Leo's flashback ahead! Quick warning that it's very violent, so be careful ❤️

Chapter 34:

The stale, humid air in the basement brought a thin sheen of sweat across Leo's bare upper body; a single droplet trickled down his neck, and he shifted tiredly in his spot where he'd slumped against the wall as he wiped it off.

Leo watched the sharp knife held in his father's hand. The choppy, drab light from the rickety lamp swinging down the ceiling reflected onto the metal with glistens of shining white as he slowly turned it around, carefully allowing the piece of disinfectant-soaked cotton to rub into every inch of the blade.

"Leo," his father muttered as he disinfected the knife. "What an awful name. Just like you."

Leo didn't say anything, just watched silently. The older male finally finished, and he ran his finger softly along the sharp edge of the knife before smiling at his son. "Do you know that today is a special day?" he asked. "It's your birthday. It's a very special day. So, I'm going to give you something very, very special."

He slowly walked towards Leo, then crouched down until he was eye-level with him. "Look at my son becoming a man. Now you're thirteen!" He slapped Leo's shoulder, watching amusedly as he grunted and looked away in pain; there was a fresh wound tearing the skin there, and a burning pain ignited across the area as soon as his father's rough hand slammed onto it. "Nothing changed though. This little killer, bad, bad person just grew a year older. So who do you plan to kill next?"

"I don't want to kill—"

"Shut up," Leo's father said through gritted teeth, his hand quickly extending forwards until his fingers grasped the front of Leo's neck. They sank into the skin and pushed back until his head hit the wall. "That's all you do. Kill. Just like you killed your mother. Let's start today's lesson. Who killed her, Leo?"

Leo remained silent until the fingers around his neck squeezed it slightly. "I did."

"Say it all. What did you do?"

"I killed my mom." Leo's voice was monotonous; this conversation had happened countless times. His father would always torture him until he'd confess that he'd killed her, and Leo would say it even though he couldn't remember. He'd say it even though he'd never been sure himself, but as the days had passed he'd succumbed to the idea—he'd begun to accept at this point that he'd done it.

"And what did you do before you killed her?"

"I tortured her."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a bad person."

"Bad person. You're such a bad person, Leo." His father narrowed his eyes as he looked at him like he was looking straight at his enemy rather than his own son. "Why did you have to kill her? What did she do to you? You're so selfish. You're so bad." His voice had been a booming roar, but as he continued, the pain became apparent; it settled in glistening tears in his eyes, broke his voice. "We fought the world to be together. And when it worked out, we decided to have a child. And do you know what happened then, Leo?"

Leo shook his head weakly. His father continued, "We brought you to the world then. And what you did was kill my wife, your mom. You ruined everything. All the work we did to let everyone accept us, it all went to waste. Everything we did to be together, it all went to waste. And it's your fault! You killed her. You ruined my life. Don't you remember when it happened, Leo?"

Leo let out a cry as soon as he heard it; he hated himself for it, for being such a bad person. For doing all these horrible things. "No, Dad! I don't remember! I don't know why. I don't know why." His voice cracked, and the last of his words were nothing but low whispers. "I wish I didn't do it. I wish I died before I did it."

"I wish that, too, Leo! I wish you died! I wish it was you, not her! She didn't deserve to die. You did! You deserve all this pain! You deserve everything's that's happening with you right now." His father was breathless. "I'm going to give you a special scar for your birthday, Leo. And it's just for bad people like you. You deserve it."

His eyes skimmed around Leo's bare front; searched for an empty spot he could carve that scar into. There was a patch of healthy, untainted skin on the right side of his stomach: no old pink scars or bleeding gashes there. It was free, inviting. "Perfect. Let's start."

Leo wasn't scared; he was used to this, to the harrowing pain of the sharp metal slicing his skin in a fast slash. And it happened again. His father brought the disinfected sharp blade down to that area, letting it gently graze the skin before he pulled it back then swung it forward again; the metal tore the skin apart as it passed, and blood quickly blossomed through the slit, trickling down his stomach. Leo's reaction had been mild; he'd only squeezed his eyes shut and let a low grunt.

This isn't special, Leo thought. You always do that to me.

His father laughed dryly. "I know what you're thinking, son. I know. You just wait and see the special part."

He brought the bloodied tip of knife and pressed it to the middle of the line he'd slashed into the skin; he pushed slightly into the wound, watching with amusement as Leo's eyes widened, as the bright blue caught within his irises dulled to a dark shade and the wild pain took over them. But Leo could still contain himself—the pain was sharper than it had been before as the knife poked the open wound, but he was familiar with these burning twinges.

His father continued poking the wound, the pain in Leo giving him strength. "Do you know what your mom used her last breath to say?" He laughed loudly. It was maniacal, almost inhuman. "Her last word was Leo! The last thing she thought about in this world was you! Even though you killed her! She should've said my name! Mine! I should've been the one she thought last about! But it was you. You!"

For a second, the pain numbed as the words his father said took up Leo's focus; even as the knife remained there and hot pain still engulfed the wound, he found himself frowning. "The last thing Mom said was my name?" Leo mumbled breathily. "The- the last thing she thought about... was me?"

The knife stopped poking, and his father devoted enough time to set his eyes on his son. "You're happy? You're happy it was you? You're happy because she forgot about me on her last breath?"

"No, I mean, I don't know." Leo felt slightly confused. He didn't know if it had been a good sign; that she didn't hate him, that she forgave him for killing her or knew he never really meant to, or if it were a bad sign; that it had been a final plea for him to stop torturing her, to give her mercy and let her live.

The frustration piled in his father again, blocking out any pints of mercy. Every time he thought of it again, of how his own beloved wife used her last breath to call the cursed name of the one who killed her, his anger would build up high like towers of concrete until they filled out his vision, and all he'd see through some cracks and gaps was Leo—the reason everything went down, the reason his she died.

"Oh, Leo. I'm going to give you a good scar. It'll never go away, and you'll never forget it." His eyes were leering as he brought the tip of the knife back to the open wound. The tension in every inch of his being, lodged between his bones and entwined among his taut nerves, was strong enough for Leo to sense through the little distance separating them. And Leo knew, with a trembling heart and wide, fearful eyes, that something awful was about to happen. His father pressed the knife further, poking and inflicting more pain, giddying as blood seeped out. And then...

And then he stabbed him.

He pulled the knife a few inches back then shoved it in the middle of Leo's wound; the metal plunged into the skin, tearing veins and spurting blood out. But he didn't go deep, and he stopped just when the tip grazed by the muscle—he didn't want to hit a vital organ and kill Leo, all he wanted to do was inflict pain and form a scar he'd never be able to get rid of.

Leo cried out and his shoulders hunched forwards as soon as the knife entered; he screamed at the singeing burn that expanded around the wound and hot drills of pain that worked deep into him. Blood gathered around the end of the blade planted into him, then slowly rounded around it and drizzled down. "Dad! Stop! That hurts! It hurts.. so much." His breath hitched, and his lungs felt like they'd crumpled down to wrinkled papers that did nothing to help him inhale and exhale.

"Stay strong, Leo. I just need to make the scar a nice shape now and we'll finish. All of your scars are lines, how about we do a circle now?" His father laughed as he began turning the knife around from where it was plunged into the wound; the sharp edge sliced the skin in an expanding arc as he turned the handle, and Leo cried out again—he didn't know how, but the pain magnified by a thousand, what were burning twinges now raging flames and fires nipping at his skin.

"No! Please, Dad! Stop, I.. I can't anymore." Leo's hand found his father's shoulder and grasped it, squeezing as the pain intensified with each passing second. He'd never been stabbed before—the feeling was foreign and so powerful, unlike anything his father had done before. Leo struggled against the wall; tried squirming away, but every time his stomach contracted the knife would hit harder and the pain would flair again, radiating from the wound up to his chest and back to his spine.

"There's the nice circle," his father said as he finished turning the handle in a complete circle; now there was a circular wound right through the slash—it looked awful, blood splattered out from around the blade like a broken faucet. And as soon as he pulled the knife out of the wound, Leo screamed again; a loud cry, a pained, heart-wrenching screech that tore his throat apart and compressed his lungs until they crippled, shutting his breaths out. "Was it painful, Leo?"

Leo's eyes began drooping as he nodded faintly, and his head lolled back against the wall behind him. The pain had sucked out his energy completely. His dad gripped his jaw and forced his head forwards again, his other hand slowly trailing the tip of the bloodied knife up along his chest until he settled it right over his heart. There was silence for a moment, the only sound to be heard Leo's strained breaths and pained whimpers.

"But it's not as painful as the heartbreak you gave me, Leo. I was hurt much more when you killed her." He pressed the sharp tip to Leo's heart, but he did nothing further. "The only reason I won't stab you in the heart is because I'm not like you. I don't kill people like you do. I'm not bad like you. I'm not a killer like you."

He slashed a shallow wound across the skin above Leo's heart, then let go of him. And as soon as he did, Leo's knees buckled beneath him and he dropped down on his side limply, his chest rising and dropping as he blinked. He glanced at the wound in his stomach, the horrible, bleeding gash with a circle torn through it as well.

His father looked at him; there was a lot more blood than he'd intended spilling out of his son, and he knew if the bleeding didn't stop Leo would die. He cursed to himself as he frantically searched around for a piece of cloth, then came back to his son and turned him so he was sprawled on his back. Quickly, he pressed the fabric over the wound, placing both his palms on top and applying as much pressure as he could. As soon as he looked up to call for someone, a woman came tumbling through the door, her brown eyes wide with terror.

"Don't ask! Just go call the doctor. Now! Leo can't die. He can't! I don't kill people like him," Leo's father shouted. "Tell him to come now with stitches or whatever he needs for the wound. If the kid dies all of you will die with him, including that doctor. Remind him."

She nodded, then quickly did as told. He kept putting pressure on Leo's wound, smiling as he watched the blood flow slow down slightly. "You won't die, Leo," he whispered. "You need to live and feel the pain you made me feel. No one will save you."

He leant towards Leo's ear, his voice emitting along blood-curdling vibrations against his neck. "No one will ever love you. You will always be the little bad shit. You'll always be a killer. You'll always be worthless."

For a moment, Aaron sat there stunned and disbelieving; the fact that Leo's father had gone to the extent of stabbing his own son came like a bullet to his heart—Leo's screams haunted his ears persistently, sharp repercussions of pained cries echoing across the innermost crevices.

"First off," Aaron finally managed to say. "Let's just thank God you're alive. It's a miracle you lived through that." He wanted to console further, but there was something that had clicked in. If he'd understood right, what Leo's dad had said proved one of his theories: childbirth accident. "Leo, listen. I need to tell you something important. Open your ears very well and listen."

Leo stared for a moment. "But they're open, Aar."

"Forget about that." Aaron allowed himself a minute to think of how he'd explain something as explicit as giving birth to someone as oblivious as Leo. "So, you remember when we were talking about how babies are made? And you said when people get married God sends a baby to the mom's... stomach." He wasn't sure he'd understand the difference between that and a womb, so he just went with it. Leo nodded. "Yeah, and at some point that baby needs to get out. After nine months, the baby needs to get out. They can't just stay inside, right? Getting out is called birth."

"Oh, yeah." Leo frowned to himself. "How do they get out?"

"Uh... they get out of a hole. And—"

"What hole?"

Aaron felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "A special hole. Just for babies to get out. You don't need to know about it," he quickly dismissed. "Yeah, and that hole is small compared to the babies, so when they get out, it's a lot of pain for the moms. Some women scream when they give birth, and some even die. It's almost like torture. But it's nature. That's what has to happen."

"It's that painful, Aar?"

"Yeah. Like really, really, painful. So much."

"Aar?" Worry washed over Leo's face, and then it turned into some form of guilt. "Did my mom feel that much pain when I came out of her? Does that mean I tortured her when she gave birth to me, then tortured her again before I killed her?" His eyes grew wide; the guilt expanded in his irises widely, and Aaron knew he understood it in a different way.

"No. I did that to my mom too. Everyone did that to their moms. And it's not that we tortured our moms. The pain is natural, we can't stop it." Aaron waited for the words to settle in Leo's head. "You didn't torture her two times, not even once. And you didn't kill her. She just died on her own when she was giving birth to you. It happens, I know people whose moms died at childbirth."

Leo blinked unsurely, his thick lashes veiling and revealing wide, confused blue eyes. "But Dad said I killed her."

"No, you didn't. Your dad just..." is a bastard and needs to die, Aaron thought. "He was too upset when she died maybe, so he blamed it on you. But it wasn't right. What he did was wrong. He made you think you killed her, even though you didn't. She simply died giving birth to you. You were too young, a baby, that's why you can't remember when it happened. And that happens. It's fate. No one can change it."

"No, Aar. I'm- I'm a bad person. I killed her. Dad kept saying that."

"Who do you trust more, me or your dad?"

Leo didn't even need to think. "You, Aar."

"Then you need to trust me when I say you didn't kill her. You're not a bad person. You're good. You're the best little brother in the world."

Leo watched with tentative eyes, and Aaron knew that he wouldn't be able to convince him so easily—he'd grown up to that idea, to the concept of being a horrible person who'd killed his own mother; it was stuck in his brain, woven through the delicacy of his soul. A few words weren't effective enough to overpower the idea that had been anchored deep in him for so long.

"Aar..." Leo's eyes suddenly shone with a glassy layer; a watery pane concealed his irises, glistening against the light that reflected off them. His lips were pouty, and the bottom one trembled as he fought the heavy weight in his chest.

Seeing the sudden change, Aaron quickly regretted even trying to explain that he hadn't killed his mother. He tensed as he watched Leo, and he waited cautiously for him to burst out crying his pain.

But instead, Leo suddenly pounced forwards, burying his face in Aaron's shoulder and gathering the front of his sweater in his fist tightly. "I love you so much, Aar," he cried into the fabric as he burrowed further into the warmth of his brother's shoulder. He felt safe with Aaron. So safe. "You're the best big brother in the world."

At first, Aaron only tensed unsurely at the sudden onslaught of emotion. But then he gradually relaxed again, one arm going around Leo as he watched him with an aching heart.

And as Leo clung to him persistently, doling out his emotions through the way his fingers clenched Aaron's sweater tightly, Aaron felt himself about to cry again with him—he had no idea when he'd managed to get so attached to Leo in just a course of two weeks.

"Leo, I love you too, but you're going to make me cry again." Aaron didn't understand why he was so emotional today; he'd shed every pint of water in his body during his breakdown, and he had no idea why he felt like crying again. "Basically like Erika on her period."

There was a brief moment of silence, but then Leo pulled back with a small snivel, and he looked at Aaron with wide, teary eyes. "Erika? Who's Erika?" he asked. "And what do you mean her per—"

Aaron quickly shushed him. "Nothing. Forget about that. Erika is my friend. She's the girl I like."

"Oh. There's a girl I like too, Aar."

"Really?" Aaron frowned, yet his lips curled into an amused smile. "Who is she?"

"Carly from iCarly. I really like her. She's pretty and nice. I watch her on TV."

"You watch that show?" Aaron chuckled to himself as Leo nodded at him with slight excitement. "Oh. I thought you watch just cartoons. But nevermind."

They both sat in silence for a moment, and Aaron's smile slowly melted until the edges of his lips dripped back to a thin line; bringing up Erika had reminded him of the fact that he'd almost succeeded in saving himself and Leo. He'd had plans he was excited about—he was going to wait for him and Leo to recover from the trauma, then he'd marry Erika when he'd grow up more and let Leo move in with them, because he wanted his brother to stay safe with him all the time, away from anything and anyone who'd ever harmed him. That would he his family: his wife and his little brother.

But he knew this wasn't but far fantasies as long as he was stuck here, with the chains and shackles of confinement now tighter than ever around him. He knew that after his failed attempt, he wouldn't be able to move a muscle without being watched.

"Aar?"

"Yeah?"

"What's the worst thing your dad did to you?"

Aaron frowned, his eyes shifting as he recalled back to the various types of pains his father used to inflict. "I don't know. I mean physically, he stepped on my fingers once and broke my index. That was really painful," Aaron absently rambled. "And there were belts, he used to hit my back with it a lot. That was horrible, because like the process is painful, and then my back keeps burning and hurting for so long after."

"Yeah, I hated belts too," Leo agreed. "Did your dad put alcohol on the wounds after so they burn? It used to make the pain so much worse."

Aaron straightened, nodding. "Yeah, he used to do that too. And he pressed cigarettes on my skin too. And his punches. Oh my shit. His punches and his kicks, they were so painful."

Leo nodded, and his shoulders shuddered as he remembered the pain. They both sat in silence as the memories swamped their minds—it was odd how none of them cried or anything, instead they both suddenly laughed at the horrible experiences. They didn't know how, but they laughed midst the sorrow they'd both shared before. They laughed, but what was that sound rather than a pained cry veiled beneath the high pitch of laughter and the rumbling of their chests as they chuckled; what was that sound rather than bitterness that poisoned the air at the same time it was filling it with a feigned jovial melody. The contradiction was stark.

Aaron remembered something he'd read before, and he'd never found it so accurate. "We laugh, but the hearts cry."

Leo let the statement sink in, then he turned to Aaron with a half-hearted smile. "I like that," he mumbled. "Because that's what I feel right now."

The conversation ended there, and they both leant back against the wall they'd decided to rest against at one point without even noticing; sitting there was oddly comfortable. It felt like that spot was a special nook—the place they'd allowed themselves to dissipate the pain within their hearts into heavy clusters that hung in the air around them. They could still feel the pain and the agony surrounding them, but somehow it was no longer as heavy on their souls as before, like part of it had moved from the nest on their shoulders and hung weightlessly around them instead.

And eventually they both trudged to their beds; Leo wanted to sleep, but Aaron couldn't. He just sat there, looking into the distance as the sense of emptiness crept up to him for the third time—it caught his hand and tugged for him to follow, winked and enticed him with the privilege it could offer: detachment, disconnection, numbness. It could rid him from the all the emotions that hung onto him like leeches, persistent and painful. Maybe numbness was better than feelings, and maybe he wanted it when he felt so helpless.

Daddy inched the door open and stepped inside, carefully taking in how Leo was soundly asleep and how Aaron was just sitting on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He walked closer until he stood by the foot of his bed, yet his baby was still not acknowledging his presence at all. "Aaron?" he called. "Come on, sleep. Don't exhaust yourself like that. You need to rest."

Aaron barely turned his neck enough to look at him. He snorted, low and mocking. "What will you do if I don't sleep now? Drug me again?"

"No, baby. Sleep, it's—"

"For God's sake, stop calling me that."

"Aaron." Daddy watched as Aaron turned his back on him, and he shook his head to himself defeatedly before slowly walking out. He knew that there was no point arguing with his baby at all, that it wouldn't lead anywhere.

Daddy went down to the living room, and both Lou and Mommy looked at him expectantly as soon as he stepped past the threshold.

"Is he sleeping?"

"No. He doesn't want to. He just snapped at me. That boy gives me headaches sometimes," Daddy muttered as he plopped down on the couch. "He can get so stubborn."

Lou gave him a sharp look. "You can't blame him right now. You really can't."

"Anyway." Daddy shifted uncomfortably in his spot, and his eyes darted nervously among Mommy and Lou before settling on the floor, the tips of his lashes almost brushing against his cheek bones as he refused to maintain proper eye contact. "Before Aaron's breakdown, I wanted to tell you... there's... um..."

"Yeah?" Mommy pushed. "What is it?"

"I need to tell you both something, but please, please, stay calm and let me explain."

*_*_*_*_*_*

I love you forgive me about the cliffhanger. What do you think he wants to tell them? Get ready for some adult conversation hehe.

Leo's flashback. How was it? :(

Thank you for reading/voting/commenting❤️