Leo
Ishouldn’t have called him. I had no right to call him. What the hell was I thinking? Calling the man I am stalking. Who I have only just spent a few hours with in total. I am a complete stranger to him, basically. What was I thinking? And for what? Support? He doesn’t owe me that. No one does.
I should be able to handle this myself. I should be able to control my own fucking emotions.
I relax my fists and blood runs through my palm from where my nails were digging, not just a small amount, even though I barely have nails to begin with.
I have been digging them into my skin trying to control myself so much today that the wounds are getting deeper.
I make a mental note to hide my hands as much as I can from Noah.
I am a complete stranger to him, but from watching him for I don’t even know how many hours, he doesn’t feel like a stranger to me.
And that’s the problem. The false familiarity towards him is messing with my head.
I pace back and forth right in front of the ticket booth at the small cinema.
It’s Monday, and relatively early into the night that this place is completely empty.
I already purchased four tickets, two for each of tonight’s movies, before I even called Noah.
I don’t know why I was so sure he would come here.
I don’t know why just by watching him in secret I have decided this man would drop everything and come help me, but I am glad to be correct about this.
This time I have trouble shielding myself.
Maybe it’s because this visit is so close to the anniversary of the reason that made her leave.
So close to the day that ruined my life.
The day I dipped my hands in blood, trying to save my mother, only for her to die while I was in Juvie.
I got the easy way out, a few years in there, a shield record and a friend who did everything in his power for me to have a chance in life, while my mother had to live with the consequences of my actions.
She had to live with the fact her own son killed his father.
I had a good reason, and the judge saw it, but my mother never truly forgave me.
She was too deep in the abuse she was living to realize I did her a favor.
If I hadn’t kill him, he would have killed her.
I couldn’t allow this. Especially after that night.
The night I saw him pinning her down against her will, and her pleas for mercy echoed through our old house.
The wooden floor creaked under the pressure of him diving into her again and again while she screamed one word.
“No.” Every letter of that word, every tear that left her was answered with another thrust, with a punch, with vile words and I couldn’t take it anymore.
A man should respect his wife. A man should respect his partner.
The mother of his kid. He should respect his house, the home of his child.
But my father wasn’t a man at all. He was a coward.
For that, I don’t regret killing him, but by doing so, I also killed my mother, my sister, myself.
I ruined our family. My sister was placed in a foster home, and then later she was adopted.
I wasn’t as lucky as Kai, didn’t have the opportunity to keep in touch with her.
They kept the adoption private to protect her.
I wouldn’t want it any other way. If my suffering meant her happiness, I would endure it.
And I did. If my suffering meant my mother wouldn’t shed another tear, it was worth it.
But was it really? Because my mother shed so many after that night.
She became an empty shell of herself. She lost custody of her daughter.
And every day that passed since the day I killed my father brought her closer to her death.
I thought I was saving her, but did I really? Did I save any of us?
Nadia saw through this. All the guilt, the suffering I caused. She saw right through my fake smiles and brave face, and refused to stay. Could I really blame her for that? Could I really say anything? Could I keep her from walking away when she was right?
I am not caught onto her. I am not still in love with her.
I don’t want her back, and if I was honest with myself, I would say that no one other than Noah exists in my head at the moment.
But seeing her will always remind me of her words, and that fear of the fact she might be right.
It’s not a lover’s regret. It’s just an acknowledgment that I might be too broken to be loved by anyone if she couldn’t love me.
The woman who gives her love and smiles to everyone without hesitation.
If she couldn’t see past the broken shell of a person I have become, would anyone truly?