The mood went red all of a sudden.
“Do you have any idea of how much trouble they went through so your highness can feel comfortable? How excited were they to see you? Do you even know what things they went through so you'd call them miserable?”
And there goes the peaceful evening. Normally, you'd pamper your way out of such situations but this time you felt like you could bite. You looked at him, and before you could catch yourself, you let the words out, “I didn't mean anything by it. They're alive, aren't they? Whatever happened couldn't have been that bad if they're all sitting around a dinner table joking.”
Only if you chose to sweet talk. Only if you thought before speaking. It was cold: the guilt of uttering those words; disgusting, things you wished Nana was here to slap your wrists for. but the axe already fell on the neck.
As you prepared for an apology, Leon braked suddenly. The seat belt caught you from being hit on the face when your form jumped forward. The engine’s roaring died down, Leon’s glare froze in its very still frame. After agonizing seconds, he opened the door and walked out, wordlessly and oddly calm; leaving you alone in the passenger’s seat, within a car, in the middle of nowhere.
You didn't know what to do.
Should you follow him? Would he accept an apology now? or should you wait till he cools down? You have a test tomorrow so letting him—
Ten thousand shards of glass flew in front of your eyes. Eyes saw before the brain caught a thread of anything; the eardrum-piercing bang registered in your ear as you awakened from the nanosecond freeze: the windshield was all shattered, Leon was just outside your window, holding a small axe in his fist. Whatever looked back at you from beyond the fractured glass wasn't an annoyance anymore— it was something your mind refused to name. His expression had emptied itself of every human thing you'd ever known of him.
You helplessly gawped, too much in a terror you never felt to even scream or wail. He abruptly swung the axe, preparing to give another strike; at you this time since the glass is already dust.
Your fingers went sluggish, trying to untangle you from the seatbelt as fast as possible to escape. Am I gonna die? The thought alone made tears pool under your eyelids. Nana was right. Because of your stupidity and loud mouth, you were going to die, murdered in cold blood, by the very same man you thought you could kick and laugh at everytime he comes back.
The sharp edge moved as fast as a flash. Just as it neared to sink in your skull, your body shuddered violently; darkness swallowed you whole, flaying you into another reality.
It was a nightmare.
Cold sweat had a thin layer all over your body. Early tears were still there, even when your mind worked hard to process it was nothing but a mere scary dream.
“We're here.” you flinched at his voice, gasping to turn at your left.
Ever as calm, he sat.
“You look so scared,” he whispered. “You should get some sleep.”
You didn't think twice. You didn't bid him goodnight. You opened the car door and ran all the way up the stairs to your apartment, as if the Leon from your nightmare would run after you here with the axe. You locked your apartment’s door and rushed to a corner, letting the tears slip.
There was no sound of the engine revving to comfort you that he left. Like a shaking deer, you stepped near your window, hoping his car would move. Long, hellish minutes passed till you got the pleasure to melt into a puddle and weep.
Your phone buzzed. With frail hand bones, you unlocked your purse to fetch it then looked at the screen through a blur of tears.
‘I saw you.’
Your breath hitched. Another text followed.
‘Close the curtains. I can still see you.’
You looked outside. The street was empty.
The last text landed like his axe.
“Goodnight, darling.”
¹, ⁷: From The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam by Omar Khayyam:
For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
²: Derived from the Greek word storge (στοργή), meaning familial affection.
Unlike eros (romantic love) or philia (friendship), storge is quiet, unconditional love usually shared between parents, siblings, or lifelong family.
³: A reference to Robert Browning's poem 'Pippa Passes'.
⁴: Refers to the Island of the Dolls (Isla de las Muñecas) in Mexico.
arabic poetry is so well penned down yet so heart-wrenching. I mean “I felt like kissing the swords because their glimmer reminded me of your smile” and “and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent” made me forget how to breathe.
