Leonardo

After a week into therapy, I already felt light. Light wasn't a word I'd use freely.

For a long time, I felt rotten. Putrefied by the past - of deeds done and words spoken - I wasn't sure there was anything left in me that could be salvaged.

The wreck that was my body and soul was irredeemable.

Yet, there I was, letting my therapist know that I was doing well. Better than what I assumed to ever feel.

Within this one week, I felt the need to speak more and let the doctor how I kept myself going. And remain sane. The rest was fluff stuff.

The PTSD, night terrors or the anxiety of letting Zemira know about my amputation, all resurfaced faster than a burst-opened dam.

My therapist was digging deeper to know more. Dredge up stuff she knew I kept in the reserved corner of my mind, unwilling to accept I was an addict.

I also knew a day would come when she'd find out. Or worst, I'd convey. But till that day arrived, I was happy with my current state.

The elevator ride to my apartment wasn't always smooth.

I lived in a rather populated side of the city with mostly after-college graduates renting the place. So to see someone passed out in the elevator or a full-on drug-induced make-out session wasn't out of the ordinary.

Even at my insistence, Zemira wasn't willing to let me move from the place.

She liked the ordinary life I lived in. Her brownstone was heaven as compared to the dirty-infested dinge I lived in.

I hated it. It was a temporary setting before I moved out after finding a job. Every time I bought the topic to move to a more civilized and less noisy location, Zemira shot it down.

She was enjoying the lower-middle class and student life experience all at once while living at my place. There were times when the heater malfunctioned, and water in the taps turned to various shades of brown. 

Nothing vitiated her stance.

She loved everything - including the creaking floorboards that cried louder than any horror movie banshee.

I opened the door to the empty hall where I'd grown accustomed to her - lounging on the couch like some stonehead who wasn't ready to face the day.

Turning towards the corner of the hallway leading towards my room, I heard Romeo's happy feet tap. He trotted outside the room, leaping into my arms as soon as he sensed me.

"Hey, buddy..." The dirty, smelly dog who loved hugging every puddle he found, was a sight for my sore soul. An ice pack on the distressed days. "Where's my girl?"

Woof

As if he knew what I asked, panting, and wagging, he ran into my bedroom.

On the bed, Zemira sat, legs curled to her chest near her laptop, hair tied in a messy bun over her purple headsets and palms cupping her favourite beverage - hot chocolate with a hint of mint.

I never knew how someone could love mint in their beverage, chewing gum or anything.

Every time she took a sip of her steaming drink, her eyes fluttered shut. Engrossed in whatever she watched to ignore the intruder - me.

"That's how girls end up being dead," I said, drawing her attention to my presence.

She gasped. The cup in her hand trembled, spilling the content over her hoodie, my sheet. My useless dog went to the rescue - licking the mattress and the covers.

"You scared me," she said, grabbing a box of tissues from the nightstand and wiping herself and my dog's licking spots. "One of these days, I'd have a heart attack and when the doctors ask the reason, I'd tell them you tried to kill me."

I fell on the bed, grabbing a pillow to rest my head.

"It could have been a serial killer. What you would have done then?"

"I'd have asked him to wait while I finish the ending," she chucked, shutting her laptop and falling beside me. "Or I'd set my daring beast on him."

Romeo the useless understood her reference. He peered at us.

"Beast? This one?" My gaze darted between Zemira and the pile of fur and dirt. "He's as useless furniture."

Right on cue, Zem grabbed him over her lap, cuddling him. He licked her nose and face. Even her hair as if she was made of sugar.

"Enough," Zemira patted his back, gritting her teeth to hold onto the cuteness overload she always felt while petting him. "I'lleatyooupfluffyboi."

My dog wasn't smart. Not too much though. But he knew when to run before Zemira trapped him between her legs and cuddled him to the point of suffocation.

"Wait," she shouted to his retreating figure and panting noises. "Come back, beast."

In that instance, when her hands remained suspended in the air, calling back Romeo, I felt something. Something soft, mushy inside my heart. Something a lot like love, pulverized by lust.

Grabbing her elbow, I turned her to my side. My lips found their way over to the nape of her neck, biting the soft flesh that made her create a rumbling moan.

The zipper area of my jeans tightened as soon as she ran her hand over my back and inside my t-shirt, pulling it off.

"I love you," she whispered, pushing me onto the bed and tracing her fingers over to my jeans button. "But I love your dick more."

"Is that so?" My arms rested under my head, cradling it into a position where I could see her. "Show me how much you love it."

A crooked smile that enticed me to take her in all possible ways, drew across her face. She got off the bed, unbuckling my jeans and dragging them down.

"Leo..." Zemira's voice faltered.

I rose from the bed to encounter reality. All this while, I'd evaded the truth about my body - the part I'd kept hidden from her.

"What... what is that, Leo?" She was eying the beginning of my scarred left thigh.

The grey-coloured gel liner was worn as a sock over what was left of my leg. 

The remaining parts - the rotatory knee of flesh color and the titanium that now formed my leg - suddenly felt cold under her intense gaze.

"This is who I am now. This is the whole me..."

I guess, owning up was the only option I had. Not that I never wanted to but with Zemira, I felt scared. 

I was scared of her rejection. Of her feeling that I wasn't her honest Leo.

Or maybe those were the insecurities I projected upon her.

"It's...different... But perfect," she whispered, tip-toying to kiss me.

I restrained her and leaned away. 

How was she so calm - accepting me for who I was?

"What? You don't think this looks badass, Leo?"

She wasn't staring at my leg like my mother when she first saw it. Zemira was gazing at me, smiling. Of all the emotions or reactions I'd expected from her, a smile wasn't one I expected.

"I think you're just saying it to make me feel good. You know, it's quite alright to ask questions. To feel scared... EvenmMad..."

"Mad?" Laughter rumbled through her chest. "Mad at you for looking badass? Or mad because you didn't tell me I can now call you Titanium Man?"

"Mad because I'm this? Broken, Zem. I'm handicapped."

"You know what?" Zemira moved backwards, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm mad. Mad because you thought so less of me that you hid this side for so long."

"I needed time."

"So did I." Her voice echoed. "Time to heal. Time to assume you'd never love me. Time to accept your anger when you returned and not knowing what I did wrong."

Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill. She took a deep breath.

"I needed time to believe you'd never touch me again, Leo. Or that when you did, you'd hate me. I needed time when you said you love me. I thought it was a dream. Most of all, I needed time to understand your situation. Your PTSD. Your apprehensions in letting me know you needed me."

The dam of sorrows burst. Her cheeks - always pink-hued - turned a shade darker. The shade of pain and suffering.

"I needed time too, Leo. But I never took it. Because I knew I was strong to face things as they came. But you..."

She heaved for air. Her body bent forward like leaning would make her pain go away. My selfishness had always made Zemira sad. I'd hurt her in ways that would require repentance.

I moved closer, running circles over her back. She looked up, wiping away the tears and embracing me harder. As usual, she gripped my back, clawing her way back to my heart.

"I'm sorry for the..." she began.

"Please don't apologize because your boyfriend is a dickhead," I said, kissing her forehead.

"My boyfriend is a dickhead." Whispering and accepting my screwed-up apology, she began kissing the side of my face. "But he's also the man I love. And I think that this dickhead has some magical hold on me because I can't seem to resist him."

"You can't resist because the charm of a Titanium man is strong." I walked with Zemira wrapped around me, my jeans hugging my legs. I managed to place her on the study table in my room, pushing her further into the wall. "I know what I did was wrong. I should've told you long ago."

"You should have." She nodded. "But I'm a good girlfriend, so I'll use this as my trump card shortly."

"Oh, will you now." Grabbing her body closer, I ground my tented erection over her shorts. "How about I plead my case for mercy? Will that do any good?"

The smile on her face conveyed she knew this wasn't just an apology. There will be a lifetime of apologies to make up for this.

She widened her legs. "Make it a good apology."

"I intend to."

~

Gosh... finally... He confessed. 

You all were tired of him not telling her, didn't you?

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