Usury

#1

When Leslie was 9 years old, he almost drowned in the lake on his uncle's property while visiting over the summer. He could remember the emotions burned into his heart clear as day: despair, panic, the agony, everything. He couldn't recall the exact events, but as his arms gave out from exhaustion and he was pulled into the depths of death, he saw it—a hazy blue light in his fading vision. The last thing he saw was it beckoning him away, and the last thing he felt before passing out completely was its warm and fatherly embrace clutching his arm.

He was on the shore when he woke up to his older cousins screaming in hysterics at him, though he couldn't make out anything between coughing up all the water and being pulled every which way other than Tony begging Leslie practically on his knees to not tell any of their parents. Leslie snitched anyway.

But he never told anyone about his experience with the will-o'-the-wisp, or how even to this day he would occasionally see it out of the corner of his eye, just watching Leslie. Those glimpses were all he could get, but he knew. It couldn't have just been his retinas playing tricks on him. Even if it was or if people tried to convince him so, that shit was real whether it was some sort of angel or a ghost.

((Leslie Romero continued from Venom))

Leslie had no idea how Aracelis was still alive, but there she was making somewhat coherent comments and sleep talks on the journey to the mining town. About halfway through he managed to find a good, flat spot against a tree to gather his breath and stretch his back out which kept screaming at him. Setting his passenger down against it, he finally got a good look at, well, the blobs of fresh blood that seeped from what used to be one of her eye sockets and the dried brown splats that painted her face and were entangled into her hair in sticky mats. His dad lost an eye which was what got him honorably discharged so it wasn't like Leslie wasn't used to the sight (pun not intended) of someone missing one, but it hit different when it just happened and the wound looked fresh.

He didn't know how long he kept standing there, just looking at her slumped against the tree, or looking at the palms of his hands with streaks of blood that wasn't his slapdashed all over. But eventually, he huffed one last time and broke out his medical kit. He wasn't a nurse nor planned to be one, but he tried his best to sanitize and dress the wound and wrap the top of her head in gauze like she was part mummy.

At one point he caught her looking down at her skirt, pawing her fingers slowly at all of the blood bleached into the fibers. He didn't know what to say. He absent-mindedly fingered at the rip in his own jacket lining.

He didn't know why he was helping her. They were already even.

By the time they walked up the porch and into a house with no previous footprints, Aracelis had regressed and was borderline non-verbal. Honestly it was kind of a blessing since this was about the longest she had ever been silent for the past four days, but Leslie would keep that comment to himself in case she was actually still listening. For now he resigned himself to doing a quick search of the place before grabbing her and lifting her up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms, the wood floors creaking as if they were about to give way any second with each of the grunts that shot out past his clenched teeth.

Finally at the finish line, he dumped her onto the bed that released a cloud of dust in revenge. He laid her down on top, disarming her of her bag and baseball bat and dropped them outside the door before returning and adjusting the bed for her with his hands that stained the already-stained sheets more. He was able to give her another round of pain meds and redid the bandages with nimbler finger before stepping out of the room and closing the door.

He looked at the palms of his hands stained in a mishmash of blood before he clenched the banister and lightly rapped his fist against it. After a few taps, his eyes fell on the bat stained in various body goops and the other bag of supplies.

He didn't know how long he stared before descending the stairs to secure the rest of the house.

He stopped in his tracks and glanced up at the bat and bag for a second when he reached the bottom. He bit his lip.

He checked on her again. She was fine. She would be fine. And actually they weren't even; she owed him and owed him bad.

The sun had set by the time Leslie left the house, softly closing the front door behind him before shrugging both bags on his shoulder and descending the steps, feet stepping over his previous footprints molded into the snow. There was no telling what time it was, but it was pitch black save for the moon and was eerily quiet, not even any wind so much as whispering. For a brief moment Leslie forgot where he truly was as he surveyed the landscape of houses and trees. If there were Christmas lights out, it wouldn't look too different from a winter night in Salem. He wasn't sure where he was going, but maybe if he walked far enough he'd be back home like he had simply wandered off the path but found the way back.

He tapped the bat in his hands a few times as he panned to the house behind him. And then he started down the road, in the opposite direction of his previous footprints.

«Fucking cold.»

Leslie scoffed under his breath. He had made it past the tree lining and into the forest, towards the larger mountain. The town was well behind him now, and good riddance. In hindsight he really should've left sooner before nightfall, but he had to make sure he could just walk out. Besides, once there was enough distance it wouldn't matter anyway.

More importantly, they were truly even again. Aracelis saved him from Constance that first time, and he shared supplies. That was one exchange. Leslie saved her from Beth, patched her up, and he was claiming her medical debt. So, even. Plus now she had the freedom to go fuck off and kill Dani if she damn well pleased.

So, there you had it. It was settled. Easy-peasy. No skin off his nose, besides what was currently being attacked by the cold air.

He continued to trudge through the snow and mud with determination to go anywhere but here, his face down to the ground as his teeth chattered.

—Leslie.

—Who said that? Who's there?

—Leslie.

—Huh?

—Up here.

He lost what little breath he could catch when he looked up into the tree.

—I don't believe you.

—She's not dead. I'm not a fucking grave robber.

—That's not fair.

—Coward.

Shards of ice and recompacted snow scattered over his foot as Leslie bashed the bat into the ground in a rage. By the time he looked back up it was gone, the tear in the tree restored to its evergreen needles adorned with snow. He stared up at the tree with clenched teeth and a heaving chest before slamming the bat into the ground several more times, cursing with sloppy semi-words.

Leslie set the bat and both bags down by the wall along the bedroom door, where he initially had left them. He carefully entered, futily trying to minimalize any squeaks and sounds from the door or the decaying wood floor.

Aracelis mumbled something incoherent. Leslie woke her up, gave her more painkillers, and left her alone to go sleep himself.

And now they were even.

((to be continued))