Taming Leo's

#2:

Every time I see my mother in this pitiful state, a raging tempest brews within me. Her body is a canvas of bruises, and her cheeks are swollen from the fists of my demon stepfather.

"I don't know, mother," I spat, the weight of my helplessness crushing me. "This is the last time I’ll see you like this. Because if he does this to you again, you won’t be able to stop me from putting an end to your worthless husband." My anger ignited, and I stood up, storming out.

There’s nothing I can do about her situation now. I’ve already tended to her bruises.

I’ve endured this torment for far too long. For seven years, I’ve shared a roof with my stepfather, the source of all my suffering. Even though I managed to fight back against him, he hasn't laid a finger on me since. But in his twisted rage, he’s turned his fury on my mother.

And damn him. I feel powerless to act, all because my mother pleads with me to remain calm. But my patience has worn thin; I can’t take this any longer.

I move to get dressed, preparing to leave for work, where I hope to earn my allowance for next week.

Though we barely scrape by, I don’t want to go to college. Yet, I continue because it’s my mother’s dream for me to graduate.

So, here I am, working every day during my sparse free time. Sleep eludes me, with my schedule packed 24/7.

And now, my useless demon stepfather, utterly lost in his own life, only adds to our misery.

My blood boils at the mere sight of him. I yearn to strike him, to deliver a blow that would make him feel a fraction of the pain he inflicts on my mother. A darker thought crosses my mind—I want to take his life.

Damn him, once again. I can't help but curse him endlessly, consumed by the shameless ways he mistreats her.

“Hey! Leo. Where are you going?”

I turned, disturbed by the voice, my instincts flaring. This man stands before me, interrupting my thoughts as I walk through the alley. How bold of him to cross my path.

“What's your problem?” I reply, my tone laced with wariness. “It’s not my obligation to tell you where I’m going.” My voice wavers, a struggle to restrain the urge to unleash my anger upon him.

“Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?” he retorts, anger rippling through his words.

“You have nothing to be proud of at this moment. But at least I earn my keep through my own hard work. What about you? You can’t even buy a pack of cigarettes without asking my mother for money.”

“Be careful with your words, Leo. You might forget who you’re talking to,” he warns, an edge of threat in his tone.

In a rush of adrenaline, I close the distance between us, my hand coming to rest against his cheek, an unexpected gesture meant to provoke.

“I know exactly who I’m talking to. You’re the example of a useless stepfather, a parasite who knows nothing but to consume and destroy. Thank your lucky stars, my mother hasn’t allowed me to end you; had she not stopped me, I would have taken that path long ago. This is your final warning—if I see my mother ever again bearing bruises like that, it will be a different story.”

At that moment, I paused deliberately, my pocket knife sliding out into my palm, pressing it against his neck with a chilling certainty.

“Because the moment you lay a finger on her again, I will separate your head from your body.”

“i***t! Let me go,” he exclaimed, struggling against my grip, prompting me to release him.

I said nothing more; instead, I shot him a deadly look before I turned to leave, knowing that I had made my point clear.

*****

"Go Leo! Go! You can do it!"

The crowd erupted in shouts, encouraging me as I stood alone in the boxing ring, the weight of their hopes resting squarely on my shoulders. It was a strange contrast—these voices, supporting me, while I was there for a reason beyond mere competition.

This brutal sport has become one of the ways I earn a living. Is it truly a job, though? The term feels inadequate for a world where blood is the currency of survival—Karate boxing, or as some call it, death boxing.

Here, if I hesitate to strike, if I take pity on my opponent, it could very well mean my own downfall. Cripple them, or be crippled myself.

I am Leonel Sebastian, but everyone calls me Leo.

For the past eight years of my life, I have navigated this unforgiving world, learning to grow up amidst the chaos.

One of the stark realities of my upbringing is the feel of blood on my fists. It has desensitized me, quenched any fear I had left. I stand ready to both die and kill in this dangerous arena where life and death often spin in a fragile dance.

But there’s a glimmer of hope amid the brutality. Through this illegal endeavor, I can support my mother and ensure our survival. She has no one else to lean on except for me.

So, even if my very life hangs in the balance, I endure this fight for the sake of both our futures.

"Go Leo go!"

The chant reverberated in the small boxing gym, filling the air with raw energy. It was my third fight, and fatigue weighed heavily on my limbs, but I pushed through; I had to.

The stakes couldn’t be higher today. With a victory here, I could secure a future, one that would spare me a year of hardship and pave the way for a better life.

Five hundred thousand pesos was at stake, a staggering prize that fueled my determination. Despite the fatigue weighing heavily on me from my previous two fights, I pushed it aside, knowing I had to end this match quickly.

The night club awaited, promising a brief escape from the harsh reality of the ring.

But as I stepped into the arena, my heart sank. My opponent was standing across from me, and my eyes widened in disbelief. Nervous energy coursed through me, and I couldn't help but curse under my breath at the irony of my situation.

Damn! Is that really Keven Owens? His imposing size made me question my confidence; the thought that he might not withstand my punches and kicks felt like a fleeting hope. I secretly swallowed hard, taking two cautious steps back, grappling with the reality of the moment. It felt like a cruel twist of fate—my prize money loomed large, yet the odds were stacked against me.

Suddenly, the cheers of the crowd faded into an eerie silence, their collective sympathy wrapping around me like a cocoon, as if they, too, understood the peril I faced. I was acutely aware of the disadvantage I was in, yet I forced myself to stand tall, drawing strength from the tantalizing thought of that five hundred thousand pesos.

I couldn’t retreat any further; the stakes were too high. I steeled my resolve, knowing that I had to fight with every ounce of strength I had left. If I didn’t, I was sure his fist would find its mark long before I could ever land a blow of my own.

Before I could prepare, he rushed in and threw a punch at me. I dodged, but it still grazed and was really strong. What if I got hit? I must have fallen asleep right away.

I spat continuously and I cursed nonstop as I dodged.

All I could do was dodge and block because he didn't give me a chance to form.

I was thankful that I was fast. So I was able to dodge some of his punches. Before I could even take my eyes off him, I was hit right in the jaw, which caused my world to spin.

I fell to the floor. The scream that was so loud was like I could hear it in slow motion.

Damn! Is this the end of me?