Taming Leo's

#3:

I shook my head and tried to calm my trembling body. My mother's condition crossed my mind. I can't lose now. If I give in, I'm probably going to be even more unable to get her out of her depression with my demon stepfather.

With a surge of determination, I forced myself to stand, shaking my head again as if to dispel my doubt.

Where would my strength lie if I succumbed to defeat? Where would my courage go if I gave up? And what would happen to my burning desire to end my father's reign of terror if I allowed myself to fall here?

Once I regained some composure, I sprang into action, darting around my opponent to draw him in. He was strong, but his speed couldn’t compete with mine. I knew that if I was to survive, I had to rely on strategy and swiftness rather than brute force.

I weaved around him, waiting patiently for the opportune moment. When I saw my chance to strike without his defenses, I leapt at him from behind, grabbing his neck with a fierce grip. In that split second, I channeled every ounce of strength I possessed, intent on breaking his hold on my life—and I succeeded.

He crumpled to the ground, lifeless. My teeth clenched as I surveyed the shocked faces of the onlookers. The weight of what I had just done left me speechless.

What should I do now? My thoughts spiraled until the referee stormed over, shoving my fallen opponent. He shot me a look of disbelief, shaking his head in slow realization.

That means I killed him.

Damn!

This marks the second life I've taken, all for the sake of money, all for this brutal game. And if my plans move forward, my father could very well be the third.

The referee stood up, took my hand, and raised it triumphantly, a gesture that felt surreal. The crowd erupted in cheers once more, their voices merging into a cacophony that celebrated a victory steeped in blood and sweat.

Someone even climbed into the boxing ring, lifting me high and spinning me around, a whirlwind of euphoria enveloping us both. I, on the other hand, raised my right hand in triumph, my heart pounding with joy—not because I had won, but because I was still alive, standing amidst the thrumming excitement.

As the day began to fade, I called the manager of the nightclub where I worked, my voice steady as I crafted a tale. I told her I couldn’t come in today, citing an emergency with my mother that she would easily believe. That was indeed my intent for the evening—to get my mother’s bruises properly treated and ease her pain.

I returned home, my body sore yet buoyed by an undeniable smile on my lips, for I clutched the hard-earned money I had won, a symbol of my determination and survival.

…..

"We don't tolerate these things, mother. Your body is almost limp because of the bruises you've sustained."

The doctor urgently directed my mother to report this to the police, insisting they must arrest my stepfather.

It was her shaking head that infuriated me the most. I couldn't stand her at that moment. She was still my mother, and even though I had to suppress the urge to confront her beloved husband, I endeavored to keep my composure.

"And does your father beat you too?"

The doctor turned his attention to me, having noticed the bruise at the corner of my lip and the swelling on my cheek—a souvenir from my earlier fight in the arena.

"It's not wrong to fight back against your father. He's gone too far. If you can't do that, then I encourage you to report him to the police, just as I advised your mother," he said, his voice steady as he tried to persuade her to take action.

"I'll do that, doc. Thank you for the reminder," I replied, inclining my head slightly in respect.

"Alright, I'll leave you for now; I have other patients to attend to."

I nodded, expressing my gratitude once more before he exited the room.

"Where did you get the money for the hospital, Leo?" My mother suddenly asked, her voice tinged with concern, now that it was just the two of us in the cramped room.

"That doesn't matter anymore, mother. Just focus on getting better. That's what’s important right now," I urged her, desperation creeping into my tone.

"You need to tell me it wasn't stolen, Leo. Otherwise, I'll leave this hospital right now," she replied, her eyes narrowing with determination.

"Mother, I never thought of stealing," I replied, my voice barely audible.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth—that I had taken a life, but it was the money that had pushed me to the edge. Deep down, I knew that if I hadn’t committed that act, the roles might have been reversed, and it could be her searching for me now.

"And where did you get that? What about your lips?" she questioned, her hands fumbling with my clothes, lifting them to reveal the bruises scattered across my body.

The mixture of anger and concern in her voice was palpable.

"I’m telling you to stop fighting! How many times do I have to tell you that?" My mother scolded me, her worry evident.

"Mother, this is the only way I can earn a lot of money. If I hadn’t fought earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to take care of you properly," I reasoned, desperation creeping into my tone.

"It’s a steep price, but your life is at stake. Tell me, Leo, you didn’t repeat what happened the first time, did you?"

Her voice was heavy with implication, suggesting I had once again taken a life in that brutal game.

Yes!

The truth is, the memory of that first kill haunted me; it invaded my dreams, a relentless shadow I couldn’t escape. I had become accustomed to the nightmares that plagued my sleep. I found myself in the chaos of the fight, justifying each act of violence for the sake of a prize, the only rationalization I could grasp.

It fueled a dark desire within me—the urge to rid myself of my worthless stepfather.

"I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to let it come to this. Just like you said, if I hadn’t crossed that line, it might have been you at my funeral right now," I whispered, my voice barely audible as shame washed over me.

She burst into tears at my words, and instinctively, I went to her, wrapping her in a comforting hug.

“Forgive me, Leo, my son. If we weren’t suffering, you wouldn’t have gotten involved in something so perilous,” she lamented, her voice quivering with sorrow.

I gently reassured her.

“Wait, mother, it’s not your fault that you gave birth to me in poverty. What truly matters is that we’re still together. I promise I’ll find a way to lift us out of this hardship.”

She paused, momentarily breaking free from my embrace to look me in the eye. Her hand reached up, delicately brushing over my swollen lip.

“Your handsome face is getting ruined because of what you’re doing,” she chided gently. “You can’t marry with a face marked by bruises.”

“Mom, there are plenty of women out there who will appreciate me just the way I am. So don’t worry; I’ll ensure you have many grandchildren,” I replied with a smile. “Just take care of yourselves. When I find the woman I’m meant to marry, we’ll be a whole family again.”

“Thank you, son. Thank you,” she said, pulling me into another embrace, though this time she wasn’t crying like before.