Days 114-131: Ava

Last night, after Leo killed that man, I heard him throwing up in the bathroom. It’s not the first time. I’ve never found the right way to confront him—he always insists he’s fine and shuts the conversation down.

Next morning I asked him how he was doing. He said he was doing fine but I knew something was bothering him. He could barely stomach killing criminals. So taking an innocent life—must be eating him alive. But still, this didn’t feel like the right time to talk to him about it. We spent the day resting in the hotel. I read one of the novels I’d picked up, while he slept beside me. As he slept I noticed that there were bags under his eyes. It was odd because we always slept at the same time, unless something was keeping him up. The more I thought about it, the more it added up. The nausea, the eye bags, the way he looked hollow after pulling the trigger... something was breaking.

It used to be the one thing he couldn’t do. So what changed?

That night I decided to confront him.

“Hey Leo, are you okay?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You seem off. Always tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Yeah, perfectly fine. You sound like my mom right now.” He tried to joke.

He was lying to me again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked him again.

“Yeah, just don’t worry about me.” He smiled faintly—too faintly. Like someone seconds from breaking.

“You know you can be honest with me.”

“I am…”

I clenched my fist, “Why are you lying?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, still smiling.

“I know you’ve been struggling to sleep. I know it’s keeping you up.”

He looked at me, puzzled. He was trying to play dumb.

“You’ve been throwing up again, haven’t you?” I asked softly.

Leo froze, then gave a crooked half-smile. “Just some bad food, maybe.”

“That’s not it. You haven’t been eating much to begin with.”

He glanced away.

“You’ve been up at night. I hear the sink running. The way you look after the fight… you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine.”

I gripped his collar and pressed him onto the wall, “Why do you still try to lie?! I know the killing is bothering you. It hurts you so much, so why do you do it?”

He stayed silent, staring at the floor.

“Leo, just talk to me. Please.”

“I don’t want to feel this way. But I have to. I have to protect you. I have to keep us safe…”

His words stopped me cold. My grip loosened. He moved my hand aside and started to walk away. As he walked he suddenly fell to his knees. He started breathing heavily and I could see tears rolling down his face. I rushed over to him trying to ask him what was going on. He didn’t answer and he eventually passed out. I carried him to the bed and pulled up a chair to keep watch. He had a panic attack. This must have been the cause of the stress he’s been experiencing lately. On top of the lack of sleep and vomiting; it’s a miracle he hasn’t passed out earlier.

An image of him sleeping on the ground popped into my head.

That time—he wasn’t sleeping. He passed out from a panic attack that day. Dammit, how did I not notice.

I knew he was throwing up at night, and I should’ve pieced it together sooner.

So this is what the killing was doing to him—tearing him apart. And he said he did it to protect us. Was that why he was falling apart? Because of me?

When he’s sleeping he looks so calm. As if the guilt is washed away from his body. I reached out to his hand, it was warm, and continued to stare at him. Before I knew it I fell asleep.

A beam of light shined into my eyes woke me up. It was morning. I stretched out my arms and looked down at Leo. He looked so peaceful but his face was kind of red. I placed my hand on his forehead, he was warm. No, he was hot. He was burning up. I need to get a wet towel for him. I stood to leave, but he tightened his grip on my wrist.

“Please—don’t leave. I don’t feel so good.”

I reached out and laid my hand on his cheek. His face was still hot but soft. He leaned into my hand like it was something comfy.

“I’ll be right back with a towel,” I whispered.

“‘Okay,” he said, barely above a whisper. Leaving him hurt—but he needed this.

I ran out of the room, grabbed a towel, and soaked it in cold water. I carefully folded it up to a rectangle and rushed back to Leo. I laid the towel on his forehead and placed my hand back on his cheek.

As Leo fell asleep, I gently moved my hand away and set about making food for him. Soup is typically good for a sick person and we had some cans in the car.

I grabbed the soup from the van, but the only thing I could think about was how to fix everything between us. How I could help him out.

Why was he doing all of this? How do I make him stop?

He wasn’t getting better. He was still sleeping—but no better. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. At this rate… he might die from exhaustion. I had to do something. He needed medicine. Food. Rest. Anything. There was a gas station near the motel. Maybe it had something. But I couldn’t just leave while he was awake, especially not when he looked at me like that.

Maybe after he eats. If I wait until he falls asleep again, I can make a quick run to the gas station.

When he finally woke up, I fed him the soup. He didn’t say much. Just a weak thank you before drifting off again. I waited a few minutes, made sure he was out cold, then slipped away.

The gas station was still quiet. I found some more canned soup and a small stash of over-the-counter medicine—painkillers, fever reducers, and cough syrup. It was good enough. On my way out, I noticed a few city maps and grabbed those too. We’d be leaving soon anyways so it made sense to grab these. When I got back, Leo was still asleep—thank goodness.

As the days went by I thought about how to help Leo. No ideas came to mind though. I couldn’t stop him from killing people, after all he just wanted to protect us.

This doesn’t make sense though, he was willing to die back then instead of pulling the trigger at his parents’ place. So why can he suddenly kill?

“Maybe—but I’ll be here to protect you.” His words randomly appear in my head.

What he said a while ago—is he killing for me?

I looked at him and he was still asleep but I can feel an anger well up inside me. It wasn't because I was mad at him though. I was mad at myself.

Dammit—I should’ve been the one to do it. I ended up making Leo stain blood on his hands for my sake.

It all started to make sense now. He’s been paranoid and ready to kill, partially because he was tired and couldn’t think straight, but he was worried that I was going to get hurt. I remember him telling me that he doesn’t want anyone to end up like John so him imagining me in that position probably made him scared. And the only thing to prevent that outcome was to kill anyone who was remotely a threat.

I had to do something. Talking might not help—but doing nothing was worse.

“Good morning, how was your sleep?”

“It’s night time.”

“I was making a joke.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You could have at least played along, you know.”

“Yeah, but it’s funnier this way.”

We shared a quick laugh.

“Hey, I know you want to keep me safe but don’t force yourself to kill for me. I know it hurts you so don’t lie to me.”

He hesitates before answering and looks away, “Okay I won’t lie.”

He gave up easier than I thought.

“But this is something I want to do.”

“Are you sure? The side effects say otherwise…”

“It’s not like I enjoy doing it or anything or that it doesn’t hurt me to do it. But I’m more scared of losing you than killing someone else or hurting myself.”

I wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in my throat. I look over to the side, filled with embarrassment, “You shouldn’t say something so embarrassing.” I mumbled.

“Yeah maybe not, but that’s just how I feel.”

“But I don’t want you hurting yourself for me.”

“I’d rather be hurt than make the same mistake…”

I couldn’t argue with what he said. He’d lost both of his parents and he feels responsible, no one would ever want to go through that again so it made sense why he’s so ready to kill.

Dammit—I can’t get through to him. There has to be another way to get him to stop.

Throughout the next few days I kept pestering him about the situation but he didn’t change his stance. He’ll always be willing to kill for me.

If he’s killing for me, then I’m the reason he’s falling apart. That thought alone made it hard to breathe. Then it hit me. I came up with a solution.

My gaze goes over to Leo. Looking at him like this—I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d done this to him. I couldn’t be selfish… Yes this is going to hurt me but this will be better for him in the long run. 

No, it’s fine. He’s strong. I know he can get through this.

This idea was one that I didn’t like but could work. I wasn’t too hasty though. I wanted to see if he was still trigger happy once he recovers. So the next day we decided to drive out of the city and back to the motel. As we were walking in, I tossed a rock into the bushes. Leo immediately pulled out his gun.

“LEO STOP!”

BANG BANG BANG

He went over to the bush and saw nothing.

“You just recovered, Leo. You could’ve killed someone. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I could’ve but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” His eyes were still hollow but he forced out a smile.

He was still as ready to kill as before. Later that night, I requested to talk to Leo.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” He was a little suspicious of what I was going to say. I think he expected me to talk about the killing again. But this time it felt like something worse.

“I-I think we need a break…”

A silence filled the room that was only replaced by a cricket chirping.

His eyes locked on nothing, mouth parted—staring through me. He finally mustered out the words, “W-what'd you mean?”

“I don’t think I’m good for you. So I think we need some time apart.” I was forcing each and every word out. Those words hurt to say.

“No, what? You’re more than enough for me. Please, don’t leave.”

I couldn’t look at his face, “I have to. This is better for the both of us…”

He took a step back and fell to the floor again. He passed out again. I carried him to the bed and laid him down. Looking down at him I collapse. Tears flowed down my face and I started gasping for air. Crying this much was painful but it didn’t compare to leaving him. But this was for the best…

When I calmed down, I wrote him a note and grabbed whatever I needed from the car and started to head out.

I looked at him one last time, “See you in two months…”