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Leaving

Leo stared out into the darkness.

It was a cold morning, a little colder than usual, leaving a chill and a distinct smell on the air. The smell was almost like the smell of rain, but it wasn't quite. The light chill cut into his fingers and toes, but it brought comfort to Leo, maybe more than it should have.

He leaned out the opening, his hands resting peacefully on the fading white paint that was the window sill. He took in a deep sniff of the smell, the smell that was almost rain but wasn't, and then, satisfied, ducked his head back inside the window.

The houses across the street were still dark, as they were their neighbors', and their neighbors' and almost all the rest. Far away, almost ten streets down, a light was on, but this was only because a professor was leaving on a plane in a few hours and he didn't want to be anything less than very early. The next light on was almost thirty streets down, where a family with big pockets and bigger personalities had put a street lamp in front of their house, although no one was really sure why. It mainly served as a place for the homeless to sleep, because the light comforted them, and for drug dealers to drive by and scoff at.

Leo walked silently to his closet. His back got a flash of cold as he yanked his shirt off, but it was soon replaced by another shirt, although this didn't take away the cold, not completely. The shirt was flimsy and too thin, but he had gotten used to the chill. His pants also weren't exactly warm, but at least they were only cold in a few places, the bottoms of each pant leg and the knees if they were an old pair.

Leo exited the room, walking with a kind of silentness that couldn't, almost shouldn't, be possible. He knew if he made a sound, if he woke his mother, the yelling would start, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Normally, he would sneak to the cupboard and look for something to eat. It would have to be something his mother didn't like, something she wouldn't notice was gone, or else there would be more yelling, and he would curse himself for being stupid.

But he didn't sneak to the cupboard. 

Today was not a normal day.

Instead, Leo crept to the bedroom, his mother's bedroom. This was usually the last place he would go in the mornings, or any time of day for that matter, but he went nonetheless.

The door was open, but only slightly. He paused, took a deep breath, and pushed lightly on it. The hinges squeaked, but less than he thought they would. There was only a light creaking noise as Leo carefully peeked his head into the room. It was dark, but the rest of the house was dark as well, so this had little effect on him. Leo's eyes had already adapted to the darkness, as they did every morning.

The room was small, but bigger than Leo's. It had a singular bed, which took up almost half the space, and a dresser that was all to small in one corner. Other than that, the room was empty. The walls were a light yellow, the one painted space in the house, and the floor was covered in carpet. The front room had carpet as well, but it was old and stringy, seeming more like hair that happened to have gathered together. But this carpet, the carpet in his mother's room, was nice, soft, and nearly spotless, short bristles lined up in rows like battalions of a small army.

Leo could remember lying on the carpet, laughing on it even. He smiled at the memory, but only a half smile. That had been in the olden days. The days before his mother had yelled. The days before he could smell the hot liquid on her as she stumbled home each night.

Leo looked at the bed, the blankets tossed as they wrinkled around the body of his mother, who still slept. Leo prayed she would stay that way. He looked at her lying in the bed, really looked at her, something he hadn't done in a long time. Although it was dark, he could make out the outlines of her face, the dark wrinkles in her forehead, the thin strands of hair swirled atop her head.