Leon's Way (20 page)

Worry prickles my spine up to my neck. I bite my lip because I’m about to insist in ways I never have before. “Sweetie, since you started… losing your cool—”

Leon’s gaze snaps to me. He wants to interrupt but doesn’t.

“—I’ve read up on what you’re going through. All the psychological research out there says that if an individual has the opportunity to get closure, real closure, before their tormentor dies, they stand a much better chance at peace afterward. In your case, if he for some reason survives, you’ll just move on with your life without him in it.”

I’m amazed that he let me finish my little speech. My love breathes hard, but otherwise he controls his reaction, his irises flashing in an icy glitter. “I went with Kat the first time he was in the hospital, Arria. There—bam. Closure.”

“So that helped, then? You’re all done?” I ask.

“No, I’m not. I just fucking need him to die, okay?”

“Have you studied Kat lately?” I prod.

“Of course—”

“I don’t think so, Leon, because if you had, you’d realize how
she’s
doing.”

“What are you talking about? Believe me. I know her state right now; our father has her whipped. My little sister’s all over him, grieving and shit—how fucking twisted is that?”

Leon’s turmoil simmers in his voice. “If I hadn’t arrived in time, he would have raped her when she was ten years old.”

“I know,” I say, surprising him. “Kat told me.”

He’s quiet for a second. “Wow,” he finally murmurs.

Katsu is into psychology. She and I have had some interesting discussions over the last few weeks. “Basically, your sister’s reactions are normal responses to grief, and they’re easier to overcome than guilt and hate.” I expect him to snap at that, because really—I’m dissecting his pain, being the pseudo expert on human emotions.

“Well,” he replies, surprising me. “I’ll never be guilt-tripping over my father.”

“But it happens to people even if they know there’s no reason to feel guilty,” I insist.

That’s the last straw. Leon hates, hates my words. He shoots off the bed and slams his fist into the door. The roar accompanying him resonates on my eardrums, the initial shock rocking me, making me shrink and cover my ears.

“Fuck, Arria!” he shouts, spinning to glare at me. “Will you
quit
?”

“Baby, all I want is—”

“Is
what
? To destroy me?” He doesn’t wait for an answer but stalks to the Bag Room and revs up his hate rock, songs he’d never play downstairs or anywhere else.

Since January, my heart and my brain have been at war. Now, they both scream at me louder than ever.

Get the hell out of his life.

Stay, fix him. You love him. You can’t be happy without this man.

Tonight, my heart wins. It does that quick hammering I don’t like, but I need to be here, watch over him, the way I’ve craved since I started working at Smother. Leon forgets to bolt the door shut, so I slink inside. I want to be invisible. I won’t interrupt, just…

I take a seat, legs crisscrossed on the floor so I can keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t endanger himself. My arms mold to my stomach, shielding the baby from the crazy music. He can’t hear it, I remind myself. The environment inside of me is already loud, with the sounds from my digestive system whooshing around him. Only faint throbs from the bass vibrate in through the walls of my uterus.

Leon’s force is formidable. In carelessly thrown on karate pants, he slams stone fists into a bag over and over and over again. He works quietly, leaving the snarls and roars to the insane music that spews out rage, hate, hate.

The baby curls tight in my stomach, sharing my adrenaline, my fear—every sensation running through me. We share so much, him and I, while he resides in me. Despite the despair in the room, I try to calm down, soothe my nerves to stop my anxiety from reaching in to my warm, living core.

You shouldn’t be here,
my brain hums to me.
If you don’t care about yourself, at least care about your baby.

Tiny dots stain my vision. I blink. When it doesn’t erase them, I shut my eyes altogether. Lift my hands to my ears and cover them. Awake and rebelling, my blood spurts thick in my veins. This is not the time to fall ill. I’ll stay frozen until I’m better, then I’ll pop by Mr. Rosenthal tomorrow for an emergency checkup.

I sink in against the wall. Do breathing techniques I’ll be using when my time comes. The room doesn’t lack oxygen—I know this—I can fill my lungs with it all I need, and yet this room asphyxiates.

Leon’s music stops abruptly, but my eyelids remain crumpled over my vision. I’m inhaling. Exhaling. Allowing my heart to dash for him.

I jolt at his hands on my face. “Arria.” His voice is soft, like he’s back to himself again. “What are you doing here?”

I’ll reply soon, but I enjoy the silence while I wait for my heart to slow down.

“Oh, baby, baby, don’t get sick on me,” he whispers, voice hoarse and into me, so close. “Please—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost it and left you alone.”

I force myself to open my eyes. I’m not fainting. I am conscious.

I can’t make out his features from within my darkness.

Strong hands grab my arms, wanting to pull me up, but I’m too weak to help. I can’t risk falling, so I shake my head to him. “Tired,” I whisper. “I’ll get up soon.”

“No, no, no,” he says so quietly. Still, he lets go of me, and his footsteps fade out the door and away from me.

I concentrate on breathing. There’s a dull pain below the baby on one side.

“Yes. She’s almost eight months pregnant, and she’s got preeclampsia,”
Leon says from the hallway. He’s on the phone with the hospital again. It—

Might be for the best.

Suddenly, I have two people to visit at the hospital. They’re in different buildings, a garage and a parking lot apart. At the sperm donor’s, I stay a maximum of fifteen minutes, while at Arriane’s, I spend quality time. This is her second day here.

She’s a tired girl between her illness and my brother’s baby. It’s grown a lot lately. The doctor’s keeping her for observation, and she’s thankful they didn’t have to induce labor when Leon brought her in the other night. I’m not sure what preceded the ER visit, but she came in late in the evening, and my guess is she wasn’t sleeping when she got sick. I hope they weren’t fighting.

Leon is here as much as he can, leaving Christian in charge at Smother. Today, though, Arriane and I are alone.

“Brought you this,” I say, handing her a pair of tiny, footed jammies. Two ducklings meet in a kiss at the top. Adorable.

“Aww, you’re the best aunt ever.” Arriane smiles, rubbing the soft fabric against her cheek before draping the item across her bump. “How come you never get him anything blue, though?”

“Have you had an ultrasound to find out what it is?” She hasn’t. This is me hinting at why I don’t buy blue stuff.

“No, but it
is
a boy,” she explains patiently, the way both of them do whenever someone wonders. Leon and Arriane are one hundred percent sure of the baby’s gender. He believes in female intuition, so my theory is that Shishi’s sure because she is.

“Has Leon been by today?” I crumple the giftwrap I tore off and sit down.

“Yeah, he came at the crack of dawn.” A sad smile curls over her features, and I instantly get a bad feeling. My brother is doing the right thing, visiting as soon as he wakes up, but it’s not enough to make her happy. I wish—no—I need her to divulge details.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Arriane’s irises are a strange shade of blue, reminding me of lavender. They float up to me slowly, revealing a misty glint. “Kat, I…”

My brother deserves everything in this world. Sure, he’s nutty and domineering, but even as a young boy, he placed others’ safety before his own. More than once, I’ve thought of how he could have moved away from home earlier—quit taking beatings and lived somewhere else—if it weren’t for sticking around for me, the little sister.

“…don’t think I can do this anymore.” As she says the words, her chin begins to tremble.

“What do you mean?” I’m taking Arriane’s hand on top of the blanket, causing a tear to spring free and sneak over the rim of her eye.

“Did Leon tell you about the night I got admitted?” she asks. I shake my head.

“His mood swings are worsening, Kat. He hides behind that shield of his as long as he can, but when he’s forced to face issues pertaining to your father, he gets angry.”

“But he doesn’t hurt you, does he?” I ask, scared of the answer. If Shishi snaps, how far would he go? And she is in the hospital. No, no, no. My brother would never harm a woman.

“No. He stays locked in the Bag Room, like when you were over for breakfast last. Hits, hits, hits, for hours at a time. He
rages
in there, Kat, and he won’t let me in. Leon takes longer and longer to come out. He’s losing weight. You must have noticed—your brother doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him anymore. From his neck to his feet, he’s wired tight, every inch of him muscle, tendons, and bone.

“Two nights ago, I insisted that he visit your father, which I haven’t really done before—I’ve left that part to you.” She gives a small laugh, knowing he’s avoiding me. “At this point, though, I was desperate to see if I could sway him. He doesn’t face his problems. He just masks them.”

“I know.”

“Kat, they’ve been monitoring the baby’s heart rate and insisting I’m at as much peace as possible these last weeks of the pregnancy. I can’t take any more chances—”

I cut her off and squeeze the fingers I’m holding. “Arriane, I’ll talk with him, okay? He’s so capable. My brother overcomes his obstacles—”

She pulls my hand to her cheek. It’s her turn to console
me
. Arriane is so… “sweet” is the word. Why is Shishi such a fool? He should take those few, freaking steps into the car and drive to the
other
hospital building. Get himself sorted out.

“I love your brother, Katsu. There’s nothing I want more than for him to get well, but I can’t endanger the little one for him. The baby is where my limit goes.”

“Please, Shishi,” I say again.

“Stop bugging me, Kat! I’m trying to keep my cool, here. Do you have any idea how hard that is?” Shishi’s eyes storm grey.

What have things come to between us? He used to put my needs before his own, trying his damnedest to keep me safe. Now, I’ve wedged my foot in the door to his apartment. I’m intruding on his turf, imposing myself.

“Listen, Kat. Arriane is sick, and our father takes his sweet time croaking in the hospital.” Shishi laughs out loud, no amusement in his tone.

His words can so easily derail me, suck me in, and have me empathize too much, creating an obstacle I can’t overcome.

“Let me in,” I say, and I mean it in several ways. I keep my pitch low as I cut to the bone. “Arriane and I had a chat. You’re about to lose her, Shishi.”

For an instant, he’s quiet. Then, he pulls the door open and allows me in.

“What did she say?” He rakes his fingers through his hair in a sure, yet helpless move, feeding my pain for him.

A pair of black karate pants hangs below his navel, like he’s been spending time in the Bag Room. No music filters out, though, and he wears a dry, black Smother T-shirt. To me, this is a good sign; he must not have been wrestling the punching bags when I knocked.

“Arriane thinks you’re getting worse. She’s afraid for the baby—not that you’ll hurt either of them, but the situation stresses her out, which is bad for the preeclampsia.”

His focus is on me, and for once his entire façade is in shambles. Those bright eyes of his darken with panic. “What’s her plan, Kat. Is she moving out?”

“Look, she’s in the hospital, right? She can’t do anything about her living situation while she’s there. How long are they keeping her?”

He covers the lower half of his face with a fist, inhaling measured breaths. “Another day or two, depending on the tests. If all is well, she should be home by Friday.”

Home. As in to
his
apartment.

My heart breaks for him.

“Well, if you want another shot with Arriane, you need to get a grip about Dad.”

His head snaps up, stare blazing at me. “Fucking don’t call him ‘Dad.’ Whatever happened with ‘sperm donor?’ Of all people you’re the last person he deserves to hear that name from!” he shouts.

“Shishi—please. As far as our childhoods go, he’ll never be more than a sperm donor. But Mom raised me to be a good person, so I still feel sorry for him on some level. He’s just a sad, sick person who’s regretting his entire life, okay? I don’t know this man, and I simply feel bad for him the way you would watching some… um, someone in a movie.”

He doesn’t answer, but I’m not surprised to read complete lack of understanding in his steely blues.

“You have two days until she’s released from the hospital, Leon. Spend them well. Go visit the sperm donor. Talk to him. If you want to tell him more fairytales, that’s fine with me—I don’t care as long as you do everything you can.”

He sinks down on a chair in the kitchen. Covers his entire face with both hands. “He needs a liver donor, Kat,” he says. His voice remains deep and steady. Thank God, he’s not crying.

“Why do you even mention that?” I ask. “Are you beating yourself up because you don’t want to give him a piece of yours?” The hilarity from a few weeks ago, when I first told Leon about our father’s beyond-repair liver, stirs in my stomach, wanting to break free. Now is not the time, though, because Shishi isn’t seeing the humor anymore.

“I’d never do that,” he states firmly.

“Well, good—it would be a risk for you, and why the hell should you give up a physical part of yourself to save your tormentor?”

“Exactly,” he mutters into his hands, and I hunch down next to him, forming my arms around my brother. He’s freaking rock hard everywhere. I need to lock him out of the Bag Room, because this is ludicrous.

“Bro,” I begin, trying to annoy him with the expression, but I can’t even get a rise out of him. “Stop obsessing. Stop. Because I can tell that you are.”

He flops back on the chair, arms hanging along his sides toward the floor. “Have you considered it, Kat?”

“Not once. And to be honest, I couldn’t find guilt over not offering him some of my liver if I searched with a magnifying glass.”

A hiss escapes Shishi. He doesn’t look at me, but his mouth curls up on one side in a silent laugh. “Damn, Kat. You say the geekiest shit.”

“I’m a game designer. What’d you expect?”

I don’t speak with anyone as I make my way down the hallway to my father’s room. They’ve got him in a single, a small screen shielding part of his bed from the door as I peer in. Katsu doesn’t know I’ve come. It’s just an impulse anyway, before I head over to my girl and my baby on the opposite side of the lot.

When did I see him last? Not counting a few months ago, it’s been a decade. The rampage he went on back then, knocking on people’s doors, demanding they tell him where his kids were… I shake my head.

Anger simmers in my chest already, and I haven’t even caught a glimpse of him. I look at my watch. Three p.m. Katsu’s still with Arriane, so I guess I’m doing this.

I force tense muscles to relax as I quietly enter. Expose my presence to him without a word. Nothing but tubes, machines, and a misplaced bouquet of flowers surround him in this godforsaken room.

My father looks like shit, the way he should, considering how he’s lived his life. That fucking pulse still quivers lightly beneath the skin on his throat. He senses my stare and turns his head on the pillow.

I’m not here for a goddamn conversation. I’d lose my cool. I’d have to run home to the Bag Room like a jackass instead of soaking up Arriane’s mild love. Still, I can’t help asking, “Do they give you enough to drink in this joint? You get to slosh yourself on Georgia Moon? The hospital bar carry the world’s cheapest and most disgusting whiskey slash home-brew, or are you stuck here sober, remembering the piece of shit you are, unable to indulge in your customary, rage-inducing oblivion?”