Page 37 of Brutal Captivity

I take a deep breath and follow him into the room. Leo turns toward me, eyes squinted, as he props the back pack he was carrying against the night stand. “Can you please leave so I can get cleaned up? I have somewhere to be.”

“No, I’m not leaving until I get answers,” I insist, finally taking my eyes off Leo allowing them to wander around the room I have been so curious about since I arrived at the house. It’s clean, like the rest of the house, with the same Beachwood theme. The bed is draped with a white and blue duvet, and looks soft to the touch, warm on cold nights. Beside the bed is a built-in bookshelf,lined with books on psychology and leadership. I am a bit shocked by the titles, having read a few myself.

“Fine. I don’t care,” Leo concedes with a defeated sigh, and I almost feel sorry for him. He’s had an extremely long day, given his appearance.

He has dark circles around his blood shot eyes, as if he spent the day rubbing them or maybe even crying. His hair is a tangled mess, his already dark clothes covered in blood, whatever jacket he was wearing long gone. He looks beaten, and curiosity pulls at my brain as I wonder what had occurred today. Leo isn’t always pleasant, but his mood feels off to me. The energy he is radiating feels cold and distant, which is weird because Leo normally fills the room with light.

I can’t bear to look at him because my fingers itch to grab him and hug him, to comfort him in some way. I can’t, though. I want to hold on to my disgust and anger because whoever he hurt deserves that, don’t they? I should feel remorse and sadness for a life lost today, but I don't.

When I turn again, I find that Leo has disappeared. I look around, seeing what can only be a bathroom, so I walk in there, finding Leo at the sink, his eyes cast down. He hasn’t answered my previous question, so maybe he didn’t kill anyone. He could have saved someone, and I am jumping to conclusions.

“Whose blood is on your hands, Leo?” I ask, but he doesn't look up right away. My heart constricts. My stomach falls.

“Why does it matter, Callisto?” Leo answers my question with one of his own. My mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to decide if it has any words or not.

I should be furious. I should turn around and walk away. But I can't move. My eyes track the subtle, violent tremor in his hands, and the way he completely avoids his own reflection in the mirror. There is a haunted, stormy hollow in his gray eyes, like the ghosts of whatever happened today are dancing right in his pupils

“I just…” I pause but my thought falls apart half way through. Leo turns the water off, and the silence somehow makes my chaotic mind even louder.

“You don’t actually want to know, Callisto. You just want something clean to justify your world view.” Leo’s back is to me, and he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing bulging muscle stretched over what seems to be permanently pale skin.

When he turns, he reveals more tattoos and scars. My eyes follow the script across his collarbones, reading the Gaelic phrase. The lion’s head pendant rests in the hollow of his collarbone, the diamond in one of its eyes winking at mein the low light. Art. Leo's half naked body is art, and I don't know what to do with this information.

I shake my head, focusing my thoughts on the current conversation. “I need to know, Lee. Please. Whose blood is that? Did you kill someone?”

“Why do you need to know? So, you can tell me how horrible of a person I am? So, you can belittle me for the life I lead?” Leo hurls the shirt in the large tub, followed by his pants.

“I-” I start, but am cut off by Leo, who has turned toward me again, his eyes drilling into mine.

“Or maybe you want to lecture me on morals and explain why you are the epitome of moral standards while I could never be anything but a terrible person that deserves all of the horrible things done to me? Hmm? Is that it? Is that what you want?” Leo’s expression is accusing, as he grips tightly onto the rim of the sink. It’s a slap to the face. Rage rushes to fill the shock. Why do I always let him do this? He hurt someone, so I shouldn’t feelsorryfor him.

“Yes. Exactly because if you killed someone, it’s wrong. It’s disgusting. How can you live with yourself? No wonder you can’t even look yourself in the eye. You know you were wrong. You took a life, Leo. Probably just hours ago, then you come home covered in blood and try to make me feel like-- like sh…” I pause, not believing the word that almost left my mouth. I blame Leo for this.

I continue, “Like crap for being upset about it. For asking you whose blood it is because I’m sure they deserved more than you gave them. A name. A face. They had a family. They have people that will miss them, yet you took that away from them and why? Because you were told to.” My breathing has picked up, each breath coming heavy and hard, after my rant, but it feels good.

“Fuck you, Callisto. You don’t know shit about the man that I killed today,” Leo spits, shoving his hands under a stream of water so hot that steam rises from the basin. He doesn't even wince as the skin turns raw under the heat.

“I know everything looks black and white from the top of that high fucking horse you’re always on. If you would come off it, then maybe, just maybe, you would see the world for what it is. If you’d care to look closer, you will see that most of what you consider black and white is actually a shade of gray that you refuse to acknowledge the existence of.”

“There is good and evil, Leo. Killing someone is evil, no matter how you try to paint it.” I cross my arms, forcing my posture to remain rigid even as my insides churn. Red-tinted water circles the drain. A life wiped from the earth in less time than it takes him to scrub the remnants of it off his knuckles.

“Whatever. I’m tired of having this fucking conversation with you.” Leo straightens his spine, flicking the water from his fingers then dries them off on a towel. He pushes past me, out into the bedroom. When Leo's bare skin touches mine, it’s warm and inviting. For some reason, I thought it would be cold like his demeanor. I follow him out and find him rummaging through one of his dresser drawers.

“I cannot force you off your fucking pedestal, and I’m far too exhausted to try,” Leo continues, his voice dropping into that dangerously quiet register. I should feel like I won this round, but I don’t. I still have a strange, frustrating desire to step forward and pull him into a hug, because right now, he looks entirely beaten. Much older than his twenty-eight years.

“Like I said, I’ve got better fucking things to do. Think what you want of me, I don’t care. Some lives aren’t worth saving, Callisto. Some people deserve death, and one day you will realize it. I hope one day you’re put into a situation where you have to protect someone you love, and your only choice is to kill. I want to watch you eat your fucking words, and I know they’ll be as bitter as they sound coming out of your mouth right now. I hope it fucking rocks your world—because you are nothing more than an entitled, self-absorbed, little brat.”

I gape at him, unsure of how to respond or to even process what Leo said. Gone is any sort of desire to comfort the man in front of me. The monster. I’m somewhere between infuriated and offended. My body shakes, my limbs filled with rage. I want to choke the asshole with his assumptions.

I would never, ever take a life. I’m better than that. I’m better than Leo. No matter the circumstances. That is not a possibility. I try to imagine a scenario where I would kill someone, but there are always alternatives, right? There has to be. Killing isn’t the answer.

Leo grabs the backpack, then bends down in front of the nightstand running his now clean fingers along the bottom to pop it open. Of course there’s a secret latch. It looks like a normal nightstand. I can’t see exactly what he is doing, so I step to the left to peer over his shoulder. My eyes bulge at the sight of the stacks of money inside. Leo opens the backpack, revealing even more money inside. He then grabs the money in the safe and starts stuffing it into the backpack with the other cash.

“Did you seriously kill that man for money, today? Oh my god. Is that how you pay for this?” I gesture around wildly. “You kill people, take their money and use it to line your own pockets. He probably worked hard forthat money, and what did you do for it? Kill him then have the inconvenience of washing the blood from your hands?”

“Callisto…” Leo stands up, his voice barely penetrating the furious haze I find myself in.

“Mi fai schifo.”You disgust me.