Claire Redfield

I often try to treat everyone with the same attitude my brother raised me to treat them. In the sort of way I would want to be treated: which is like a regular person. This something I live be and would die by, but when it comes to Leon Scott Kennedy I have difficulty in upholding my belief.

He is different and always will be. That surly introvert was my very first love and even though I am engaged to another man I feel part of me still belongs to him. It was the waiting that ruined it for us.

He was always precautious from what he's told me about love, marriage, and all of the above on the account of his home life. When Leon was young, he learned right and wrong from his mother. She read him stories of men on horseback swooping in and saving beautiful women who were ensured in the clutches of evil, and the story of Ruth from the Bible.

His mother was a good woman. The same could not be said for his father.

Even though he was little, he knew what his father did to his mother was wrong… and evil. I saw the signs once I got to know him; the fear of disappointing me, the constant need to be strong at all times, becoming uncomfortable over anything involving discussions of domestic violence or abuse, the whole commitment issues, and his constant need to protect any woman he came into contact with.

I was the one he finally let in that night and I was horrified by what I heard. Over the past decade I have seen so many life altering zombie attacks that I'm prone to forgot how even zombies came from one common evil: humans themselves.

Charles Kennedy was known as a rather dim-witted man who possessed a foul temper worthy of a Cerebus so, as Leon explained, his bad attitude didn't stop at the fucking doormat. If he wasn't out drinking then he was home bitching at his wife for this and that, although he never hit her until that night.

Leon had just started fifth grade when he had come home that day to find the front door swinging wide open, which he at first feared they had been robbed but instead found his father beating his mother. That moment is possibly the first time that the fragile innocence of Leon S. Kennedy was hit so hard. It took him a few seconds to think of what to do next: he grabbed a chair and smashed against his dad's back.

The tall man staggered drunkenly before turning to lunge at his petite son who sadly didn't move fast enough to get punched squarely in the mouth popping two of his teeth. Mrs. Kennedy stood there in shock as her husband hit their precious child then decided to make her move once Mr. Kennedy straighten up a bit. Grabbing a nearby pot, she slammed the casket iron instrument into the back of his head and raced out the door with the blonde boy out the door. That was one of the last times that he ever saw his father but he heard from him often once he got older obviously.

His mother died exactly five years later which meant he got sent to his aunt: she was a great deal like his mother but with much more resolve and strength. Aunt Rosa and Uncle Thomas raised him to be a fighter after that day; he took martial arts of all kinds from karate to tae kwon doe and so much more! (Leon didn't take shit at school any longer especially not from any man although his love for girls grew with adolescent.)

Some dare tell me that he's fine, that he just needs more time. I think that after roughly thirty years of battling his demons by blowing the hell out of some evil villain's head it's about time that we get him so help. This was my only thought as I sat inside of Chris's car discussing what had happened.

The biggest raindrops fell from Heaven platting the Ford Jeep trying to silence my words like they had been sent by the secretive blonde man and the wipers kept up their fast paced cleaning. My brother had gotten more wrinkles but made all the same faces. Brows scrunched together so tightly that they could have been an uni-brow, face a fluorescent white from shock, lips pressed like a salmon, and the occasional angry grunts that signaled that I had his full attention. Jill had gone home shortly after a God awful howling match between her and Leon over whether or not he wanted to watch T.V.

"So, he saw it!?!"

"Yup, he saw basically everything."

"No wonder, he's so pissy around men! I'm surprised he's not a fag-"

One dark look kept him from saying the 'fa' word.

"Gay."

"Well, actu-"

"LEON'S GAY!?!? I TOOK SHOWERS IN THE SAME LOCKERS WITH HIM!!!"

"No, you dumbass! He's just bi."

"Close enough. What if he saw my dick," part of me almost wanted to let him think that my ex-lover had checked him out but I choose the good path… this time.

"You're not his type. Besides, it's not like he's that big on men."

"THAT BIG?!"

"NOT THE ISSUE HERE, CHRIS!!!"

My brother became still as a graveyard pondering what to do for his close friend. It seemed that we had no ideas except for the single thought I had earlier as I rushed in on the yelling heros' fight.

"You might as well call them," Chris said in a low tone of voice.

"Ok," I picked up my phone and dialed the number of Julian and Lilly Corvo, the best live-in therapists I knew. Hell, they were the only ones!