His tone is quiet yet stern. “Give me the folder.”
I hug the folder tighter. “It’s private.”
“Is it now?” He narrows his eyes. “Is that what you call snooping?”
“I wasn’t snooping,” I exclaim.
“Do you expect me to take your word for it?”
The question is asked softly, but its punch steals my breath.
“Fine.” I climb a step, putting us on eye level. “I deserved that.”
I turn to escape, but I don’t make it two steps before he wraps his fingers around my upper arm. The momentum pulls me back, making me lose my balance. I flail my arms instinctively to regain my footing, but it’s too late. I plunge backward. The folder drops from my hand and falls open as it hits the step, papers flittering out and flying everywhere.
A pair of strong hands catch me before I hit the floor. Leon locks his arms around my waist from behind, picking me up and carefully depositing me on the bottom step.
“Did you hurt yourself?” He tests my balance before turning me to face him. “Your hip? Your leg?” Dragging his hands over me, he says, “Fuck. Did you twist your ankle?”
“I’m fine.”
The air is stuck in my lungs. My heart thunders in my chest, but not only from the near-fall. I’m staring at the destruction around us, at my secrets tiling his floor.
He stills.
It’s too late.
He saw.
Going down on his haunches, he picks up the drawing nearest to him. It’s a particularly violent one of the woman tied up and being whipped while the alien comes on her face.
Leon blinks, his lashes lowering too late to hide the reaction reflecting in his eyes. He seems confused. Surprised. Shocked, maybe. My mom would’ve been horrified. Gus would’ve set fire to the paper Leon holds in his hand. I stand frozen, holding my breath and wishing the earth will swallow me as he picks up one drawing after the other and studies each.
After a long moment, he straightens, stacks the pages together, and slides them back into the folder.
The look in his eyes is shuttered when he hands me the folder. “I owe you an apology.”
Unable to keep his gaze, I lower mine. “I can’t sit for long if I’m not at a desk. I was using yours for drawing.”
“Please,” he says, his voice oddly devoid of emotion. “Feel free to use my desk any time.”
“Thanks.” I swallow.
He waves at the folder. “Those are good. Have you been doing this for long?”
I dare to face him again. “Since forever, it seems. I’d been selling some in secret. Gus and my mom don’t know, so I’ll appreciate it if you don’t mention this to them.”
“You’re talented.”
I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
“You said sold, as in past tense.”
“The guy who sold them at his flea market stand for me was afraid Gus would find out, so he stopped.”
“You should be publishing comic art, not waste your time in a tattoo parlor.”
“I’m grateful for the job, Leon.”
He nods, the gesture stiff. “Maybe we should take a raincheck on that dinner.”
I swallow again, trying to ease the tightness of my throat. “Okay.”
Tilting his head toward the entrance table, he says, “Your new identity documents arrived. They’re in the envelope.”
“Um, thanks.”
Rapping his knuckles on the balustrade, he nods as if to himself this time. A second passes before he turns on his heel, takes his jacket and his keys, and walks through the door.
Stupefied, I remain rooted to the spot.
The reason I hide my drawings and never sign my name on them is because of Leon’s reaction. He’s even more disgusted with me now.
The thing is, I’m not disgusted with myself, not for my drawings. For the theft, yes. But the drawings are part of me, and I refuse to be shamed for who I am.
The engine of Leon’s sportscar starts up. If I hadn’t been so engrossed in my drawing, I would’ve heard his car when he arrived. I would’ve had time to hide the folder.
Maybe it’s better like this, with less secrets between us.
Somehow, I feel lighter. That doesn’t prevent the tears from running over my cheeks when the sound of his car grows silent in the distance, and once again, I’m left alone in his prison with the official document to prove just how trapped I am.