La Mort et ses Merveilles
Chapter 19: Pays des Merveilles
Leslie had nothing but a blank stare as he sat there, his bloodied hand placed on the table. The traces of his tears on his reddened cheeks were shiny, reflecting the light of the kerosene lamp. He didn't even flinch as I picked out the small pieces of glass in his hand with a pair of tweezers. He was lucky the glass didn't hit any arteries.
It was getting dark by then, the sun setting in the horizon. I had locked all the doors and windows earlier, preparing to stay the night.
I still couldn't believe what I had just seen. To see Leslie suffering like this was just heart wrenching. I was upset, and I was still trying to hold back tears. But I couldn't even imagine how Leslie was feeling.
As I cleaned out the cuts on his knuckles with a bottle of antiseptic, the young man finally spoke, breaking the silence.
"He raped me," he muttered, his lips quivering ever so slightly.
I could only reply with silence. What exactly can I say? There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say to take away the pain. I just held his other hand, clasping it between my palms. He looked at me with his deep set eyes, tired and defeated. Eyes that were red and puffy from crying.
"It's all my fault," he said. "If I fought back harder he wouldn't have done that. If I wasn't so weak-"
"No," I cut him off, choking on my tears, my palms clasping onto his as hard as I could. "Leslie don't you ever say that. It wasn't your fault. He did this to you, it wasn't your fault. Not at all."
The young man started crying again, gasping for air through his sobs and hiccups.
"Why would he do this to me?" the poor boy muttered through his tears. "Why?"
I didn't have an answer. I could only bandage his injured hand in silence. He was still bleeding, but it wasn't as bad as before. He had punched a mirror when he broke down, and I didn't blame him.
I just wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay, but I couldn't. This was severe trauma that he had bottled up for years. And it just festered within him until it finally exploded. I didn't know what to do.
"I'm so sorry," that was all that I could say.
Words are cheap. I wish I could do more to help his pain.
"Me too," he muttered.
"You know," I said as I walked up to him. "You should rest. It's been a really long day."
The young man said nothing as I helped him up. Lamp in one hand, and Leslie's bandaged palm in the other, I led him back to the living room.
Leslie sat down at the sofa, saying nothing as he wiped away the tears in his eyes. I managed to get a fire going in the fireplace, using firewood and fuel I found in the basement.
As the flames cackled away in the fireplace, eating away at the pieces of wood, I sat down beside Leslie, just trying to make sure he was okay. It was then I remembered that he had packed dinner for us. Heading over to the kitchen, I grabbed a pot with a long handle, two bowls and a couple of spoons.
Dinner for the night was canned tomato soup. I didn't mind. I opened up two cans and poured them in the pot, before hovering the pot over the fire. Sure, my arms were tired but what else could I do? Once I was done heating it, I served it in the two bowls.
"Here," I said, passing one of them to Leslie. "You should eat something."
"I don't feel like it," he muttered, hunching forward slightly while he fidgeted with his fingers.
"I don't want you to go hungry," I said. "If you won't be eating then I won't either."
The young man said nothing. I just left the two bowls on the coffee table as I made a quick run upstairs, bringing the lamp with me. I headed for his old bedroom and grabbed the pillow from his bed, before going back downstairs.
I was greeted with the sight of him holding the bowl in his hands, slowly bringing a spoonful of soup up to his lips. I helped set up his bed for the night, laying down the pillow and rearranging some cushions. Once I was done, I joined him for dinner, eating in silence.
Once he was done, I took the dirty bowls and pot to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink.
"Thanks," he muttered when I returned. "For dinner."
"No problem," I replied as I sat down next to him.
"I'm just so tired," he said, staring at nothing in particular in front of him. "I don't have the energy to live anymore."
I only reached to my right and squeezed his hand.
"You'll get through this," I said. "You're strong enough Leslie. You can overcome this."
The words just came naturally to me. I didn't know if I believed them, but it was what the young man needed to hear.
"I didn't tell anyone," he said. "I didn't want anyone to know."
I shifted in closer and wrapped my arms around the poor boy. I held him tight as I heard him sniffle.
"I was so ashamed," he confessed, as the tears returned, falling down his cheeks. "I felt so dirty and disgusting. That I let something like that happen to me."
"You didn't let anything happen," I tried to reassure him. "You didn't do anything wrong, you have nothing to be ashamed of."
"You don't know how it feels like to be violated," he said as he shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "I just feel so. . . filthy."
"Leslie," I said as I embraced him tighter. "You're not disgusting. You're not filthy. You were a victim for goodness's sake! You didn't deserve it."
There was a short silence for a brief moment.
"Can you do me a favour?" he asked, his voice hoarse and soft. "Please."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Those photos," he muttered. "Can you help me burn them? All of it."
"How about we wait until sunlight?" I suggested. "It's dark and it'll be hard to pick them up from the floor."
The young man only nodded in silence. As he lay down on the sofa, I sat on the armchair directly beside him.
Watching him close his eyes, I couldn't help but feel a fresh wave of sadness hit me. This young man had gone through so much, through things no one ever deserves to deal with. Things that should never happen to anyone, especially to a child. I felt guilty for all the times in the past I misjudged him, for all the time I felt that he was childish and stupid. All this while he was hiding his true, tormented feelings. His suffering in his own silent hell.
I could only hope that he could find peace in his sleep. The next morning he'll remember again. Leslie told me he didn't want to remember
I landed a good night kiss on his cheek, gently stroking his slightly curly brown hair as he fell asleep.
I barely slept that night, staying awake to keep watch. Just in case anything happened, if any zombies were around or worse -if Leslie decided to act up. He was in such a vulnerable state, I didn't know what he might do. I could only watch him as he tossed and turned, the glowing light of the flames reflecting on his pale cheeks.
Leslie woke up the next morning, just before daybreak. I caught myself almost shutting my eyes, but I blinked myself awake.
"Good morning," I said as I scrambled out of the armchair heading over to him. "You feel better?"
The young man only looked at me with his deep set blue eyes, looking directly into mine. He gave me a wry, unconvincing smile. I didn't blame him.
"Would you like something to eat?" I asked him. "I found a box of crackers in the pantry."
The young man only grunted as he sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his palm. When I returned, breakfast in hand, I found him huddled by
The fire, tucking his knees to his chest.
I sat myself beside him and took out a packet of crackers. Passing it to him, he accepted it without a word. Tearing the packaging open, I watched as he bit into the cracker, the sound of the crunch piercing through the room, against the backdrop of the crackling flames.
I did the same, and it was then when I felt him press up against me, leaning his head on my shoulder as he nibbled on his biscuit. I only wrapped my arm around his shoulder, as we sat there, watching the flames together.
"I love you," I told him as he nuzzled against me. "You know that? You're really important to me, and I want you to know that you're worth it. And that you shouldn't feel guilty over things that weren't your fault."
The young man only remained silent, staring into the dying flames.
There was just one more thing left to do in that house, before we could finally get out of there. I had Leslie wait downstairs while I gathered the photographs from upstairs. The sun was rising, the light allowing me to pick up all the horrible snapshots of abuse scattered all over the carpet. I didn't want to look at them, and whenever one of them faced up, I'd turn it over.
The pile of letters from his mother were there as well, and I hesitated for a moment. In the end I took them with me. Not to burn, but to give them to him for another time. I was hoping it'd give him some sort of closure, that it'd somehow help with his issues between Leslie and his mother.
But not now. I didn't want to reopen old wounds. Especially not while this one was still bleeding.
Heading downstairs, I brought the entire plastic folder with me. Leslie was nowhere to be found in the living room, but I noticed that the door was open. Peering outside into the clear summer morning, the young man was pacing about in the overgrown garden, among the weeds and crawling plants.
"I'm going to burn them now," I told him. "Or do you want to do it yourself?"
The young man said nothing. Shoving his hands in his jeans pocket, he walked over to me.
"I want to watch," he said. "Please."
I only smiled slightly as I led him back inside. The fire was still burning, albeit on its last legs of kindling. I held out the first envelope out of many, looking at Leslie for some kind of approval. He gave a slight nod.
The both of us watched as I tossed envelope after envelope into the flames, the fire dancing with vigour as it lapped up the photographs, eating away at them, turning them into ashes. I could feel his hand reaching to mine as we stood there, watching the scene unfold in front of us. I heard him let out a sigh of relief as he clutched onto my palm. His sad blue eyes were focused on nothing else but the burning pile of photographs. Records of traumatic memories, all turning into dust.
It was easy to tell him to just let it go, but it was harder than that. Much harder.
The trip home was unmemorable. Leslie sat in the passenger seat while I took the wheel. Despite nearly falling asleep numerous times, I soldiered on. Leslie was in no shape to drive. He just sat there, not saying a word, staring out of the window at the vast, endless fields.
There were a few zombies here and there occasionally, but there was nothing we couldn't avoid. I had to keep checking the map to help us get back, but it wasn't a big deal. The journey was unfamiliar. Not like that would stop me.
But I too, had my limits and a few hours into the journey, after a few swerves and nearly hitting a tree, I decided that I was too exhausted to drive. Leslie noticed that as well.
"Let me drive," he said. "You should get some rest."
"I'm fine," I tried to reassure him. "I'll just take a quick nap then I can continue driving."
"You need to sleep," he told me. "You didn't sleep last night, right?"
I only shook my head.
"I was making sure everything was okay," I answered. "I had to."
There was a short silence, before Leslie stepped out of the door. Walking over to the other side of the vehicle, he opened the door beside me. Without a word, I got out and swapped seats with him.
I had my reservations in letting him drive, but at the same time my heavy eyelids and were begging me to get some rest.
"I know what you're thinking," he said as I got comfortable in my seat. "That it's probably not safe for me to drive. That I'll run the truck straight into the wall."
"Leslie," I muttered. "I never said anything like that."
"But you're thinking it," he replied as we began to move again.
I only kept silent.
"Just letting you know I won't," he said, his eyes staring out at the road in front of us. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I don't want you to pay for my choices and actions. I don't want to take Isabella's older brother away from her."
"Leslie stop that right now," I said trying to make myself sound firm. "Don't even think about it, do you hear me?"
"The pain won't ever go away," he told me, a look of defeat in his stormy blue eyes. "If I die at least I'll stop suffering. That'll be good, won't it?"
"It won't feel this way all the time," I told him. "Please, don't even think about this, I don't want to lose you."
"Then why does it still hurt so much?" Leslie asked, turning to look at me with his deep set blue eyes, eyes that were filled with torment and suffering. "Even after fifteen years?"
I could only look at the poor young man. I wish I had an answer.
I wish I could take away all his pain.