Chapter 11 | Leo

The moment ten-year-old Leo was given a coloring book and crayons, he became obsessed. But not obsessed like Jayden had been and still was with his long-dead wife or the way Aaron was with astronomy. He just liked the idea of filling in empty spaces with colors of his choice—he could ruin it, he could not. Control. Something he lacked.

"Do you know what this is?"

Leo stopped dragging the blue crayon on the paper right where Amy's finger pointed. He stared at the spot for a second then looked up at her and shook his head. "What?"

"It's called the color blue."

"Blue," Leo repeated, letting the word linger on his tongue like he was tasting it. The edge of his lip pulled up. "Blue, blue, blue." He'd been sprawled on his stomach but now he turned on his side and giggled. "I like blue. It's nice."

"Yeah." Amy crouched down beside him. She smiled but it was never really happy. Something constantly weighed her ribs down in her chest. It'd been years and the guilt still wouldn't leave her alone. It was tenacious like that, persistently reminding her that her actions equated Jayden's in atrocity because she was allowing it to happen. Sometimes, greed couldn't be controlled. Once loose, it fed. And once fed, there was no turning back before explosion. "You know blue like what?"

Leo squinted apprehensively then rolled back on his stomach, propping his torso up with an elbow against the floor. "Like what?"

"Like your eyes."

"My eyes are blue?"

"Yeah, they are. They're the same color as the crayon. Look." Amy pulled out her phone and gave it him so he'd catch a glimpse of his eyes.

Leo grabbed the phone with both hands, dirty fingers leaving prints against the screen but he watched his reflection anyway. He'd seen his eyes before, just never really focused enough. Now, however, looking closely and with purpose, he realized that they matched the crayon.

"Pretty," he mumbled. He'd learnt the word from Jayden. That was what he called Eliza. So the opposite of bad, equivalent of good. Leo decided that he was bad but his eyes were pretty. "I like my eyes."

Amy chuckled. "Uh, I mean, that's good?"

Leo turned and looked at her straight in the eyes. She could tell he was assessing the color of her own. Apprehension in the scrutiny of his gaze, in the subtle tilt to his head. His bang curled sideways along his forehead. The phone slipped from his hands in the process, and then he finally spoke:

"Your eyes aren't pretty. Don't like them."

Amy almost choked even though that was something she'd expect from Leo. He was just brutally honest like that, always spilling out whatever thoughts crossed his mind. That or repeating what Jayden crammed in his head.

"Oh." Amy cleared her throat then chuckled. "Why don't you like them?"

"'Cause they look like shit," Leo mumbled, eyes playfully turning into crescents. He bit his bottom lip and dragged it between his crooked teeth then giggled. "Your eyes are shit."

Amy noticed that he leant forwards every time he said shit as if he were purposely spiting her. Not that it was a surprise for him to do that; over the years he'd started changing, picking up Jayden's language. Becoming more vicious. His defense had become biting. She just hoped it wouldn't get worse.

Leo patted her arm, fast and urgent. Amy snapped out of her bubble and focused on him. She shook her head questioningly.

"Know what else is shit?" he asked, lips pulling up. He fiddled with his fingers awkwardly, pulled back his index.

"What, Leo?"

"You. You're shit."

Amy wasn't offended. She knew he was only trying words, using them because he'd heard them a lot and like a child he couldn't keep them in his head. Wasn't the first time, surely not the last time. But she noticed that he seemed to repeat everything except bad—that, Leo'd never said to her.

"You're a piece of shit," Leo leisurely repeated to himself as he let his eyes focus on the coloring book and crayons again. He sprawled down, making himself comfortable against the floor, and mumbled something entirely unattainable.

Amy watched his lips move, part and close, part and close, but she couldn't make out anything of it. "Leo, stop saying shit. It's not a nice word."

Leo had already lost interest. He mused whether he'd use blue or red which he'd learnt long ago because it was the color of the blood that leaked from his wounds. Jayden had said, red like your blood! The blue crayon slipped from Leo and rolled down across the planks only to be bump and stop against Jayden's shoe which had just stepped in.

"My blue." Leo looked up at his dad through his lashes with his shoulders tilted forwards and a hand against the floor. He reached forward and tried grasping the crayon but Jayden was faster. He stepped on it, purposely crushing it beneath his shoes until it turned dirty powder. When he gazed forwards again to catch the reaction, Leo was frowning at him like he'd been robbed. "Why!"

"Because I want to." Jayden gazed at the red crayon on the floor just as Leo did. Both watched it. Leo jerked forwards and tried gripping it but like last time, Jayden's hand, big and rough, snatched it faster. He held it down by his hip with a sick grin on his lips. There was something so satisfying about watching Leo's face twist hurtfully. "I'll be taking this. Have fun coloring with no crayons."

"My crayons." Leo crossed his arms, watching his dad leave. He looked back at the paper, half colored and half colorless. It'd been too exciting for him, the only thing he'd keep doing for hours without losing interest. He sprawled down again on his stomach with an elbow into the floor and fist into his cheek. His thin shoulders deflated in defeat. He blinked, slowly, and sighed. "Wanna color."

The sound that he made right after he'd spoken broke Amy's heart, a cry and whimper combined like a puppy that'd taken been from its mother and thrown aside.

Leo looked up. "Have more crayons, Amy?"

The hope in his eyes was far too painful to watch. Especially when she knew she'd only be disappointing him further with her answer. "No, Leo, I'm sorry."

He pouted, thick lashes downcast. Amy scooted forwards and crouched beside him. "Don't cry, please," she coaxed, one hand messing with the tips of his unkempt hair. It wasn't exactly curly but with the lack of care it'd turned coarse, ends rough and split. "Do you want me to play with your hair? I'll do anything, just don't be sad. If you want I'll scratch your back."

She didn't do that right. Leo liked it but most of the time her nail went over a wound and he'd scream. "No." He jerked away from her then let his head drop on the floor, tipping his chin up so he could look up through his lashes at the coloring book.

No more crayons, no more coloring. But if he could make ones...

It was startling how fast he went from sprawled down half dead to moving his torso until he was sitting upright, blue eyes wide and alert like he'd seen the unspeakable or thought of it. Amy would've worried if she didn't notice the edge of his ruby lips twist up a little, then a bit more. She knew he had something in mind.

Leo pressed a hand to the floor as he forced himself to his knees then up to his feet. When he stood like that, full length, back facing her, Amy cringed. She could almost see the ghost of bones at the base of his neck and the ridges of his spine protruding subtly though sickly white and scar-strewn skin. She thought, he's not gonna live long. A couple of years until his body would shut down on him if no one saved him. Maybe that was better for him.

Leo went over to the dust-lined wooden shelves. On tiptoes, he could barely even reach, fingers gripping the edge and nose just against it. Amy watched the dirt on the bottom of his feet that were poised up, his achilles' tendon so sharp and bony.

His thin fingers blindly patted around until he found what he wanted. He let his weight down again on the flats of his feet and sighed. The knife was in his hand.

Amy's brows dropped. Voice panicky, she asked, "Leo? What're you doing with the knife?"

The innocent smile that pulled the edges of his mouth up really didn't fit the fact that he was holding a knife. "Red like my blood," he mumbled absently then caught Amy's gaze. She cautiously started getting up to her feet like she didn't want to trip on invisible ropes. His eyes, bearing mischief and unspoken atrocity, sparkled. "I can make my crayons."

She understood. "Oh- oh my God, no! Don't!"

She tried but he was faster. He slashed the knife down his arm with such cold blood Amy almost felt the child before her wasn't Leo. She tried reaching over to snatch the knife but he pushed her aside violently then tottered to his place and settled cross-legged in front of the coloring book.

Leo watched the blood stream from the wound. He dabbed a finger into the crimson then watched it intently. "Look, Amy, I made a crayon!" He held the blood-coated tip of his finger up and giggled. Giggled like he hadn't just sliced his own flesh. Giggled like this was normal.

"Leo, that's- that's not okay, you gave yourself a wound." Amy put a hand to her mouth as she watched the wound and his blood on paper. She almost felt sick. What had gotten into him? "Give me the knife-"

"No." He jerked his shoulder back, distancing himself from her with a displeased frown across his brows. Slowly, as he brought his finger to the coloring book and swiped it around and watched the blood spread, a smile caught his mouth. "My red."

Amy just stared with her expression twisted incredulously. "L-Leo, how- didn't that hurt?"

"Just a little." At this point, Leo was used to it. Pain remained pain and it demanded to be felt but it didn't scare him anymore. Now he felt proud, proud that he'd managed to spite his dad and create crayons again. Except, only red. He wanted more colors. He looked forwards, straight into Amy's eyes. Did everyone bleed red or was it just him? "Do you have blue in you?"

Amy just stared back. "What?"

He readjusted, moving his legs beneath him until he sat on his knees. His eyes fixated upon her bare arm, skin beneath which blood flowed. Was everyone's blood red or was it just his? "Maybe you have blue blood, I want blue." Leo patted the ground again for the knife and lurched forwards, faster than Amy's hazy perception, and tried slitting her.

"Oh my God! Leo!" she screamed, pushing him off. He clung to her and tried to get the knife against her flesh. Without context, the determination in his eyes was almost frightening. "What the hell? What's gotten into you! Stay away from me!"

"It doesn't hurt a lot," Leo said, but surprisingly he wasn't frowning. Just staring. "I promise, let me cut you, please. Wanna see if you have blue."

"No, Leo, no! I won't let you cut me! What's up with you today?"

Leo remained still, knife in hand but unmoving. It scared her. Quiet and calm, but like a predator, preparing to pounce. For a moment, silence enveloped them and Amy prepared to move him off her.

Except Leo pounced then, sharper than expected, and slit her arm down.

She screamed again (which Leo found annoying because knife slits weren't that painful) and jerked back. Holding the wound with one hand, she glared at Leo like he wasn't Leo even though a tiny part of her had expected this at some point.

Leo settled as he watched red ooze out of her arm. His shoulders slouched. "You have red too. Wanted blue," he whined.

"What's going on here, why're you screaming-" Jayden's jaw froze half open as soon as he stepped into the basement close enough to acknowledge what'd happened. He stood, completely dumbfounded, and watched the wound on Amy's arm and Leo's. The blood on the coloring book. The knife in Leo's hand. The scene clicked together but he almost couldn't believe. Had Leo really—?

"He cut me, Jayden! That's what he did. And he cut himself. Know why? He was upset you took his crayons and he wanted something to color with! Look what you did to him, Jayden. He's becoming so different."

Jayden heard each word but ignored her and walked closer to Leo. "You little shit, what the hell? What're you doing? Think cutting is fun?"

Leo just stared. Then, when Jayden reached for the knife, he felt like he was taking away his only way to color. "No! Want the knife, dad!" Leo gripped Jayden's wrist and pulled it back but faltered when his foot crashed into his side. He yelped and fell back on his elbows. But then, hanging onto childish determination, he heaved himself up again, propelling forwards.

Leo tried to get it back but it didn't work. It taunted him that each time he reached for it, Jayden would pull it back. His crayons. And in the heat of the moment, brows furrowed indigently, he leant forwards and bit Jayden's hand hard, canines sinking into flesh.

It hurt a lot more than Jayden would've expected. He pulled back then kicked Leo off, hissing at the burn against his skin. Eyes chaotically wide, Jayden stared down at his hand. "What the hell is wrong with him today!"

"You just noticed?" Amy shook her head incredulously. "This is nothing. Look at this—" she showed him her arm where a bruise Leo's teeth had carved lingered on her flesh "—he did that to me. I mean, it's one of his defenses. And it's getting worse! You didn't see him when he was trying to cut me. He's just ten but he cuts himself like it's nothing!"

Jayden looked like he apprehended what he'd heard but then spoke to Leo like he hadn't, "What an animal. You want the knife so bad? I'll show you how you use it."

He pushed his shoulder, made him sit back. Leo froze in the position and watched his father grip his ankle, pulling it until he had his shin—which was sickeningly almost the same size as his thigh—stretched out before him. Jayden took his palm and slapped the knife on it. He said, voice harder than his stone heart, "You write BAD this time. If you like slitting yourself, then you can do it."

Leo only blinked. He'd gotten over the stage where he'd scream and cry at simple knife slits because it'd become the norm. But he hadn't gotten over bad, over the pain of his conscience nipping at his flesh deeper than the blade. "Sorry, dad."

"I said write it. Write it on yourself now."

"Jayden," Amy intervened. "He didn't even mean to bite you, okay? He's scared of you. I'm sure he didn't actually mean to. He just thinks the knife lets him make crayons and you were taking it. He loves coloring."

Deaf ears and rotten heart. Jayden kept his focus on Leo. When the moment of hesitance lingered longer than his short-lived patience, he gripped the side of Leo's head, cruel fingers tangling rough caramel hair between them tightly. Leo subconsciously angled his head closer to Jayden's hand, eyes screwed shut, desperate to relieve the pressure.

"Write it." Jayden closed Leo's fingers around the knife with his free hand and shoved it towards his leg. He heard a little sniffle, a sob that might've been: I don't wanna be bad. But that was what he was and he needed to live with it. Jayden yanked his hair, pulling his head back so his face was angled up. "Write it!"

"Don't wanna be bad," Leo spluttered as he bent forward, knife in hand and chaos in mind. He wasn't scared of the pain but he was scared of the everlasting label, of the guilt. Scared of his mom's wrath. Something hit the back of his head. Do it. He brought the knife forwards, pressed the tip to his skin.

Leo didn't know how to write though, so he couldn't quite spell it right on his own. He remembered the times his father had done it on him. B: curve and dip. He moved the knife like he remembered, hissed at the pain but cried at the thought. I'm sorry mom, he wanted to scream. Now A? It was hard to focus with the pressure, with barks of write! above his head

"I- I forgot, dad. Sorry?"

Jayden ignored him. "Now A. Come on."

Leo tried carving the letter into his flesh. It was hard when he couldn't even remember well how A looked or with his vision clouding over. Tears filled his eyes. It wasn't the pain that elicited them, it was the establishment of his crime.

A turned out more like a mess of slits beside each other but he moved to D anyway. He led the knife, heard Jayden vaguely yell at him but couldn't comprehend well over the voice in his head. Forgive me, mom. Leo could taste the tears in his mouth now. I wish I was a good boy. His heart bled more than the countless wounds on him.

When he finished, he dropped the knife. Jayden leant closer and touched the blood. He held his finger in front of Leo's face. "Look, now you have so much blood. Enjoy coloring. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

He straightened then and left the basement. Amy looked at Leo with pity in her eyes. Possibly the most thing she'd ever done so far: watch an innocent soul bear the wrath of a heartbroken lovesick man and convince herself she couldn't do anything. That was what cowards did, ease their conscience about the wrong because standing for the right threatened their welfare.

Leo just leant back against the wall. He shifted, turning to his side and whimpering and sniffling and choking on his tears. He thought about the colors again. Red like his blood, blue like his eyes, black like his grave.

Wasn't that where his mom was? Maybe he could meet her there, maybe she'd forgive him. Maybe in another world he'd be a good boy and he'd see her and he'd tell her how much he loved her.

But this was this world, this crisis, this Leo—and this Leo wasn't good.

*_*_*_*_*

leo's got a bit of a different side to him. Watcha think of this? This is important because it connects back to why the captors insisted that leo's first days were chaos. (also which you're gonna see in the prequel soon!)

Thank you so much for reading/voting/commenting, i can never stop thanking you for all the love <33