six #2
The van is moving much faster now, as if there are not as many traffic lights.
My body is swaying with the bumps and turns on a road that I cannot see but I know that it is under me.
It makes me uneasy not knowing exactly where I am going, but I try to take a few deep breaths, telling myself to pretend I am in the back of a limo.
“He’s not.” Is all Leo offers, his eyes still closed.
“He kills people.”
“It’s not always so black and white.” He opens his eyes slowly to peer at me before shutting them again.
“Yes, it is. You don’t get to excuse murder because someone occasionally does something good.” I squint at Leo.
“I don’t owe you any explanations about Peadar or myself. I’m just saying that not everything is how you perceive it.” Leo’s voice is stern and unwavering as he takes another sip of his coffee. I mirror the action, letting the warm liquid work its way down my throat.
“That’s a cowardly excuse. You are just trying to justify your own bleak existence by taking up for him.”
I pronounce the last word carefully. I know I am making Leo angry, but that’s the point.
He needs to realize that he is no better than his boss by being a bystander and participant in his horrible actions.
“What are you, five? The world isn’t that simple. As I’ve said, it isn’t black and white. The world is made up of a lot of gray, but you refuse to see that. You just want to live in your perfect little bubble and convince yourself that your moral code is so much higher than mine.”
Leo's eyes are alight, molten silver standing out even in the darkness of the van.
He reaches into his shirt collar, pulling out a gold pendant hanging from a chain.
“I know what’s right and what’s wrong.” I have won this argument. How can he refute that? He rubs his necklace absentmindedly. I squint at it. It looks like a lion's head. Has he always worn that?
“Do ya?” Leo asks, eyes squinted at me as if he is studying me. I want to squirm, but refuse. Instead, I take another sip of my coffee, almost spilling it when the van hits a pothole.
“There is a line, Leo. Some things are right and some things are wrong. Murder belongs on one side of that line,” I say, drawing a line through the air.
“Right and wrong are just terms people use to feel safe. They’re subjective. You draw your lines based on your comfortable little life, and I draw mine based on survival. Who’s to say your definitions are better than mine just because you got lucky?”
My mind spins with Leo’s words. I have never thought about it like that.
I hate to admit it, but he has a point about certain concepts being subjective.
Art is subjective. I don't know the life he has led but then again, he knows next to nothing about my life either.
He assumes that since I am rich, everything comes easy for me, but it doesn't.
“What if someone were attacking you or someone you loved and no amount of beating them off worked, but you had a gun?” Leo asks, and I stop to think about the question.
“I would shoot them in the leg or something. Not kill them but slow them down,” I finally respond.
“Not even a shot to the leg would stop someone who is wired on meth and sees you as the ticket to their next high. They just keep coming.” Leo watches me as if he is trying to see my brain work.
“Anything is a better alternative than taking an innocent person’s life.” I shake my head, but I’m not sure if I truly believe the words I am saying.
“The person in question isn’t innocent. Everyone’s a sinner in their own right. Your boxes of wrong and right are easy for you. I get it. They make it easy for you to understand the world, but some things are done to survive,
so don’t spew your bullshit at me when you have no idea what it’s like to live the life I lead.”
Leo takes a sip of his coffee as if he didn’t alter my perception in some small way.
My mouth opens, gaping at Leo because a very small part of me wants to admit to him that he’s right.
That no one is innocent, but I still think that killing and violence are wrong.
They are never the answer but thinking that makes me a hypocrite.
Didn’t I hit someone in the skull as a means to survive?
My body jolts forward a bit when the van comes to a complete stop.
Leo looks around, as if he is waking up from a trance and says, “Looks like we’re here.”
“Where is here?” I ask, grateful for the change of subject. The door slides open. Leo hisses in pain, placing his hand over his eyes. Fletcher’s silhouette is outlined, the sunlight filtering around his body and into the van, breaking through the darkness.
“My place,” Leo answers, after taking a deep breath. My brain stops working at his answer.
“What?” I ask, emphasizing the harsh consonant.
He can’t be serious. I peek around Fletcher’s shoulder, finding a large brick house.
I don’t know what I expected Leo to live in, but I didn’t think it would be so…
normal. I have no idea where we are, but it looks like any other house that can be found right outside of the city limits.
“Peadar wanted us to move you to a safe location because we needed the room in the warehouse. He said the only place he trusted you to be is with me. Nico’s at Daron’s house,” Leo tells me, and Fletcher gestures for me to get out of the van first.
When I step out on a paved driveway, I look around. We seem to be behind the house. There is a tall iron fence surrounding the perimeter. I don’t see any nearby houses, so perhaps we drove further outside of the city than I had originally thought.
“There was literally no other place in the world besides your house?”
Leo slowly stands. Once he is on his feet, he sways from side-to-side, as if dizzy.
He shakes his head, wincing at the movement.
I barely stop my hand from reaching out to help him emerge from the vehicle.
My hand is a traitor. I need to have a conversation with my hand and tell it that it doesn’t want to help the person who kidnapped us.
Instead of my hand reaching out to help Leo, it’s Fletcher’s. He wraps his long ringed fingers securely around Leo’s waist, brows creased in worry as he helps Leo out of the van. Leo leans into him for a few seconds, using Fletcher’s strong frame to steady himself.
Leo smiles at him in thanks, a loaded exchange that makes me study them more closely.
Are they together? A pang of what could only be described as jealousy hits my heart.
It’s only because of the easy and intimate way they touch each other, something I have never experienced.
When Fletcher removes his hand a few seconds later, I want to sigh in relief.
“Apparently not. I tried that. Even offered to take you to the fucking moon, but Peadar wouldn’t budge. Trust me. I’m not any happier about this little arrangement than you are, but it will be way more comfortable than the warehouse at least,” Leo finally responds,
and I had almost forgotten what I asked, too wrapped up in my confusing emotions.
Leo slowly walks up to the back door. I look around some more, noticing the driveway is long.
I can’t even see where it leads, but judging by the fence, I would guess it’s gated.
There is no way I would be able to climb over it, even if I did manage to get outside.
Peadar wasn’t wrong to say that it’s safe, and I have no idea what’s in store for me on the inside.
Fletcher stays behind me as Leo types in the keycode to unlock the door then swipes a card that he produced out of nowhere. My eyes widen, for some reason not expecting something so high-tech to be on the door of a thief’s house. Leo turns around, grabbing my arm and ushering me inside.
We enter directly into some sort of mud room with a washer and dryer along one of the walls. I look down, finding a pile of shoes of varying styles ranging from Converse to Doc Martens. It's just so… normal.
“Do you need me?” Fletcher asks from behind me.
“Nah. I think I got it,” Leo responds, turning back to look at Fletcher.
“Are you sure? You look… pretty out of it still,” Fletcher eyes Leo with a worried expression.
“I think I can handle myself against a rich brat, Fletch.” Ouch.
“This rich brat is the reason why you have a concussion,” I can’t help but say.
“I was caught off guard,” Leo waves me off, clearly irritated. I nod sarcastically. Leo rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, Fletch,” he says again, returning his attention to Fletcher.
“Are you sure?” Fletcher asks one more time, eyeing me.
“Yes,” Leo snaps.
“Okay. Have fun with the spoiled brat,” Fletcher finally says, then turns around and walks away, the door shutting behind him. I almost stick my tongue out at his back like a petulant child.
I follow Leo through a doorway into the kitchen.
My eyebrows raise in surprise. It is remarkably well decorated and clean.
It has white cabinets with dark blue marble countertops.
The floor is a slate gray tile, and there are beechwood accents all over to match the beechwood dining room set under a chandelier over to the side.
It definitely is not what I was expecting Leo’s kitchen to look like.
“Are you married?” I blurt out because it’s the only way to explain the decor that I have seen thus far. My mind goes back to the flirtatious way he interacted with Fletcher, but, if they are together, Fletcher clearly doesn’t live with him.
Leo looks up from some mail that he has lying on the table, thumbing through it. He smirks, as if he was waiting for me to ask the question. My cheeks burn, and I have no idea why I’m embarrassed. It’s a valid question. I should know in case I run into some person or a small child even.
“Nope. Just me. Daron lives nearby, so he’s over pretty often. Evan and Fletch drop by pretty frequently, too,” Leo answers, and relief floods my system.
I shouldn't feel relieved, though. Other people would make escaping easier.
I’m charming by nature. It would be easy for me to convince another person living here to help me escape.
I glance around the kitchen once more. A blue coffee maker sits on the counter along with various other kitchen appliances.
Most look unused. There is a microwave above the sparkling clean oven, the time reading 10:54 am.