by S. Ferguson
“You want the bed, or do you want to sleep on this thing?” he asks, sitting down next to me.
“I don’t want to sleep yet. Can we watch TV?” I kick my shoes off, and curl my legs up beside me, wedging them in between Declan and me.
“We can do whatever you want. Here’s the remote. I’m gonna change into something comfortable.” Declan stands and walks to the door I’m assuming leads to the bedroom.
He shuts it behind him, and I use the remote to turn the TV on. I’m still randomly flipping through channels when he comes back out. He’s changed into grey sweatpants, which hang low on his hips, and a tight white t-shirt. Holy hell, he’s ripped. I can see the definition of his pecs and abs through the thin material. The dark ink of his tattoos is showing through as well. He definitely has a lot more on his chest and shoulders than I thought.
“Find anything good?” he asks, taking his seat next to me again.
“Nah, my eyes are getting tired. You find something.” I toss him the remote, and lean my head back on the soft headrest. My eyes droop lower and lower and, before I know it, I’m sound asleep.
7
Declan
Bree fell asleep pretty quickly after I sat back down next her. I debated leaving her where she was but figured she would be more comfortable on the bed. It meant a shitty night of no sleep for me. I was way too big to try to sleep on the loveseat, but she was worth it. Anger shoots through my body as I remember what Ron told me.
“Some fucker put his hands on her. More than his hands if you know what I’m saying.” Ron had looked so angry and so sad in that moment. Whatever Bree thought of their relationship, Ron cared about her. There was no doubt in my mind after tonight. As much as I hated Jake’s job sometimes, for once I was grateful he was a dangerous man. I was grateful Ron was a man not to be fucked with. He would make sure Bree got justice.
I had no doubt that Jake and Greg would make sure that motherfucker never hurt anyone again. He wouldn’t know what hit him when Jake finds him. After everything our father did to Jake, the chance to avenge a victim of sexual assault is like a present. At first, I was disappointed to not be able to have a chance to help kill the fucker, but taking care of Bree was priority. Maybe she would let me in a little after I showed her what it was like to be cared for…that not everyone viewed her as a broken person or just a piece of ass.
Bree starts to snore lightly, and I snicker. Under better circumstances, she would be getting teased mercilessly about that when she woke up. Once she starts drooling on the cushion, I decide it’s time to move her. The caveman inside of me is happy she’s going to be in my bed, happy that she is wrapped in my scent, marking her as mine, safe and protected. I carefully pick her up. She’s so light, too light, and make my way to the bedroom. Thankfully, today was laundry day, so I had changed my sheets earlier. I lay her in the middle of the bed, and pull the blanket over her. I don’t know what it’s like to go through what she did tonight, but I remember a few things I’ve noticed about Jake over the years. I leave the bathroom light on, so the room isn’t completely dark, and leave the bedroom door cracked as well. I don’t want her waking up in the dark, confused and feeling like she’s trapped.
Once I’m back on the loveseat, I decide to text Jake and see if he has any news.
You find the fucker?
I flip the channel to sports highlights while I’m waiting. I don’t even like sports, but the background noise is a welcome distraction. My phone buzzes, and I throw the remote down and grab it.
Almost at his house now. You know he has a girlfriend? Her brother was the one who told us where to find him.
So, Bree was the side chick? From what I know about her, that isn’t shocking. She clearly has no idea of her worth. I completely believe she would settle for being some dude’s fallback. She doesn't seem to know she deserves so much more. She deserves to be someone’s number one. She deserves to have a guy worship the ground she walks on. I know tonight is going to set her back. Ron told me she said she wasn’t even sure if it was rape or not. I know, in my gut, Bree’s going to put this on herself; she’s going to refuse to blame anyone else. I’m not a perfect man, but I know what it’s like to go through hell, and live to talk about it. I can be the man that she needs. I can show her exactly how worthy she is. I can be the person to save her from herself.
With my mind made up, I close my eyes and start to form a plan. Bree isn’t going to make this easy.
A scream cuts through the quiet of my apartment, startling me from my uncomfortable sleep in the living room. It takes me a second to get my bearings and before I can move, another scream, this one louder, comes from my bedroom. Bree. I jump over the back of the loveseat, reducing the trip to my bedroom door to only two large steps. Bree is curled into a small ball, her back against the wall next to the bed, screaming. Her eyes are closed, and I’m not sure if she’s awake or not.
“Bree.” I say her name in a low and calm tone. I don’t want her to panic even more when she hears my voice. I’ve had my fair share of injuries from trying to wake Jake up from his nightmares. I doubt Bree can hit as hard as him, but I don’t want to find out.
She whimpers, and tries to push herself further against the wall. I have no idea what to do. Jake had nightmares and flashbacks a lot, but he knows me; my voice is a comfort to him. Bree doesn’t have that luxury.
Fuck it. I make my way across the room, and put a hand on her ankle.
“Bree, you’re having a bad dream. Can you wake up?” I give her ankle a little shake, and her eyes shoot open. Blue eyes full of agony and unshed tears. “Hey, you had a nightmare. It’s okay, though. I’ve got you,” I say softly. I give her ankle another reassuring squeeze and, before I can move my hand, she launches her tiny body at me.
Her arms go around my neck, her face burrowing into my shoulder. I wrap both my arms around her without a single thought. I doubt she’s fully awake or aware of what she’s doing, but even in her sleep her body knows she needs comfort. I’m not sure how long I sit there holding her, but her soft snores reach my ears again right about when my ass starts going numb from the hard floor. I’m scared to move, the last thing I want is to disturb her again. For all my discomfort and the fucked up events of the night, I can’t help but think how right this feels to me. Bree in my arms. Safe. Protected. I can be that guy. I will be that guy.
When the numbing in my ass gets to the point I can’t ignore it anymore, I use all the strength in my legs to raise myself up to one knee, then use my other leg to stand up. For once, I’m grateful she’s underweight as I stumble to the bed and start to lay her down. She moves slightly and mumbles something I can’t understand. Her arms are still around my neck, pulling me down as I lower her.
With a start her eyes open, blue eyes staring into mine, unseeing for a few seconds, before I see them focus. She flinches and throws herself backwards away from me, causing her to hit the mattress and bounce up. She scoots away from me until her back hits the wall. I give a deep sigh, and run my hands through my hair. As if the poor girl didn’t have enough going on in her life, this shit had to happen to her. I hope Jake doesn't just kill that fucker. I hope he suffers. I debate sending him a text, telling him precisely that, but I don’t want to leave to find my phone. I gently sit on the bed, my back resting against my pillow, and cross my arms over my chest. Still not comfortable, but better than the floor or the living room. The last thing I see before I doze off is Bree closing her eyes and going back to sleep herself.
The next morning, we’re sitting on the loveseat again, both of us staring into our coffee cups when I decide that if I want to have Bree open up to me, I need to open up to her a little bit.
Despite our awkward silence this morning, I can sense she's now relaxed around me some. The tension in her shoulders isn’t from me. When it comes to the past, Jake and I are complete opposites in the way we handle it, despite sharing so much of it. I don’t mind talking about it, except for the last night with our father. There
are reasons that night can never be spoken of, and most of them aren’t mine. Most of our past, especially my memories of my mom, I feel like I need to talk about. I refuse to be silent and feel ashamed for the actions of my dad. I want my mom’s memory to carry on, no matter how tainted it might be.
“You’re looking a little better than last night,” I say, stumbling my way through finding a way to bring up the heavy stuff without Bree knowing what’s coming. I know she’ll shut down. I’m a bastard, but part of me is relieved she has to stay here until Ron tells her it's okay to leave.
“I’m fine. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looks annoyed, and takes a large swallow of her coffee, grimacing as the still too hot liquid burns on the way down.
“Bree.” I put my coffee mug down, and reach my hand across to grab hers. “You remind me of someone, someone very important to me, someone I love…loved…more than anyone else in this world.” I feel an uncharacteristic lump in my throat. I don’t usually cry when talking about my mom, but somehow bringing her up like this, talking to Bree about her, makes it all feel so much more intimate. “She had a horrible life, my mom…” I exhale sharply before continuing. “My dad, he was a bastard. He made her life, and our lives, mine and Jake’s, well, he made all of our lives hell on earth.” Bree lowers the mug from her face and gives me her entire focus.
“She was sad, like you, towards the end. She didn’t see an end in sight. She failed to protect my brother and me.” Bree pulls her hand from mine, and I see her open her mouth to protest, but I continue cutting her off. “I know that’s the wrong thing to say, I know I should say something about her being perfect, but she wasn’t. She married an asshole, and gave him two sons. She didn’t leave; she never tried. I’m okay with it, I forgive her for that, but it doesn’t change it. She did try to protect us in her own way, and I know that she did save my ass more than once. But, in the end, my father won because he defeated her. He almost took Jake and I down with the ship, too.” Bree is looking at me with her hands in her lap, from the way her arms are flexing I think she’s got her hands clasped together and is squeezing them. I take a deep breath, finalizing my decision to share this part of me with her.
“When I came home that day, about 10 years ago, I knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in the house. Everything was too quiet.” I take another deep breath.
“Mom always met me at the door, and gave me some sort of indication as to what kind of mood dad was in. If he was in a good mood, she would greet me with a small smile. I don’t think she had fully smiled in years. A bad mood meant she would give me a hug and usually whisper some kind of warning about where and how he was …like ‘Stay out of the living room,’ or ‘Just go straight to your room.’ If we were lucky, and he was at work, she would just call out from wherever she was in the house, usually the kitchen.” I give Bree a weak smile before I continue talking.
“Mom really did help us in her own way, like I said before. She was the one that bought me a deadbolt for my bedroom door. See, my Dad liked to come into my room at night and take his anger out on me. I was his own personal punching bag for fucking years. But it was nothing compared to what he did to Jake. That’s a different conversation though, a story that only Jake can tell.” Bree’s eyes widen, probably understanding my meaning as she nods in agreement.
“Anyway, the deadbolt had worked for a while, until Dad finally lost his shit and kicked my door down. She also ended up helping me go from dump to dump until we found a door that would work as a replacement. I always tried to focus on the good more than the bad. The reality was… is… at times… too hard to swallow. My mom was ultimately a woman who had stayed with an abuser, and allowed her children to be abused. It’s not easy to understand that and forgive her, but I loved her enough to try and, most days, I think I’m there.” Now comes the hard part. I open my hand on the cushion between us, palm up, and Bree grabs my hand with no hesitation.
“That day, nothing but silence greeted me when I got home. I called out, looking for Mom, and making my way toward the kitchen, walking softly. Mom always stayed in the kitchen, or the backside of the house, even when she wasn’t cooking. It was her subtle way of avoiding being where my father was, by faking being busy with random shit. I knew she hadn’t gone anywhere. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house without Dad very often.” I clench my eyes closed before I open my mouth to speak again.
“When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I found her. She was there.” My voice cracks. “In the kitchen.” I open my eyes, now full of tears, and see Bree looking at me intently, her eyes mirroring mine.
“I knew she was dead the minute I saw her, but I still ran up to her and grabbed her cold wrist. I shouted her name a few times. Her eyes were open, and staring out the kitchen window. I knew she sat there sometimes, and just stared off into the distance. I always figured she was dreaming about a different life, a better life, a life without my father. Because that situation wasn’t already fucked up enough, as soon as I found her, I heard the front door opening. I called out a greeting. I can’t remember what I said. I was just hoping against all odds it was Jake. I knew my dad wouldn’t be able to handle my mom’s death. It wasn’t that he really cared about her, but the fact that he wasn’t in control of her anymore, that she had escaped him in the end, that would push him over any edge he had left. I also knew who would pay the price for his rage.” I take another shuddering breath and glance at Bree. She’s still gripping my hand, and completely focused on me.
“I remember my father yelling something about being hungry. He had no idea what was going on, he was too selfish to see anything but himself, and I heard his heavy footsteps moving towards where I was in the kitchen. I knew in that moment I wasn’t helpless anymore. I could fight back now. Jake wasn’t home, and there was nothing else my father could use against me, not with mom gone. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. I knew everything was about to change. None of our lives were going to be the same after that day. So, I ignored the tears in my eyes and took one last look at mom’s face, trying to memorize it. She looked beautiful.” I give Bree another weak smile. “She looked peaceful. I told her I loved her, and that she was free now. Then, I stood up to my full height and braced for what was about to happen. I knew these last few seconds were the calm before the storm.”
Bree’s breathing hitches as a single tear falls down her cheek.
“What happened?” Bree asks, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. The fact that despite being raped less than 24 hours ago, that she would want to comfort me, blows my mind. She’s so much stronger than she gives herself credit for.
“My dad walked into the kitchen, and took one look at me standing next to the... her body. He screamed at me and then, the next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital two days later. I never saw him again after that.” That last part isn’t a complete lie, I’m just leaving quite a bit out. I can’t tell her anything else. I gave my word to Jake, and it’s his story to tell.
Bree’s eyes are full of tears as she squeezes my hand again. The silence that follows the end of my story isn’t awkward. We both retreat to the safety of our own minds before I end the moment by deciding I need more coffee and getting up. Coffee is a priority. Always.
“Thank...” Bree’s voice cuts off, and she clears her throat. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It can’t be easy to talk about something like that. I can’t even imagine.” She shyly meets my gaze, as I lower myself back down to sit next to her.
“At first, it was hard to talk about, really hard. But I refused to feel ashamed of what happened. My mother didn’t make a choice that many people would agree with. I don’t agree with it, but it was her choice to make. I love my mom. She was the only parent I had, in my opinion. But there were… things… that happened. Things that people shouldn’t have to live through, but we did. I guess it was just too much for her.” I take a deep breath as the thoughts I’ve struggled with my whole life come to the forefront again. Was she a
coward for killing herself? Was she a failure as a mother because she never left my father, because she didn’t protect Jake or me? God, poor Jake. He had it so much worse than I did.
Bree must catch on to my declining mood because she’s quick to change the subject.
“It’s okay. Let’s talk about something else.” Bree sets her half empty coffee mug on the table. It’s one of my favorites. It says “Have a nice day”, but has a middle finger carved into the bottom. I don’t think she realizes she’s been flipping me off every time she took a sip. She looks around my sparse apartment, and I can see her brain working on trying to find a better topic.
“How long have you lived here?” She’s at least subtle in questioning why everything is so bare.
“About a year. I moved around a lot whenever I got restless before I decided I wanted to settle near Jake. To make some place my home.”
“What did you do for work if you travelled so much?” Bree asks, and then almost looks like she regrets it. She’s probably assuming I’ve done work similar to Jake’s and Ron’s.
I answer quickly to make her feel comfortable. “Bartending is an easy job to find. I’ve travelled all over the country, and a few places in Europe, just going where the wind takes me.” I lean back, crossing my legs so my right ankle rests on top of my left knee.
“Where did you live in Europe?” I can tell this is something Bree really finds interesting because she leans forward unconsciously, bringing her knee close enough to my thigh, I can feel her body heat.
“London. I took a train somewhere different every time I had a few days off. I managed to see Paris several times, and then I spent a week in Germany. A small town near Hannover, friendliest people I’ve ever met. Had a good friend there named Mika. I promised him I would come back some time to visit. I really should. They have the best fucking beer.”
