Page 24 of Broken Truths

I get out of the car, searching up and down the row of apartments we’re in. They’re not bad, but they’re not Carnegie Elite either. One of the doors a few away from his has two small bikes ditched on the sidewalk leading up to it. Another has their front window decorated for Thanksgiving—a big fat window cling of a turkey colored in with browns and deep reds.

This place doesn’t scream Leo Jarvis to me.

I follow him up the walk and wait as he unlocks the door. When he pushes it open, it’s completely dark inside, save a few glowing red lights from the microwave and smoke alarms. “When’s the last time you were here?”

He shrugs. “I can’t remember. I’ve been a little busy.”

Once he starts turning lights on, I find that this is the exact kind of place that he would live in: it’s sparsely furnished, there’s a white shirt thrown on the bar that connects to the kitchen, and an Xbox is connected to the TV with a remote waiting on a glass coffee table.

He retreats to the kitchen as I take in my surroundings. If I didn’t know any better, this might prove that Leonardo Jarvis is actually a functioning adult. When I met him, he kicked three girls out of a dorm room because they couldn’t make him and his friends come.

Leo returns, holding out a beer bottle. I take it and draw a long sip before sitting on the couch. He seems to have settled a little, but his throat works overtime as he gulps down his beer.

I press my hand on his upper arm, squeezing him. He opens one eye and then makes a sound of contentment as he pulls the bottle away from his lips.

Leaning back, he barely holds onto the neck of the beer, dangling past the arm of the couch. I look at it, then back at him. “What’s going on Leo?”

He sighs. “Things just got more fucked up.”

“More fucked up than they were?” I sit cross-legged on the couch, facing him.

He nods slowly. “I’m afraid to tell you. I’m afraid to say anything because my head is so fucked and I can’t explain anything correctly.” He takes another sip, completely tipping the bottle back and finishing it before dropping it onto the floor at his feet. “You ever just wish you were someone else?”

“Used to,” I tell him. “All the time. But I feel like I was being a little bit of a hypocrite, too. I was pissed about being rich but also liked being rich, you know?” He eyes me, and I continue on with my rant. “Like, it bothered me that it was expected I go to the fancy private school and attend elegant dinners and hang out with snobby kids, but at the same time, I fucking love jet skiing. I like taking off and cruising around the Caribbean in my dad’s yacht and vacationing anywhere the hell I want. Even going to school on the West Coast was a privilege.”

“But your family isn’t as fucked up as mine. We didn’t go on vacation, we learned how to follow orders. We learned business shit. I fucking saw my father’s dead body.” I reach out, but he edges away from me. “My grandfather fucks all the women in my family.”

My fingers curl until my hands turn to fists. “I know. It’s fucked up, and it’s not right.” I swallow. “You’re not being a hypocrite if you want to be someone else.”

He reaches forward, grabs the beer he got for me, and swallows half before draping it over the side of the couch, holding it loosely in his fingers. “What happened?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just tips the rest of the beer back until it’s empty, then drops it with a clang against the other forgotten bottle. “I’m going to tell you, but you’re just going to get mad at me, and we’re going to fight. I’m going to want to fuck you so bad my balls ache, but you’re going to resist like the little siren you are, which will only make me want to fuck you harder.”

Heat pools in my core. “You’re jumping, like, five steps ahead.”

He laughs maniacally. “I was taught to do that.”

“Start from the beginning, maybe?”

He shakes his head, then is up and off the couch and marching toward the kitchen again. The refrigerator light illuminates the small room, and he stands there with his arm draped over the door. A post spanning from floor to ceiling blocks most of my view, but I hear a cap hit the sink and then nothing for about thirty seconds until a bottle clangs. Afterward, the refrigerator light goes off and he comes back toward me, twisting a cap off and throwing it over his shoulder.

I don’t know how to deal with Leonardo Jarvis’ damaged side. He’s an enigma. Someone I want to wrap up in protective arms and save from this ridiculous world we find ourselves in. He definitely had it worse than me. His grandfather is a monster who may have orchestrated killing my sister, or at the very least knows what happened. He’s vile and disgusting…

“You’re nothing like him, Leo.” He plops back down on the couch, and I scoot closer, my knees brushing his tree-trunk thighs. “Your past doesn’t own you. You’ve already proven that. The guy who showed up dripping in blood and telling me he would never hurt me again is nothing like Franklin Jarvis.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he growls.

My stomach tightens. “Shall we play this out, then? Do you want to start from the beginning? What did you say? I’ll get mad. You’ll want to fuck me, but I’ll be too mad until you make me so crazy I just give in? Or should we break the mold? We can do it differently. We can choose to be different. We have a choice. Always.” When he doesn’t say anything, I take a deep breath. “Maybe we do it all in reverse. Maybe I want you to rail me until I can’t think straight. Then I’ll get mad, then you’ll tell me your secrets.”

He smirks. “You’re more fucked up than I am.”

“That’s highly doubtful,” I tell him, glowing under his small smile. “But that’s okay because I don’t let just anyone paint me with their blood when they’re fucking me so good.” I rise to my knees, then swing one leg over his thighs and seat myself on his lap. I wrap my fingers in his dark hair, and he rests his head against the cushion and stares up at me. “What do you think, Leo? Let’s break the cycle.”

He leans forward. I think he’s going in for a kiss, but he sets his bottle on the coffee table behind me and then he grips my hips. His fingers dig into me. “I’m choosing my words before I say them, but hear me out first, even if you don’t like what I have to say.”

“I promise.” I shrug. “Where would I go?”

His thumbs start grazing the skin above my jeans. He traces small circles as he stares into my eyes. I run my hands through his hair, gliding my nails across his scalp until I’m scraping down his neck.

---