Page 48 of Brutal Captivity

I go back into the bathroom, reaching to turn off the light before I pause. Leo’s jeans are lying on the floor holding the exact means of my escape. I stare at them for a long minute, glancing back at Leo lying in his bed, curled up so tightly I don't know if he will ever come undone.

I look back at the denim. The codes, the instructions, everything Leo directed repeats over and over inside my mind in his perfect voice. Again, I contemplate leaving like he told me. He’s calmed down a lot. He’s not hyperventilating anymore, so I wouldn’t be leaving him in a fragile state. I could escape, thenfind Nico later. Instead, I turn off the light, shutting the door behind me. I look at Leo one last time before I turn to leave the bedroom.

“Stay,” the simple, raspy word freezes me. My heart, though—my heart is very much alive, beating rapidly within the confines of my chest. I turn to find Leo staring at me, his eyes reflecting the low lamp light of the room. The life is back in them, and a strange sense of relief washes over me. He still looks exhausted, his face almost droopy, as if the day itself is weighing on his features. I open my mouth, then close it, unsure of how to respond.

Instead, he speaks again, “I—I don’t want to be alone.”

twenty-two

“Free.”- Callisto

Leodoesn'twanttobe alone?

The admission shatters me, the fragments of my heart falling away into the quiet space between us. Leo’s eyes are vulnerable as he bites his lip, looking as though he regrets his words. He fiddles with the duvet, his fingers picking at an invisible piece of thread. I understand the desolation that comes with loneliness. Before I can reconsider, I nod and strip off my wet clothes. I climb into the bed with him, wearing only my underwear.

Leo has pushed the covers down, his chest exposed to the air and the low light. I’m acutely aware that he is naked in the bed beside me, and I tell myself this means nothing. It’s a means to combat the loneliness we feel when trapped in our own beds—the isolation I have felt for the past few years. We stare at each other for a few moments, neither of us sure of what the other wants or needs.

Leo slowly reaches out, his fingers grazing over my face. I don't flinch this time. I don't even consider the fact that those fingers were covered in blood hours prior. I don't care that they were, because, deep down inside, I don’t care about any crimes in his past, present, or future. I refuse to admit that out loud yet. Leo's hands can bring both pleasure and pain. I have felt the pleasure firsthand, but I have never been a part of the pain. He has never hurt me.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but your face and body create the most amazing shapes and angles. The juxtaposition of light and shadow is just so beautiful,” I whisper, my eyes grazing over his naked body. Light interacts with Leo's body differently than it does other objects. It’s almost as if the light turns to water, flowing over the contours of his skin instead of bouncing off it. Perhaps that is how light behaves with light, but I have never seen anything like it in all of my years studying art.

“No. Umm… no one has ever told me that,” Leo responds, his voice just as low. I think he is blushing, but it’s hard to see in the dim light of the room. Asmall smile plays on his firm lips, the three-day-old stubble on his jaw pulling into it.

Light is filtering through his long eyelashes, the freckles on his cheeks dancing in the shadows they are creating. I can’t stop myself; I reach out to trace the shadows, starting with the one under his sharp cheekbone. I almost expect my finger to disappear into the dark abyss created by the absence of light. Instead, the muscle of his stubbled jaw twitches under my touch.

“I guess they don’t appreciate art then,” I remark, my finger tracing down to his collarbone, running over the highest point where the light is the brightest. I then move my finger further into the darkness, the dip where no light can penetrate. It’s like I’m pressing my finger into a black hole—so dark and captivating.

Everything about Leo is a harsh contrast between light and dark, shadows making up his entire being. He lives life in the shadows. Some parts of him are bright, alight with something so pure and beautiful it will burn your retinas when stared at for too long, while other parts are so dark and mysterious I find myself getting lost in their abyss.

“Art is overrated,” Leo says with a small smile, his face now only a few inches from mine as we both lean on our bent arms. My fingers continue to skim over his body like a canvas, wanting to feel the brushstrokes that created him. His hand cups my jaw, and he leans into the touch. I nuzzle into his palm.

My middle finger traces the scripted text on his collarbone, words that he had said not even an hour ago. I now understand why he got the phrase inked into his body. It’s the motto he lives his life by.

His tattoos are the same as me decorating my house with artwork. I buy art because it’s important to me. It makes me feel something about a place, a person, or even a moment. He does the same with his tattoos. His body is his walls, and I sort of want to take him apart.

“You have art all over your body.” I nod down at his chest.

“Those are just tattoos.” Leo’s eyes don’t leave mine, even for a second. They are bright, even in the shadows of the room, almost as if they are lit from within. He licks his lips, leaning even closer to me. The moment feels intimate somehow, even though we haven’t done a single thing. We’re just talking, our whispered voices floating over each other's faces as if the very walls are attempting to listen to our secrets.

“They are an expression of yourself through art. Instead of hanging it in a gallery or on someone’s wall, you etch it into your skin. It’s still art, though. It still makes people feel.” My voice is deep, even to my own ears. Leo'seyes remind me of universes, swirling stars in the cosmos that I am floating amongst.

“How do they make you feel?” Leo’s lips are so close to mine, they brush mine as they form the words. I think about the question, not expecting it. I have always hated tattoos, to an extent. I felt they were for prisoners, and if anyone got one, it should be small and used to mark a moment. Leo has many, but maybe he’s had a lot of moments worth remembering. I don't have any except one.

“Free,” I whisper, closing the short distance between our lips.

I don't know why I chose that word, but I realize I have never felt free my entire life. I have always felt shackled in some way, whether it be by my parents, my wealth, or my loneliness. I have all of the money I could ever need at my disposal, but I have never once felt free.

Strangely enough, though, in this moment, I do feel free, even though I’ve been imprisoned. Leo gave me the chance to leave, though. He told me exactly how to do it, but I chose not to. I am in Leo's bed as a free man, not as a prisoner.

Leo licks the seam of my lips a moment later. They part, allowing him entrance. The kiss is soft, nothing like the one we shared in the kitchen a few days ago. That one was full of an angry fire that can only be found in hell. This one has a different kind of heat, like kissing the surface of the sun. The stubble around his mouth feels divine as it scratches my chin and cheeks. He moans into my mouth, the sound going straight to my cock.

“Callisto,” Leo murmurs between soft kisses, his fingers gripping my jaw to keep me close. He squirms, attempting to close the distance between our bodies. I hook my hand around his slim waist, lifting him easily. I pull Leo on top of me, allowing him to lie between my spread legs. I hiss when his naked dick presses against my own clothed one, my mind flashing back to the night we got off with each other on the couch.

“Please,” is all I can manage between pants as he deepens our kiss, a certain desperation in the way his tongue prods my mouth as it battles for dominance. My hands are on his bare hips, fingers splayed over the small of his back. He shifts against me, and my hands slide up to cup the globes of his ass, causing his hips to stutter.

“What do you want?” Leo asks, his whole body stopping. He props himself on his hands, one on either side of my head, to look down at me with wide, honest eyes. I take a few deep breaths, trying to pull myself out of the bubble we’ve created to think about this logically. What do I want?

It feels like a loaded question because I want a lot of things, but they seem to constantly change. I know what I wanted before all of this. I wanted a career. I wanted to know my place in this big world. I wanted to know who I was. I am slowly starting to figure those things out, but I know one thing for certain.