I taught Leo how to draw afterwards. I showed him a lot of different colors to use as he drew what happened in his past, but he seemed to disagree with whatever it is I have to say about the other colors. He only had inclinations towards the red and the black pencils, and nothing else. He also refused to draw in the same magnificent quality as he did before. He only scribbles the same figure over and over again. A black cat with red eyes and that’s it.

I gave up on teaching him to draw soon after because he seemed to dislike the activity. Aside than that, I had some school works to do so I told him so as I walked towards my room. Leo followed me, holding onto my sleeve.

                                                                *             *             *

Leo looked around in my room as I do my work, and he showed me things from time to time as if he waited for my explanation about the items. So far, he had shown me my hair clip, a thick novel, some of my perfume bottles, and a couple of stationary.

He poked my shoulder and showed me something that made my eyes wide open.

It’s a teddy bear. With dirty fur, stained with a lot of reddish black blotch.

“Leo, where did you find that?” I ask for the teddy as I sit on the floor in front of him, and he hand me the dirty stuffed animal as he point to a box underneath my bed, age gnawing away the poor quality sticky tape I use years ago to pack the little thing in. Oh right. I pack it there years ago and for some reason I can’t remember, I didn’t take it back to my bed after I moved out. However, I remembered what made me pack away the bear I used to love so much.

                                                                                *             *             *

I ran home. I ran away from my ballet class, not even thinking about the scolding that I might get for doing this. I wish dad isn’t home. I wish mom is the only one that’s home. She would believe me. She always believed in me no matter what. I kept running home in my torn leotard, having left my coat in the studio. I just want to get home as fast as I could.

I was wrong. Dad is home. With his colleagues. As soon as I slam the door open and scream on the top of my weak lungs calling for mom, I realized my mistake. Dad is sitting there with his so called friends, glasses and glasses of bubbly alcoholic drink in their hands. Sickening smoke of cigarettes rose to the air, some ladies with minimum clothing sitting on the lap of some of dad’s colleagues, and I could see some just about to leave dad’s own arm.

“Your mother is not here,” said he with his always so heavy baritone. I choked in my own saliva. Of course. Dad having a meeting home means mom is not home. He clicked his fingers to call for the maid. “Take the little lady away,” he ordered to the maids, and I let them drag me away of his sight. I could do nothing but tremble in their arms as they take me to my room and bath me before they put on my set of pajamas.

I was just about to think that maybe dad changed his mind, maybe he won’t scold me when he slam my room’s door open, a fire of anger lit in his eyes. I froze seated on my bed, uselessly using my weak punches to fight him as he drag me by my hair to the hall, ignoring my painful scream and agonized cries begging for his mercy. I kept screaming, again and again, on the top of my lungs of how the new ballet teacher tried to me. The one that dad pointed for me. The one who came from Paris. With a French name I couldn’t pronounce. All the while as he hit me repeatedly with his belt, I could only writhe and cry under his beating; curling myself to the smallest ball I could in a desperate effort to escape pain.

My effort didn’t do much good.                                   

Later that night when he is done, I crawl in the darkened hall to my bedroom. Grabbing the only gift dad has ever given to me, staining it one last time with my tears and blood before packing it back to the same gift box dad once wrapped it in. Using the only craft sticky tape I have, I pack it away and set it under my bed before crying myself to sleep.

That night, I dream of mom.

                                                                                *             *             *

Leo didn’t budge an inch as I tell him my story. Although consciously I have gripped his hand with both of mine harshly, he didn’t even budge. Patting away a stray tear and force out a grin, I told him that it’s just an old memory. He blinked and shook his head. “You don’t like it?” he nodded. “Yeah. I don’t like the old memory either,” I muttered before letting out a heavy sigh. He took the bear from my arms and return it to the box, trying his best to close the lids although the sticky tape had worn off.

“It’s alright,” I told him. “Let’s just go to bed, okay?” he looked at me and nodded. I stood up and he followed me along, walking side by side with me to his new room just next to mine.

“Leo?” I called just as I tuck him in to bed. “I’ll let you stay here if you tell me what happened to you.” He blinked and looked up at me confusedly, in that same gaze that asks me what he should do. “Oh well, never mind. I don’t think anyone with that kind of scar you bear have any place to go home to. But if you do, just tell me. If not… we can share the big house together,” I said as I smile. “Besides, I don’t think a person who couldn’t speak could harm me more than I already am.”