His Little Heir

Ladies, Gentlemen, and Nonbinary Friends

      Leon woke up, his heart in his stomach. He rolled over and groaned; the tie she had knotted so maliciously still rested ever firm below his Adam's apple.

     He slid his pointer finger down its center. With some prodding, the knot slackened, but that left him with a new problem: his shirt.

     He cursed as his fingers reddened, protesting the oppositions of the garment's buttons. Leon's hands shook in rapid attempts to overturn their common enemy, but the buttons refused to fall back.

     "Oh come... ON!"

     His neck's restraint fell loose with a loud ping. The culprit collided with the wall as a beatle possesing an unrequited love for light would to a window, leaving a small dent in its executioner as legacy.

      He sighed as he palmed it; all that work just for one button? Repeating the process traveling down his chest daunted him to no end, and in a spit decision, Leon forged a new blade to slay the beast.

     He tugged on his neck, praying that the fabric would give way. It ascended  past his head with little persuasion. But, regretibly, the middle section clung to his chest, dragging Leon backwards.

     He fought harder, gritting his teeth as the threads tore. He dug his nails into the shirt's collar. In one final tug, its iron grip fell to the velvet glove.

     Leon leaned against the wall in euphoria. He shut his eyes; so this is what everything had come to? All of the high and low tides, had they meant to crest and fall like this? Or, had the moon not yet whispered to destiny's stars?

     Getting Daya back... was it even possible?

      He had put her through so much; watched her crumble, fall, adapt, and then rise, every time. So why did this feel so different?

     Scratch marks on her face, his finger prints on her wrists, and that d*** whine, it all killed him. Leon wanted her 'needed her', but he didn't know the first thing about loving her.

     Loving her...

      He balled the dress shirt up and threw it on his bed; maybe a shower would do him some good. Leon turned on the water and let it steam, exhaling as it ran down his face. He shut his eyes as it overtook him, and after a few minutes, begrudgingly reached for the shampoo.

    What exactly was his plan? Daya needed time, time that he had never really given her before, and with every second of it, Leon's heart would ache. It needed to be done; that was that, but even then, what next?

     Two months. He had two months. Two months, and no plan.

     Ideas trickled in and out of his mind, each like the droplets surrounding him. An apology was a given; Leon knew that much.

     At a loss, he gritted his teeth as he dried himself. He put on a dark sweat shirt and pants, and set out into the foyer.

     "Well, well, well, who do we have here?" She folded her arms with a triumphant smile, "I haven't seen you this shook up since Maria."

     Leon groaned, "Raye, I don't have time for-"

    "'Doctor' Raye!"

     "Well, 'Doctor' Raye, I'm in a really bad mood so if you could just-"

     "Her wrist is bruised."

     The step he had began to take faltered, collapsing like an abandoned tower; it was just bruised. Relief washed over him, and in its graces, Leon let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.