what we don’t see

by Alejandro Gabriel Leopardi

Avah

 The moment I stepped into the living room, I could feel his eyes on me. Not just his eyes. His mind, his thoughts, beaming directly at me and through me. Every move I make is monitored carefully. There’s something off about Rhys tonight. It’s like he knows something he shouldn’t. He says very little, responds only when he needs to or when things become awkward. I’m afraid to look at him, so I stare, mostly, at the ground as I shift around the familiar curves of this room.

My fingertips slide softly, slowly, methodically over the polyester, memories moving in and out of focus. The feel of it reminds of me of restless nights and wine-infused talks. They were mostly mindless exchanges of dialogue meant to fill the empty void of time. Two people

inhabiting the same space yet existing in vastly separate realms. The television always set to a film neither of us cared to follow, though it didn’t necessarily matter. Anything that could assist in mediating the boredom that overwhelmed me to the base of my very soul would do, and black and white films from the 1940s were as useful as any tool. Most would only see an inanimate piece of furniture that takes up space in an otherwise normal room. It was, is, but it resuscitates with life, breathing mundane remembrances into the air, the cloud of it too thick to be whisked off by a waving hand.

A warm smoke breezes over me, jolts a memory out of me. It’s not a nice one.

*****

“How was your day?” Rhys asked in that way people ask to colleagues or in elevators.

“The same,” I replied. “Work, groceries, some light shopping…”

“No drinks with the girls, that sparked too many drinks with the girls, then converted to buying more than you need?” His condescending tone irritated me. Disdain may not be a word he’d use to describe his feelings toward me, but I felt it. Every word that crept from his mouth seeped into the darkest parts of my mind.

“Not today,” I lied, knew he checked our account more religiously than, well, any religion he ever pretended to follow. I waited for a quip, some smart remark to spark a disagreement. It never came.

“Ah. I see,” he said, a sly smirk. “What’d you get? Anything interesting?”

His light-heartedness was a façade, one crystal clear to me, and his attempts to make it impenetrable frustrated me more. “Why the hell do you even ask me these questions? Why not just skip to part of the interrogation where I’m called a liar, money-hungry, or whatever else you’re thinking?”

*****

As the smoke clears, so do those despairing thoughts. I realize Rhys hasn’t moved, has stood there motionless for what feels like a lifetime, and yet, his gaze hasn’t wavered. The distaste he holds for me wafts through the room and injects itself into me. When it seeps in, the venom overtakes my very essence, drives me to my breaking point. But I can’t reveal this to him. If he suspects I’m weakening, it could only take a fraction of time for him to pounce, attack for the mere sense of vulnerability.

His position there, eyes zeroed in on me, plans swirling around in his hateful mind. I can’t read him, the lengths he’ll go to unknown. I can’t figure out if it’s fear or loathing that I sense. Maybe the duality of the circumstance is the real burden, and escape is the dilemma, one I’ve no answer or solution for. And that frustrates me more than anything. The longer I remain immobile – and the longer he does, as well – the greater the danger grows. As that threat looms, poisoning the air and precipitating into cells that pour over me, his confidence reaches its peak…the stench so nauseating that my knees almost give in. That same confidence, lurking, preying, poised to reveal itself in more than a mere sensation, also threatens to prevent me from action.

Silence. Quiet irreverence is often deadlier than any violence.

“What’s wrong…honey?” Rhys asks, his voice accentuating on what should be an endearing term.

“Nothing. You?” I ask in return, hoping for an inclination of susceptibility. I watch his eyes twitch, searching for a manner with which to respond.

You see, feebleness is not a trait one learns to recognize. Only those familiar with it can diagnose it. From the vibes I get, the shift of power feels inevitable.

Rhys

Sweat. A lot of it. Everywhere. Partially, it’s the hesitation, a little anticipation, but mostly, it’s fear. Maybe each of these leads to the other, and that buildup is causing an array of emotions in me that I can’t quite control. That last bit causes another onset of hysteria, which has become increasingly difficult to mask. The worst part is that I can see Avah’s acknowledgement just in her look. She’s unwavering in her contempt for me. Even now, at this very moment, she’s just eyeing me, but not just looking at me, not just through me, but inside me. And if she can do that, what I need to do won’t suffice.

Every movement from me is mirrored by her. I shift right, she shifts left. When I squint, she follows suit. It feels almost as if she’s mocking me so that I weaken to the point of vulnerability. In that state, anything can and will happen, so staying alert and overtly conscious is the ultimate goal. Vulnerability won’t matter, as sheer will can more than compensate, and that I own in excess. Prevailing isn’t just a hope right now, it’s everything, and the only thing maintaining my forward motion.

This separation hasn’t always been it for us. At the start, we were light and airy, the way romance is between love-struck strangers. And that’s what we were for some time. Little was divulged about our inner selves for fear that relinquishing too much would somehow show signs of weakness. Neither of us wanted that, though we would later realize we were both just that, weak, in our own, unique ways. The innocence of it all was more than enticing, even more than thrilling, something different, special. Most look for a flow of information to be able to gage a person and then adjust accordingly, as if people work like cooking does. A pinch of childhood fears here, a dash of past relationships there, and just a smidge of personal embarrassments, and there you have it, the perfect couple.

Perfection doesn’t work that way. Perfection is a fool’s errand, one we sought just as foolishly. At least, I did. Avah was less concerned with such trivial matters. The way I saw her, anyway. She acted as if knowing one another more deeply would ruin things, but what things there were to ruin I hadn’t a clue.

*****

“How is knowing what made you wet yourself in the tenth grade going to help us grow, exactly?” she once asked me with contempt. It was more a statement than a form of inquisition.

“Nothing like that,” I replied. “But I think some form of intimacy is good for people, for us. Don’t you think? I mean, I’m not sure how long this, we, can continue on just bits and pieces.” I really didn’t, and still don’t. We had built a foundation on a shifting platform with as many inconsistencies as a chaotic system, much like weather. It’s erratic and constantly transforming, thus difficult to predict. Although on some level I appreciate impulsivity, the rise of tension, hope, and a myriad emotion, long-lasting relationships need more.

“Tell me what you want to know, and I’ll tell you whether it’s too deep,” Avah snapped back. “How does that sound?”

“I’d like to know about your relationship with your parents,” I quickly responded.

“That’s too much, too quickly.”

“What kind of future did you, or do you, see?” I lessened the degree.

“Definitely not one where I’m asked a long list of ridiculous questions that should be answered organically rather than forcefully,” she said. That was the type of statement indicative of her demeanor and the manner with which she handled our relationship.

*****

The way she looks at this very instance reminds me of our beginning. The middle, that was different. After months of that type of back and forth, her wall eventually came down and Avah blossomed into a person I knew had always existed, and one I knew I could love. Reciprocal affection, though, grew to be a more difficult facet to capture. Eventually, she’d relinquish that as well, but it wasn’t without plenty of strife. I had thought of courtship as something romantic that resembled a game for two, each contributing equally. This scale was tipped far more to one end than the other, but then again, I hadn’t minded so much. The chase was thrilling, kept me on the edge and always alert, but I now get the sense that the hunt was a preplanned activity, one more sinister than I could have imagined.

As my body weakens and the images in front of me vanish in and out of existence, I wonder just how much quicker I am than she. No, Avah’s too smart for that. I’ll just make my way, slowly and surely, out of this room and into the kitchen. A slew of options awaits me there, all of them lethal and easy to use. My appearance will buy me both time and patience, as the underestimation of my abilities benefits me completely. When I move, she’ll watch, and maybe she’ll follow, but only to monitor my suffering.

Avah

Every inch of space he inhabits, puts me on edge. I’m beginning to experience a nervous twitch I’ve not once exhibited in my life. His slow, almost rhythmic movements compress the available space. My breathing quickens despite every intent I may make to slow and steady myself.

We’ve made it into the kitchen, but I’m not entirely certain the reason. It could be the sense of dread that now fills the air, thick and moist. He’s forced us here into this room with a plot only he understands. I’m trapped though he seems to realize his own limitations, visible in his obvious attempts to subdue the excruciating pain even I can now feel.

The only thing I needed was time. Sand filling the hourglass, grains sifting through rapidly as they help waste away not only seconds and minutes, but the life within him. Each and every moment that passes is one moment longer than I can withstand. For every breath Rhys exhales, a memory passes through me and takes me to a time I’d much rather forget. It’s enough that I already regret much of the days spent with this simple man who thought of only simple things. Frustration can only begin to define our association. We never wanted the same anything. Not once did he ever think about my happiness, just his own. At times it would appear as though we would come to a compromise, yet we would always end up doing whatever it was he wanted.

As his last breath exits, the smell of it like old, cracked leather and coffee-stained upholstery, the anger inside me makes its own exodus.

*****

 “I’m not really sure why you need one,” Rhys said to me once. “It’s an unnecessary luxury.”

“You say that about everything I mention. Shoes. Dresses. Watches.”

“All unnecessary. What perplexes me is the fact that you can’t see that,” he responded too quickly.

God, the least understanding husband a woman like me could have. My choice to stay with him for as long as I have continues to confuse me.

“Every single couple we know, not one of them ever fights over something like this. Marc and Angie, Lara and Sebastian…”

“I know our friends, honey,” he interrupted.

“The point is, Angie asks, she gets. Lara asks, she gets. I ask, the only thing I get is an argument. Every single fucking time an argument. For once in our history, I’d like to just get the thing I request,” I said and I meant it.

“It’s just a material thing, isn’t it?” Rhys didn’t get it. “Instead, we could take a nice trip to Europe, live like royals, and be together like we were in the beginning.” There’s no way he believed that.

*****

One of the things I admired most about Rhys during our courtship was how dedicated he was to his job, but even more to the level of salary he earned. At least I liked to think he did. All of that rhetoric about objects being immaterial, that love and bonding were the heart of the world felt fabricated for my sake. He had to have known, in the deepest portions of his dull, stale brain that the things that made us work were those very same acquired irrelevancies. The mere idea that he required a longing from me conjured up some of the most horrific feelings I could experience, and so I imagined his desires would, at some time, intertwine with mine. I’d heard that couples, when paired for certain lengths of time, could think as one. Nights I spent hoping, among other treasured dreams, that particular saying was true.

Mine didn’t roar like it used to. Didn’t have that smooth, soothing feeling when I paddle shifted up. That weightless sensation, of moving about in virtual flight as those around me stood aghast as mere spectators, in both awe and envy, wind and fumes washing over them. Landscapes disappearing in my rearview could always ease tension, melt away stress. It all but vanished just over a year after attainment. The luster was gone, and I wanted it back.

Except it wasn’t the car, not really. In many ways, he was absolutely correct in his assessment of such a material thing. However, a contraption lacks any sort of value to me. The idea that something so simple and innocuous could be so bothersome to me – I realized just how little he knows me. When I imagined our linked identities, the end result would be to allow him room to see me. That never occurred. Looking beyond the superficial version of me, it seems, was impossible for him. I’m not sure if Rhys ever believed he would or could.

Naivete – absolutely not. The persona most perceive is one I’ve developed over time. I realize how people see me, and I know how he initially saw me. But a persona is meant to be uncovered, peeled away until the core remains exposed. Day after day, week after week, nothing ever changed, nothing ever grew. His feelings for me remained the same as they had when we met, my layers intact.

Once I discovered that truth, destruction ensued. I could no longer face Rhys, or talk with him the way I had. The very sight of him forced convulsions that I fought hard to subdue. I didn’t want to give him anything. If he had even an inkling the level of pure hate had not only grown, but festered within me, he would have left. An easy exit wouldn’t suffice, so I kept appearances, faked happiness, shown smiles at every exchange.

Rhys

This all came on suddenly, certainly without so much as a hint. There was a time, a short window, when things between us weren’t well. It was one thing after another, one object, then one more. Back at the start, I knew who Avah was, and what she was, but had the idea that everyone can become someone different, better than who they feel they have to be. I wanted to be that for her, the catalyst for positive transformation. Every action I took, every thought I held, I did with the single goal of metamorphosis and rebirth into the person I knew she could be.

During that gap, however, she didn’t cooperate. I’d come home with the hopes of having a typical conversation about our days, only to be disappointed when she brought up some new “thing” she wanted. At first, I didn’t mind. Like I said, I knew who Avah was when we met. Like anyone else in a relationship, I wanted to give her everything she desired, no matter how preposterous the demand. But there’s a limit to the level and extent of gifts. Too much for too long, and change becomes impossible. Her potential was obvious. She exuded intelligence even in times of simplicity, which enthralled me. Intellect gets me like nothing else. So, for her to rely on objects for satisfaction came as a complete surprise. I felt we were making strides toward the new, but then we were halted.

There was something else. Avah began acting strangely, doing things she didn’t normally do. Lapses in schedule. Some of it was irrational, most of it erratic, and it all made me wonder. In a long-term relationship, wonder can be the start of the end.

No rash decisions, it’s not me. And I don’t shy from confrontation. Quite the contrary, in fact. I had to know, and to know, I had to ask, which I did one day.

*****

“Are you seriously questioning me?” Avah became instantly defensive. “You’re the one who’s been distant, barely acknowledging me. But I’m not the one keeping something back?”

She was right. I had been aloof. The longer her actions continued, the angrier I grew and the more bitter I behaved. “Early mornings. Late nights. I never know where you are. When you are here…” I wasn’t sure how to complete that sentence.

“Don’t bring that up again, please. Boredom, dear.” The smugness of her response festered inside me, but I held back any reaction. “What exactly is the difference, may I ask? It’s not as if we’re financially challenged, are we dear?”

Any time she wanted to bury deepest, she used the term “dear.” Endearing to some, emotionally patronizing to me. A weapon Avah kept charged, ready to discharge in the heaviest of moments, she always weighed my intentions and sunk in when she knew it would burn the most.

But why had she shut me down so quickly? Why not discuss the matter in a more amicable manner? I hadn’t known her to be coarse, yet she walked that path as if it was hers for eternity. Something was awry, and I needed to uncover the truth.

I shadowed her. Alternatives never revealed themselves to me. Without them, only one deed could be calculated and executed to unearth what I hoped I had made ill judgement of.

Avah

 There wasn’t much need for the continued mysterious nature I had fashioned. Unfortunately, I didn’t arrive to that conclusion on my own so much as his conduct forced the fact. On several occasions – though I never let on that I knew, nor did I ever utter a syllable of it – I became aware of his unwarranted but distant presence. He lurked in corners, hid in shadows, slid into obscurity with more ease than I gave Rhys credit for.

Normally, this would have seemed endearing. The fact that this man felt jealousy, curiosity, or some other attaching emotion to me, about me, or for me, meant he cared deeply. So deep, in fact, that he enacted a series of events uncommon for him. Endearing is not the adjective I’d select. It was intrusive … he was intrusive. My privacy was extracted as if it lacked importance, though the opposite is true, as it means vitality, especially in a relationship. Hiding to uncover meant the evaporation of trust.

Worse was the fact that the acts he caught me in were the most meaningless one could encounter. My day-to-day was trivial, devoid of excitement or purpose. What exactly did he expect to gain? It was almost laughable, to be completely honest, the idea that he truly believed I was clueless of his whereabouts or transgressions.

However meaningless, it presented a problem. It threatened to ruin everything. I planned and plotted, hid secrets and bought myself time so that I could find the most fruitful path. Then the ground erupted, opened up, sucked in those plans without care.

So I crafted a new escape, thanks, in part, to him. The irony. There was only one problem, a self-inflicted one. A mistake. A slip-up. I rarely make them. I did that time. It was a momentary lapse of judgement, though I could only really blame myself.

Rhys

One day, out of the blue, I found what I can only label a journal. I’d never seen it before. I don’t keep journals because I’m just not the one to log my daily thoughts or ideas. But when I opened it, inside didn’t reveal idle feelings, lingering ideas, or any of the other normal stuff anyone finds in those things. Instead, it shocked me. Not with excitement or fear. More with awe. A log of dates, times…it looked like someone’s daily schedule. Avah’s schedule. Someone tracked her, and she knew about it. Or maybe…

Avah

 Damn. “What are you going to do with it?” I foolishly asked on one occasion.

 “Cops. Detectives. P.I. I don’t know,” he genuinely didn’t, but I could sense his burning desire to find a solution. “We can’t let this go. Where’d you say you found it?”

I didn’t have a sensible response, so I fabricated a terrible one. “In the kitchen. On the floor. It looked like it was left there in a hurry. I’m assuming the guy somehow entered to gather more intel…”

*****

Of all the lies I’ve told, that one felt the least trustworthy, ill-prepared and even more ill- delivered. Almost immediately, I knew he realized it. For a brief instant, silence encompassed the room. My mind spun into unending spirals as I pressed it for solutions.

“I should check around the hallways and around the building, see if there’s anything off,” he finally said.

Rhys did the work for me. Maybe he knew me better than I thought. I just nodded and he was off. Instantly, I knew the next phase of my improvised blueprint. A little powder, a little drink, and that’s all I’d need for the resolution that would end this torturous circumstance, albeit a self-encased one.

Another problem presented itself when he returned too quickly. Something had changed in him. I pressed on. Things went my way for some time…

Rhys

Avah’s smug look annoys me more than it ever has. Now, even now, as life begins to seep out of me, she’s able to irritate me. I should’ve, and could’ve, done something much sooner. It’s probably not the time to begin having regrets, second-guessing all I’ve done or haven’t, but I am. The signs were clearly there. Her attitude, actions, all of it screamed attention, and yet, here I stand, crippled, barely able to maintain focus. All the while, she stands watching me, waiting. Then, as if I transmitted my cynicism, she makes a remark.

“I’m sorry,” she utters. Then another smirk. “Actually, I’m sorry I said that. I’m not sorry. Unfortunately for you, this, what’s happening now, is deserved.”

“Deserved?” I manage between breaths. “What did…”

 “Oh, come on. Let’s not pretend you don’t already know,” the words waft through the air with pure contempt, not an ounce of remorse. “We…well, technically you, can’t afford to waste precious time on running through the details of our deterioration.” The proverbial stake through the heart.

“I love you,” I say. I did, at least. Not now. Right now, I hate her. Loathe her even. But I’m hoping for some…

“Pity. Always the default. An emotional appeal to buy time, hope for a savior. I can tell you, neither will appear,” her words hurt, but they’re true. “Aww, I can tell by the look in your withering eyes that the inevitable is becoming clearer. Introspection helps ease the burden of falsehoods and mystery, and no better moment for that than the terminating circumstance you currently find yourself in.”

“Just tell me why!” I demand, the air thinning rapidly. That goddamn smirk again.

“You’re right. Enough of the games. No more trickery,” these words whisper truth. “Everything you believed about me was so grossly inaccurate, but you never once stopped to reconsider your opinion of me. I tried to reveal the true me so many times. It didn’t cross your mind to reevaluate the person you’re supposedly in love with. What you did, take me at face value, was as terrible a move as anyone can make. There were moments, as fleeting as they were, when I believed you’d wake up, be different than all the others, see past what was clearly a show and uncover the deeper me. I really, truly did. I wanted you to prove me wrong that not everyone perceives well-dressed, well-kept women as superficial and incapable of leading meaningful lives, untethered to another being.”

“You never gave me a chance to,” I manage.

That’s the truth, the very core truth. If I could manage more words, phrases even, I’d be able to lay all out to her. Unfortunately for me, the seething pain has spread to every inch of my body, and sitting is too straining, let alone a purge of emotion.

“Selfish, self-absorbed, self-centered…center of the world, of me, of you and others,” she says matter-of-factly.

“You’re…you’re talking about yourself, right?” The look on her face will suffice. Pure, unfiltered shock.

“A chance, multiple opportunities, a lifetime, none of it would have mattered. Everyone before you has failed to delve into the machinery, preferring to remain in the shallow end. I’ve done the world a favor just like I’ve done with the others. I’ll be the last person you misjudge or mistreat.” No surprise I’m not her first. Too methodical for that.

I try to respond. My lungs instantly compress, pushing back any air that would allow a syllable. She needs to know. I will most certainly be the last person, but not for the reason she thinks.

Somehow, through the excruciating pain the jolts every time I make even a small movement, I reach into my back pocket to slide my cell phone out.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, genuinely perplexed.

As I point the face of the phone at her, the realization converts her cynical optimism into sheer anxious terror. The grand palace Avah had constructed through delusional apparitions and obstructed visions will now crumble and take on a new shape. This new phase will be a torturous nightmare from which there is no escape, one erected with her own hands and transformed by her own undertaking. True, she’s correct in that my overall view of her hadn’t shifted much throughout our relationship. It’s also true that I was never allowed the opening to be able to see a different her. It was her own doing. Avah refused to let me in, constantly pushed me away and closer herself off. Someone who wants to be accepted as anything but what they are perceived to be, must open themselves up freely. That never happened. She didn’t want it to.

What will happen now is what must. She’s also right that I’ll never misjudge or mistreat another woman because of her, and she’ll never be granted the opportunity to do this to another person again. They’ll make sure of that.

Photo of Alejandro Gabriel Leopardi

BIO: Alejandro Gabriel Leopardi is an English professor teaching literature and writing at Montgomery College in Maryland. His debut novel, Unraveling the Dark, published in 2025 through Captivate Press. His other work has appeared in The Acentos Review, The Argyle Literary Magazine, Duck Head Journal, Academy of the Heart and Mind, and The Sligo Journal, as well as the Sci-Fi anthology Alien Aberrations. Alejandro is also a screenwriter and has had his screenplay, We, produced; it is available on several streaming services, including Apple TV and Amazon Prime. I am represented by Andrea Comparato of Inscriptions Literary Agency.