Page 19 of Brutal Captivity

“Look up and hold still.” At Leo’s order, my head snaps up. I meet Leo's eyes and find myself wanting to look away again. A blush made up of a mixture of embarrassment and guilt rises on my cheeks.

Leo sighs again, dropping his hand, and I still have no idea what he’s holding, and why he even wants me to stay still. “It’s fine. I don’t care that you looked through my things. You were curious, and it’s human. It’s human nature to do things that are wrong. It’s human nature to be imperfect. It was a human thing to do, and there is nothing wrong with it. I figured you would. That’s why I didn’t leave anything lying around that I wouldn’t want you to see.”

“Like what?” My curiosity is piqued. I’m definitely not trying to think about what Leo said. About how it is human nature to do something ‘wrong’ even if it was something as small as snooping. Leo said I shouldn’t feel bad about it, and I didn’t at the time. I only started feeling guilty when I accidentally admitted it to him, and what does that say about me?

“If you must know, I had to find a new spot for my sex toys.” Leo’s response is deadpan, and my mouth gapes open in shock.His what?I am no stranger to sex, but I don’t have any toys. I had never thought to get any. Leo laughs again, the tinkle filling the room. “Don’t look so surprised. As if you don’t have any.”

“I don’t.” My mouth is still hanging open, making the words sound rounded.

“Figures you’d be a prude.” The tone of Leo’s comment isn't mean. It’s more teasing again, and I simply don't know what to do. It’s almost like we’re flirting. He tilts my chin up, so I’m forced to look at him again. Then he pulls the cap off something that looks like a colored pencil.

“I am not. Besides, what do you need a sex toy for? You have a boyfriend, don’t you?” I don't mean the question to sound so bitter. Leo freezes with the tip of the pencil an inch away from my face. His head tilts, puzzled. I sigh in frustration because Leo clearly wants to play dumb.

“Fletcher. He’s your boyfriend, right? I mean you have a lot of his clothes. You talk about him all the time. He wrote that note on your dry erase board about how he loves you. His shoes are even in your closet…” I am cut off by Leo's laugh. This one is loud, as if it was ripped from his body. It doesn’t float around the room, but fills it up so completely, I don't know how there is enough room around me to inhale.

“Fletch? Oh God, no! He’s not my boyfriend. Evan would murder me if I had ever seriously tried. He’s been attached to Evan’s hip for years. They aren’t officially together, and I have no idea why. That man is taken, though, even if neither of those dumbasses would ever admit it.” Leo’s laugh is heartier now, fuller.

Leo is still giggling when he comes closer to my face, and I worry about my vision. After a few deep breaths to steady himself, Leo draws a small, curved line below my right eye. Whatever he uses feels like grease. I do my best not to move. “Like I said before, I don’t have a boyfriend.” Leo's voice is barely above a whisper, the confession ghosting over my face, warming me.

“Oh,” is all I say, and an almost comfortable silence falls over us. Leo's tongue pokes out as he concentrates on whatever he’s drawing. I think it's a teardrop. That’s what it feels like. His expression is adorable, and I hate myself for thinking that. Next, Leo's breath is on my face. It hits the wetness of whatever he used to draw, but it doesn't feel like it's drying it. My eyes are also dry from Leo’s breath, but I refuse to close them.

His breath smells smoky, as if he had been puffing on a cigarette recently and normally that would disgust me, but right now it's sort of turning me on. I like watching Leo's firm lips pucker as he blows, and I want to paint a pictureof him blowing on a dandelion with the sun shining brightly behind him. I can almost see the image in my mind. It shatters when he stands up straight.

“A few more finishing touches,” Leo murmurs more to himself than to me. He grabs my left hand with his right, and I am so startled by the action, I almost pull away. His hand is large and warm.Perfect.

His tattoos are stark next to my unmarred skin, and I find myself wanting to trace them, again. I love to run my fingers along paintings and sculptures, and Leo's body isn’t much different. Maybe he does enjoy art. It’s etched into his skin after all.

“What are you using to draw?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“A grease pencil,” he responds, not breaking his concentration.

“A what?”

“A grease pencil. You use it to work on cars.”

“Do you…?” I ask, and when he doesn’t answer right away, I clarify, “Work on cars, I mean.”

“I work on my bike,” he answers, and there is that bike again. I want to see it. I want to see him on it. I want to ride it with him. I shake my head, dislodging my thoughts, instead concentrating on my hand and whatever he is drawing.

Leo draws a single dot on my hand between my thumb and index finger. He then draws four smaller dots around it. He rears back, admiring it.

“What does that mean?” I inspect the dots, then look up to find Leo puckering his lips again, blowing cool air on my skin. I don't mind the look of a tattoo on my hand. But… Never again. I promised myself.

“That you’ve served time.” Leo drops my hand.

“I have not!” I exclaim, outraged by even the idea.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’m aware you haven’t gone to prison. You’d never survive. They don’t have kale smoothies there.” Leo’s tone is playful, but he rolls his eyes.

“How would you know?” I can’t stop myself from being curious. Has Leo gone to prison? Some of his tattoos certainly look like prison tattoos. Oh God. Did I kiss someone who has done hard time?

“Would that change your opinion of me?” Leo asks a question of his own, looking down at me curiously. I open my mouth to answer three different times but always shut it quickly. I don't know if it changes anything. Leo is a criminal. Why does it matter if he’s gone to jail for it or not? If he hasn’t, it’s an example of the country’s justice system failing.

After a stint of silence, Leo must give up on me ever answering because he crooks his finger, indicating for me to follow him. We leave the room and godown the stairs. He goes to the closet in the living room, and he is in there for far longer than it takes to find the boots that were sitting on top.

He emerges with the boots in hand but also with something else. He hands the boots over to me. I sit down, pulling them on quickly. They’re a size too big, but they will work. While I’m sitting, Leo holds up a faded black beanie. Before I even get a chance to agree, Leo pulls it down on my head, flattening my curls. The whole outfit feels jarring on me. The fabric of each item is scratchy and rough. The clothes either fit too tightly or too loosely, unlike my normal, perfectly tailored clothes.

I glance at myself in the mirror and don’t even recognize the person staring back at me. I am pretty sure my own mother wouldn’t know me if I passed her on the street, and it all makes sense. The outfit change is twofold. One so I will blend in wherever we are going, and two, there is no way anyone would recognize me dressed like this. I have to admit that Leo is a genius. I will never say that out loud though. Nope.