The Imperfect

Chapter Two

Leo's P.O.V.

I tried my best to write my English essay without Jace's help, but I couldn't focus knowing Jace was probably going through one of his OCD episodes and I wasn't there to talk him down. I had maybe one paragraph done, when Mom called me down for dinner.

"Coming!" I replied and quickly reached for my phone to see if Jace had texted. Jace hadn't texted, so I decided to send one myself: Everything okay?

Even though my parents had the rule of keeping phones away from the dinner table, I shoved mine in my pocket and scurried downstairs. I was helping Mom set the table just as Dad got home from work with a bundle of joy tucked under his arm. He must have wanted to give Mom a break and offered to pick my little sister, Posey, up from daycare. Dad set her down and went to go toss his things in his office.

The minute I saw Posey, I almost forgot how worried I was about Jace. I scooped her up and swung her around and she giggled, cupping her face with her chubby little hands. It was utterly adorable.

"Hi-ya Pose," I said. "How was daycare?"

"Es-kiss-it," She said, meaning exquisite, a word Jace had taught her even though she was only three and a half years old.

"I still cannot believe Jace taught her that," Mom laughed, lifting her from my arms and setting her down in her booster chair at the table.

I shook my head. "Me neither."

"Speaking of Jace, is he okay? He seemed a bit frazzled when he left," Mom said.

"Well of course he was frazzled. You brought up his dad," I said, just as Finn walked in.

"Are we talking boyfriends?" Finn asked in his typical smug way.

"Shut up, Finn!" I exclaimed. "You're not funny."

Mom shot me a look. "Shut up" was a no-no phrase in our house.

"I'm sorry," I huffed, not even looking in Finn's direction.

Dad returned and we all took our seats at the table, except Mom who carried in a large bowl of mashed potatoes and a large pie pan of her infamous chicken pot pie. I say infamous because it was one of Jace's favorites. He raved about it constantly. Everyone else, even Posey who is quite the picky eater loves it too, so naturally they all dug right in.

Except I couldn't stop thinking about Jace. I glanced at my phone in my lap. Still no reply. It didn't feel right to be enjoying one of his favorite meals when he was off dealing with his deadbeat father. I imagined his ticks were out of control. The counting, the pulling on his shirt collar, the tugging on his ears, the doing everything three times, those were all symptoms of his OCD. And when it gets really bad, like when he's having an episode, he'll clench his fists so tight his own nails dig into his palm and make himself bleed, sometimes he even hits himself or yells things uncontrollably. There were only two times I experienced Jace having a fullblown episode: when his father got arrested and when he had to appear in court as a witness for his father's court case. If it was happening again this time I'm not there to calm him down. Instead, I'm here, eating chicken pot pie.

Mom rapped her knuckles on the table near my plate, something she always did to get my attention. I looked at her surprised.

"We're at dinner, Leo. It's time to eat," She said.

I looked down at my plate of food and finally picked up my fork. "I know, Mom," I said.

"Is something wrong son?" Dad asked me.

"Jace," Mom and I respond at the same time.

"He couldn't stay for dinner, his mother needed him home," Mom explained.