Leonardo

When Zemira discovered my addiction, I had assumed the worst of my days had begun. Dramatic, I know but one would always defend their addiction, no matter what. An alcoholic would state they had it under control and so was a druggie.

I wasn't any different. The woman who wanted to help me suddenly resembled a monster than the goddess she was - unwilling to leave my lousy ass and save herself.

A week of spending my money and time at a de-addiction center brought me to face the grim reality of who really was the monster. I was. There was no doubt about it.

The funny thing about monsters was - they'd hide. Always. I did the same. The truth about my dependency on those pills that felt better than any ecstasy trip I'd ever had made me lie.

To Zemira, to the world. I wasn't doing better than when they found me in an almost dead condition in Afghanistan. I was doing way worse.

Down the rabbit hole and into the pit where all addicts sought asylum. A lie that showed me as better - hiding the truth that always in pain till I wasn't. The dependency on those painkillers didn't start till I left Miami.

Amara had complete control over those dosages. She even ensured that I'd rather bear through the bearable discomfort rather than seek help from those pale pills.

When we moved to the new city, with her impending custody battle, she lost control of how she managed my medication.

I'd never blame Amara. She did everything in her control to ensure I was doing well - both with the physiotherapy and counselling.

It was me, who decided to deviate.

It began in a very subtle and almost unrecognizable manner at first. Almost like the early winter chill creeping in, first drying the skin and eventually growing strong to draw out goosebumps to turning intense - bone-jarring and teeth-clattering.

That was how I recognized I was addicted to those tiny pills.

They took control of me - making me feel like I was always floating on a cloud. Every woe of mine faded when I took them.

Every painful sensation I had - not that I had any by the time I began taking them - faded. Left as a happy, content man, my dependency grew.

Half became one, then two and three.

When I visited Zemira at her office for the first time, the bottle of my elixir accompanied me, resting in my pocket.

I never told Zem but I always felt territorial about her whenever she was with Sam. Those pills didn't help with the feeling. It aggravated them.

"Leo."

Someone opened the door to my room.

It was the helper staff, always making an appearance whenever Zemira came to meet me.

I got off the couch I'd always found myself on every time I was hit with a revolting feeling, body craving for what I made it used to, mind split in two to run away from here or endure everything to ensure I gave Zemira what she deserved.

A decent, sober man she fell in love with. More than that, I wanted to be my past self, away from the guilt before everything in my life began crumbling.

I walked with the staff outside my room, passing through the brightly-lit hallway, and gazing through all those closed doors with weird room numbers.

Z01 or GP-65.

Mine was U-97. Not that I understood what U stood for, or why none of the room started with the alphabet A to P, I decided not to remain fixated.

The corner, turning me towards the visitor's room always tempted me to run. That was when I began my stay here. Today, a week since being admitted, it felt better.

I didn't want to run anymore. I wanted to stay. Mend.

The glass door through which I could see my visitor halted my steps. My breaths were arrested.

My mother sat at a round table, her phone on the table facing down, her gaze at the one flickering light that nobody in this center seemed to be bothered with.

"Mom," I said walking in as soon as the helper staff opened the glass door and let me in.

Mom sprang from the creaking, worn-out plastic chair that always had enough layers of bubble wrap that it could act as a trampoline

"Leo..." Mom held her arms up, moving closer.

Glistened sight, wavered smile and trembling lips didn't bother me. I'd always seen her sad. What hurt me was her presence altogether. Zemira promised this would stay between us.

"How are you?" As soon as she asked, she smacked her forehead, chucking in a tone that felt like she was mocking herself. "What I meant was how are you doing?"

"All fine." I shrugged, embracing her, tightening my grip and inhaling her vanilla, soothing scent.

Mom patted the back of my head, back, and neck.

Sobs. Soft sobs emerged from her side, deep-seated from her chest.

"Don't cry, Mom...please..."

It was the least I could ask, given her sadness was my doing.

"I'm not crying," Mom chuckled, wiping the corner of my eyes. That's when I realized, it was me who sobbed. Me, who teared up. "My baby."

Cupping the side of my face, she tilted her head. At that moment, I was transported back to relive my childhood memories.

I'd once fallen off my bike and bruised my knees. It felt like the end of the world when I walked home, thinking a simple skin abrasion resulted in people dying.

Mom held the same expression - a soft smile and reassuring slower blinks.

"Why are you here, Mom? Zemira ratted me out?"

"She didn't. I got it out of her. Mothers have that power, to get people to confess."

Mom sat on the chair beside me, interloping our arms. She leaned against my chest. I felt the sharp edge of hurt, slicing through my skin. Instead of being her support, I was using her as one.

"So you tortured my girl with the third degree?" I patted her silver-streaked hair, wiping off wisps which fell on her face. "Is that what a good mother does?"

Mom didn't say anything. It seemed as if my mother was contemplating what I asked.

Was she a good mother?

"Mom," I called, tracing my arm around her fragile body, sighing. Whoever said hugs made people happy told the truth. I felt a wave of relief wash over my chest since I saw Mom. "You didn't have to come. I'm doing better, you know."

"I know." She nodded. "But I wanted to see my baby." Upon rolling my eyes, she began. "You'd think a phone call is enough but it isn't. You're not a mother. You'll never understand a mother's pain, seeing her child suffer."

"I assure you," I dragged my body out of her warm embrace, holding her arms to address. "Your broken child is doing much better."

Mom smiled. For a while, she'd fashioned herself to accept my words, only to counter them with diligence.

"My strong child," she said, cupping the side of my face, "might be doing better. But I needed to see it for myself."

Strong. Was I?

Mom didn't speak further. In those precious twenty minutes time since her arrival and departure, she embraced me hard, sighing every other minute.

When it was time for her to leave, she dunked her hand inside her bag and fished out something.

Teal-coloured box with the words Tiffany & Co. in capitalized, silver-colored font sat in front of me.

"Whenever you are ready," she said, tapping her index finger. "You need to ask."

"Mom." I tried lightening her mood - clouded with doubts and sadness. "I'm pretty sure it's illegal to marry one's mother. No matter how rich or pretty she is."

Mom poked my rib, screwing her bony finger into my vital organ.

"Aww. Sorry." I surrendered. "Fine, give it."

I dragged my hand nearer but mom pulled the box away, placing it back in her bag.

"No. Not here. Not now. You'd let me know and I'll give it to you then."

Mom had always been a better judge of characters, of how people worked with words and deeds.

She must have realized that though recovering, I still needed to clear my head before proposing to Zemira. I still needed to get my affairs in order.

Rachel Brenton - a strong woman, had a stronger understanding of her firstborn's state of mind. She knew if I possessed the ring, the moment I saw Zem would result in a disastrous proposal.

Being vulnerable had never worked in my favor, especially when it involved Zemira.

"Get well soon. Zem's always had your back, Leo. It's time you have hers too."

Mom left, leaving in the company of words of her wisdom, of loving Zemira and always being there for her. Most of all, Mom wanted me to own up to my past rather than run from it.

It all sounded better, coming from her. Like Zem, she didn't treat me as a burden. However, my wicked self still required a lot of attunement to that reality.

~

The next morning, I had spent my eighth day at rehab, feeling much better. Energized.

Zem visited me around noon with a pocketful of hidden sugary stuff which I restricted from consuming.

I entered the visiting room from the second door the usual one in the front. Facing Zemira's back, I could see her head nested over her chest.

Though I couldn't see her expression, nor could I hear anything from behind the glass, I could feel tension humming from her skin.

The staff opened the creaking glass door, treating me like a baby who couldn't open doors.

Zemira looked up from her bloodied, chewed-up cuticles. Whatever ate her up was heavy.

Else, she wouldn't chew her fingers to the point of bleeding.

"Hey," I waved, taking my usual spot across from her. Rendering a fake smile, Zem held my hand, running her thumbs over my knuckles. "Something's bothering you."

She nodded. "Amara's son's custody..." She paused, looking up.

The glassy look of her eyes scared me. Was Faizy taken away? But Amara said there was still time?

Zemira cleared her throat, continuing. "She wanted you as a character witness."

In a universal joke that I'd become, or felt like becoming, this one felt like yet another slap.

"You know better than anyone that they'll rip open my life if I bear witness to her. It's me," I waved at the light mint-colored walls I'd come to detest. "Who after this would require a character witness, baby."

Zemira sighed, the heaviness of her next words hitting me already. "Then she'd lose-"

"She won't. You can be the witness. We've both known her almost the same time."

"Almost," Zemira began. "But she served you. Helped you, Leo. I was just a spectator to her saint-like character. You bore witness."

I wasn't arguing but I knew she had a point. "How about we both do it."

The spark in her eyes returned, one that I put off when she saw the stash of painkillers in my drawer. Gosh, I was such a fool to hurt her... every time.

"Zem," I began, the image of the teal-colored engagement box dancing in front of my eyes. "I...I wanted to ask..."

No.

Something roared from inside. Something nocturnal which remained dormant all this while. Something that knew better than me. Something that told me, Zem deserved better. Actually, the best.

"What is it?" She asked, her head slanting, peering at my fallen gaze. "What do you want to ask?"

"How can you love me even when I hurt you so much?"

It was a question I always wanted an answer to. During my mission, if time would have permitted for a fifth letter, this would have been my question.

There wasn't a better time to get the answer.

Zemira shrugged, leaving her seat and sliding closer to mine.

She ran her lower lip over my knuckles, hooded eyes watching me. Her warm breath over my hand was filled with the hope of brighter and better days to come.

"Loving you is easy, Leo." Zemira began. The mirth in her eyes calmed my inner storm. "You think it's hard because you hurt me or because..." She looked around, smiling. "But l never felt I was doing a task when it came to you. It just came naturally."

Nestling my hand into the crook of her next, she leaned her face over it.

"Sappy right?" she said.

"Perfect actually," I said, making a mental note to die before hurting her...ever.

~

Now that Leo is in rehab, and Zem is helping, do you think their problems are over?

Or is this just the beginning of the storms and hurricanes in their lives?

Let me know your thoughts in the comments

Or simply, show your love through emojis <3