Love From The Other Side ☆ Leon S Kennedy X Reader

25 ☆ Home Sweet Home?

After everything, I still have so many questions. My biggest one, about that issue with me supposedly turning into some sort of 'monster', as Leon worded it when we first met. How or when does it happen? What do I look like? How do I make it stop? Permanently!

As I stand on the welcome mat of my front door at last, I arrive at the realisation that my house keys stay located in the ignition of his car. God damn you, Caesar. Stressing me out even in death.

Frustratedly, and coming to a rest resort, I sucker punch the living room window to create my own entrance; which fails miserably and does absolutely nothing. Although, the force does push the window back towards me.

It was unlocked. The stinging in my knuckles was unnecessary, and the window literally could've just been pulled open. And it was.

Therefore, feeling mildly agitated, I climb through the window and land on the 'merry christmas' rug that's been in the same spot since November 1st 1993. Yeah, five years. Caesar couldn't be bothered to change the rug after our mother died, and I didn't want to do it myself. The attic is too high for me to do it without struggle.

The whole house feels disgustingly empty. It's single handedly one of the worst feeling I've ever experienced; the solemn feeling of loneliness residing in my soul as I gently push open my brothers bedroom door is unbearable.

I peer inside, my heart breaking all over again as I glance at his Led Zeppelin and T.rex posters, his unsmoked cigarettes and his stupid, stupid grinch slippers! The regular, musky stench of him envelopes my sense of smell, and while I would usually complain... I can't help but relish what I have remaining.

And whoever the hell told me I was sick was right. I ended up with a shitty cold.

Over the course of three months, I spent my time either rotting away at home high, drunk, or sleeping, or working my ass off in a different job every few weeks; only to get fired for complaints about me being too depressing to be around. Is that even legal!?

Speaking of, I also had some legal struggles of my own. By that, I mean the statement of that Terry dude's murder that I had to give to the police before this whole fiasco happened. The actual issue I visited Raccoon City for.

Plus, I had some issues with Caesars death. Obviously, I had to report his disappearance/deceased status. I considered lying and avoiding the hassle of any cops not knowing the true cause of the death and horrors of the city, as obviously it was kept on the low, but I worked around it, instead. I demanded to see higher-ups and they sorted it for me.

He did not have a funeral.

While I was working in a restaurant one evening, I served a small group of people. An old man who'd probably retired years ago, two middle aged men who smelled faintly of weed, and a young teenager. Maybe around 12? That's not even a teen yet. That's a tween.

As the waitress, I absent-mindedly asked them for their order. One of the middle aged men (let's call him Baldy to make things easier), gives me a peculiar look as he analyses me. By this point, I'm completely baffled, and slightly taken aback. I ask myself if I'd messed up my line of speech, but I'm sure I said, "May I take your orders?"

The other middle aged man elbows Baldy in the ribs, grumbling something inaudible. I clear my throat and pick up the empty salt shaker.
"Is there a problem?" I ask, forcing a polite smile as they judge me before my own very eyes.

"Dude, Caesars a fucking ladyboy transvestite thing!" Laughs Baldy, elbowing his other same-age friend. Let's call him Four Eyes.

"Oi, quit it, that hurts, dickface!" Hisses Four Eyes, smacking Baldy in the face. "Maybe Caesar needed some extra tips. Money's tight around these parts. I don't blame the poor fucker."

The old man groans, his joints clicking as he leans forward. "That's not Caesar. Caesar's dead. That's his younger sister, not him. Aren't you, Y/N?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Obviously, that caught me very much off-guard. I scrunched up my face and blinked rapidly. "What? Who the hell are you?"

He looks up at me, scratching his scruffy, grey beard as he's lost in a crisis of indecision. His eyebrows furrow, and his forehead wrinkles increase in visibility.
"We knew him. We were good friends."

I interrupt them to ask for their order (and not get fired... again), and come back every so often for information. I eventually find out that they work in a shady drug business and were my brothers dealers and friends.

The old man is called Terrance. Baldy is called Frazer, and Four-Eyes is called Oliver. Of course, I don't learn this immediately as it puts them at risk as they're constantly breaking the law. But after a year or two, we exchanged names at last.

I ask about the kid. They pretty much just tell me that she was troubled and homeless at the age of ten, and they've taken her in for two years so far. I was right, she's twelve. Her name is Delilah, and she hates nicknames of any sort.

Seated on her shoulders is her short brunette hair, and by the looks of it, she must have cut it herself with a pair of kitchen scissors. But it suits her well, nonetheless.

Her big hazel eyes stare right through me with a dull expression, and the lack of emotion immediately sends an unnerving tension my way.

"Do you do drugs?" She asks me, her voice completely prepubescent. I'm slightly taken aback, but I answer her honestly. Yes, I do.

And that's how I managed to land myself into another shitty situation.

It's December 2004. I'm twenty six now, and my life these past six years have been a bit of a blur. They consisted of: the odd one night stand, drug dealing, drug use, running from cops, bribing cops, beating up cops, getting to know the cops, and even selling drugs to cops. Basically sex, drugs and violence. Like the Green Day song.

December 18th.

It's officially a week until Christmas, and I have nobody to spend it with but my rescued border collie, Pepper. He's black with white patches; and he's only three years old. Obviously, I'm not spending it with the others. They have their own stuff to do, and we're merely work partners... I think.

But, as per usual, I'm at Terrance's house, grinding his marajuana for him as he rehearses the weekly plans to refresh his dementia-riddled mind. God knows how he's smoking weed in his ancient condition. He's seventy-four years old, damn it.

"Y/N," He addresses me, leaning back on his old, creaky sofa. "We have a smuggler arriving today. You know the situation; meet them in the alleyway and give them the stuff. They should deliver it across to the neighbouring state, where it's no longer our business. We aren't paying them. The buyers are. We are just suppliers, okay?"

I nod. "I know, old man. I've done this before, and you've repeated it eight times already. But when should I meet them?"

"As soon as Oliver gets here with the crystals." He states, crushing his blunt into the ashtray.

Damn, the guy wants to smuggle crystal meth? I guess Oliver is the best at making the stuff since I almost blew up his kitchen, but smuggling it is definitely a risk...

After a few minutes of waiting patiently and making small talk, there's a knock at the door. I command Terrance to sit down before he pulls another muscle and I open the door. Lo and behold; four-eyed Oliver, with his signature brunette slickback and natural grey highlights.

"Hey there, sweet thing. I've got the good stuff. Terry told you, yeah?" He asks, leaning against the doorframe and holding out a plastic ziplock bag, coated with another ziplock bag.

"Yep." I grab the top of the bag; it's not huge, but meth is expensive, to be fair. Personally not my cup of tea, but I don't judge.

"Change of alleyway, though. He got in contact and asked for the one in town, next to the chemist. Is that alright, lovely?" He places his hand on my shoulder as I contemplate for a moment.

"Seriously? That's so far! Can I take my dog on the walk?" Not like I can drive, this guy can't know my numberplate.

"It's better if you don't. But, I guess a lot of people have dogs, so it's not really a risk... so if you must. Just don't let Pepper near the stuff."

"Awesome. I won't." I grin, shoving the packet in my pocket and leaving. I stop at my house, grab my dog, and am off on my jolly way.