The Nemesis Syndrome

42. Leo

Pain. A hot, constricting feeling in his chest. A hand that was thrown into fire wrapped around his lungs and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

The first thought in his mind had been Eliza, so he rushed to the door and yelled her name.

She was not okay.

He wondered if what she was feeling was asphyxiation, the feeling of air being forced out of her lungs, the rush of panic as her life drained from her but then came the blessed sound of her hands banging on the doors. She was not okay, but she wasn't dying.

So he forced himself calm - doused the fire in his chest with an ocean of cold water and spoke to her. Whatever she was thinking, whatever she was going through, he needed to snap her out of it.

When the door finally opened and Leo saw her stand in the middle of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and dropping with the still warm water, he was so relieved. But even he knew that she was so helpless in that moment. So vulnerable. Who he saw in front of him wasn't the woman who had yelled at him to get his act together only hours ago.

Without saying word Leo crossed the floor, gently wrapping his arms around her and tucking her damp head under his chin. "You're okay."

Anger. A flare of hot anger which cooled into a simmer. "Eliza." Leo wasn't sure what to say. The anger wasn't at him, he knew that, he had felt her anger towards him and this wasn't it. "I'm not going to let you go back there, you won't be hurt. Not again."

"It's not that, Leo." Leo flinched slightly at her harsh tone.

"Okay," Leo pulled away, the warmth of her body gently fading, "so what is it?"

Eliza's cheeks flushed and she stood awkwardly in the room.

Leo sighed, "Alright, erm, I'll find a washcloth and you can just use the sink, yeah?"

Eliza nodded and Leo's heart constricted again. "I'll just be in the next room," he said softly, walking out of the room.

He walked into the room, pulling open the dresser. It felt weird using someone else's house, especially since it was still inhabited, but the need to survive outweighed his guilt. The top of the dresser was mainly empty except for a few photos, one woman kept coming up, and he supposed that the house must have belonged to her. Dark hair peaking from under a scarf, tan skin and a hooked nose, and the same bright smile in every picture. A cream material caught his attention in the drawer and he pulled it out, almost sighing in relief. He still felt anxious and jumpy, with his breathing rate increasing with every minute that he took.

"Here," he passed it to Eliza when he went back into the bathroom, "I'll be in the kitchen, grabbing what food we need."

She nodded, and having nothing to say, Leo left the room quietly, mind racing. He doubled back to the bedroom, looking in the wardrobe. There were more pictures here, taped to the inside of the door around the mirror. The woman in the previous pictures was hugging another woman, she being lighter in skin with half moon eyes and long, black hair. Another picture where they stood in an intimate embrace, foreheads together. Another where they were kissing, eyes closed and blushes graving both of their cheeks. He glanced away, it felt wrong looking at pictures of people in love that he didn't know, like he was intruding on something intimate.

Dress, blouse, dress, dress, jumper, he flicked through the clothes. He sighed, the hope of finding clean clothing seeping away with each flick. He glanced up, noticing a box on the shelf above the hangers. He frowned, pulling it down and setting it on the bed.

Please be men's clothes, please be men's clothes, he thought as he opened it. He grinned to himself when he saw some jeans and a couple of shirts. Must be the owner's ex, or she wouldn't have put them out of sight.

He pulled them out, the jeans were a tad bigger than his size, but there was a belt that would help keep them up. The shirts on the other hand, however, were far larger than his size. Since their torture and starvation, he had lost weight and knew that the shirt would hang off his frame. But he needed clothes anyway, so he took the jeans, and two shirts.

He pulled the hem of his shirt over his hand, wiping away at the edges of the box and the lid before placing it back to its original spot. Then, he moved to the doorknob of the wardrobe and the dresser, wiping away his prints.

He folded the clothes, tucking them under his arm as he walked down into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge. There wasn't much food there, a few bags of fruit, some milk and butter. Those were useless, they would spoil in a few days. Shutting the fridge, Leo turned in a circle, biting the inside of his cheek in thought before kneeling in front of the row of cupboards, pulling them open. Sugar, flour, packets of baking soda, herbs, then, tucked away in the corner, some tanned food. He reached into the back, pulling them out, turning them in his hand to check the expiry date - they could still be eaten.

Leo sighed in relief, they weren't the most appetising, being cans of fruit, but they would do until their next raid.

Christ, is that what it had come to? Breaking into homes and robbing them? They were nothing more than common criminals now, unable to show their faces in public.

Soft feet fell on the marble of the kitchen floor and Leo spun immediately, gripping the can in his hand.

"Oh," he sighed, "it's just you."

"Thanks," she scowled, her awkward demeanour changing immediately, "what were you going to do? Attack me with tin cans?" She asked sarcastically.

Leo shrugged, "Yeah."

Eliza shook her head and smiled, walking over to him. Embarrassment simmered as well as a nervousness in him, not his, and he frowned inwardly. Why was she embarrassed? In an effort to avert her attention elsewhere, and thus avert any embarrassment, he threw her a can of peach and pears, "Here, eat. Look for more canned food, but don't take too much, alright?"

She nodded mutely, pulling the lid off the can and peering into it.

"I'm going to go get clean, if anything happens, just call for me, alright, 'Liza?" He reached into the bag, passing her the knife.

She nodded her thanks, taking a seat on one of the stools by the counter. The sun shone through the window, hitting Eliza and illuminating her skin. He coughed slightly and turned, forcing the way his stomach jittered down.

He turned, walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs, smoothing his jitters - or were they Eliza's - away. He couldn't wait to get clean.