Page 52 of Brutal Captivity

Before he can comment, I keep talking, “I still feel like there’s more to it. Something that you’re not telling me. You don’t have to, obviously. It’s none of my business, but I want you to know that you can tell me if you want. I know that I’ve been very judgmental of you in the past, and I’m sorry for that.” I have more to say, but I let the words die on my tongue because I don't know if I want to go there.

“You have been a judgmental asshole, but it’s okay. I know I haven’t exactly been nice to you either, with the whole kidnapping thing.” Leo smiles, eyes finally meeting mine.

“Oh yeah… that whole kidnapping thing.” I wave it away, as if it was no big deal, returning his smile.

“Anyway…” Leo continues to grin as he rolls his eyes. “De Luca said something that shook me a bit, and I just wasn’t able to get past it. Especially after our conversation about my family. I kind of freaked out and allowed myself to break. I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I don’t normally let things like that get to me. I think it was just the stress of the entire day.” My curiosity is even greater than it was before, which I didn’t think was even possible.

“What did he say? Like I said, you don’t have to tell me, but it may help to, like, maybe talk about it? I don’t know. I never talk about any of my problems, but I also don’t have friends to talk about them with.” I avert my gaze with the admission. He is quiet, so I finally force myself to look up and find him staring at me, but it’s not with disdain like I had expected. I expected him to say that rich people don’t have problems, but he isn’t doing that. He looks sad for me.

“Umm… He said…” Leo's voice cracks on the word, so he clears his throat, looking down at our still joined hands. His is smaller than my own, but also perfect. I can’t remember the last time I held hands with someone, but it’s nice. I squeeze his hand in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. “He said that my mom is dead, and that’s why Violet was working for him. She took a job as a maid to take care of a little sister I didn’t even know I had.”

“He could be lying,” I point out, as he wipes his eyes. A pain stabs through my chest at the sight of him crying again. Memories of him naked and shaking in the shower resurface, his beautiful face wet with water and tears.

I never want to see him broken again. He is larger than life itself and seeing him look so small did something to my worldview. It altered it in a way that can never be reversed, regardless of whether or not I return to my old life. I don't even know if I want to at this point. I barely remember it even though it wasn’t even a week ago. It feels like a lifetime.

“No. I don’t think he was,” he says, shaking his head. “I told myself the same thing, that he was lying, but why would he lie about that? He would need a motive, and I cannot think of one.”

“Maybe he was trying to make you angry.”

“I thought about that… but I don’t know. He just said it so naturally, and usually I can tell when people are lying to me. He had his own tells that I figured out pretty quickly. I just don’t think it was a lie.” His voice is far away, as if he is reliving the memory.

“Oh…” I don't know what else to say. I lay my head down on the pillow next to Leo’s so I can look at him.

“So, I found out my mom is dead from some scumbag who was trying to rape my sister. I still don’t know what happened to my dad, but I have at least one half-sister running around somewhere that I’ve never met. I don’t even know her name.” He turns his head to look at me, his eyes still shiny with unshed tears.

“Could you get someone to find out? Like someone that is good with computers to maybe do some research on your family? That way you could find out what happened to your dad and your mom. You could maybe even find out yourother sister’s name.” The guilt is suffocating. I treated him as a monster when he came home with blood drying on his clothes, but he had literally just found out the truth about his family. He must have been in deep shock.

“I could. It’ll have to be someone I really trust, though. Evan maybe. He’s a genius with computers, and I trust him. I could get him to do some digging later. Peadar definitely can’t find out, though. If he does, then he will know I let Violet go.” Leo sounds detached. I hate it, but I assume that is how he deals with things. He dissociates himself from it, so it doesn’t hurt as badly.

“I can’t say I know exactly how you feel, but I kind of do. My mom didn’t die, but the nanny I was telling you about did. One day when I was nine, my dad told me that she had passed away, and she was no longer going to be our nanny.” I clear my throat, trying to dispel the sadness from the memory.

“Did he tell you what happened to her?” There is no contempt to his tone, only curiosity.

“No. I wanted to go to her funeral, but he wouldn’t let me.” My eyes prickle with tears. I’d never begged for anything in my entire life. I’d always been given anything I wanted without question. This was the first time they had ever said no, and it was one of the most important things I had ever asked for.

“What the fuck? Why not?” Leo’s sudden outburst of anger over the story is strangely sweet. Like he wants to go back in time and protect a younger me from my father.

“I don’t really know. I was so upset. She was like a mom to me. I loved her so much. She taught me a lot that I still carry with me. I never got to say goodbye. I think about that a lot.” I sigh at the memory, wishing I had one more day with her or at least knew what happened to her. Now that I’m older, I can probably find out. I never thought to try.

“Yeah. I think that’s what hurts the most. I never got to say goodbye to her. I never got to ask her why she let me leave that day. She just allowed my dad to kick me out. I never knew why, and I have never been able to forgive her for that,” he says, his voice cracking. He clears his throat, sniffling a moment later, and I can sense that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. We lie in silence for a moment as I continue my pursuit of memorizing every tattoo, freckle and scar littering his body.

“How did you get these scars?” I ask, tracing one on his rib cage. Its light coloring is a harsh contrast to his tan skin. The edges are rough, but the inside is smooth, and I find myself wondering what could have caused such a scar. He looks relieved at the change of subject, his features smoothing out. He watches me trace the scar for a few moments, almost asif he’s in a trance.

“Oh umm…” He blinks a few times, seeming to come back to reality. “That one was from a knife I took to the ribs. It punctured my lung, but no other damage was done. Wasn’t so bad, I guess,” he answers. It sounds so casual, as if he’s answering a question about the weather. His tone is so normal for such an abnormal explanation.

“What?” I ask, my expression creasing with dismay. I’m horrified by the answer. It must have been so scary and painful for him. Did he get it in an altercation? Is there more to the story? I have seen firsthand that Leo can throw a punch. It’s so strange to actually imagine him in a fight, though. Everything I had witnessed was more one-sided. Does he fight dirty? I could see him being scrappy, using any means necessary to win.

“It’s okay. It happened a few years ago. Peadar has a bunch of doctors and surgeons on the payroll for that kind of thing. It hurt like a bitch, but I’ve had worse,” he shrugs, his fingers in the hair at the base of my neck, fiddling with a strand there. It’s very relaxing. I could almost fall back to sleep, but I have more questions.

“That sounds really painful. What could be worse?” My long fingers move to another scar on his bicep. The whole morning is surreal, as if I am living the moment through a blurred camera filter. The harsh lines of reality are smoothed out, imperfections long forgotten in the morning light. This filter is different from the one I had on my life before I met Leo. Maybe it’s because I have seen the world for what it is. I know what lies outside of this moment.

“Well, that one is from a gunshot wound. The bullet just grazed me that time, though. Nothing too life threatening, so the knife was worse in a way. Knife wounds aren’t as clean, and a lot of the ones you see are knife wounds or burns. The burns sucked really bad. That is some of the worst pain.” I nod as if I understand.

“That sounds painful,” I wince. I couldn’t imagine. “I sprained my ankle once and was limping for a week.” Leo looks down at me, a bemused expression painted on his features.

“I have had seven broken bones, but to be fair, one of those happened outside of work, when I was 18. I fell while doing a trick on my skateboard, and I broke my wrist. A few weeks later, I was also shot in the shoulder by one of Altieri’s men. That was a shitty month, but I made it through.” Leo moves, and I grumble. Eventually I detach myself, allowing Leo to turn over and show me the scar on his back.

I don't know what I expected a bullet scar to look like, but his looks as though someone took their finger and pressed it hard into his shoulder, thenthe skin never bounced back to its previous state. I can’t stop myself from lightly pressing my own finger into the divot, finding it rough on the outside and smooth in the middle. I never knew scars could be smooth.