The Brother

by K Larsen

  Mike shrugs. “It’s a possibility. I mean, she’s adventurous, if you know what I mean, so I might not get bored for a while. Who are you bringing?”

  “Nora Robertson,” I tell him.

  “Who is Nora Robertson?” he asks. He bunches up his face in an unattractive manner.

  “My next conquest,” I state.

  We order sandwiches and coffee and I halfheartedly keep an eye on the sidewalk to watch for Nora. I’m mid-bite when Mike looks at me and says, “That name is familiar. Nora Robertson. She’s the chick who was in the news a while back. The one who was tortured for months or something, right?” I set my sandwich down and nod at him.

  “Dude, why? Why would you want something so damaged? She’s probably a basket case. Crazy is not what you need in your life.”

  I run a hand through my hair, letting my fingers graze the raised scars on my scalp. There is something dark inside of me. A jagged hole that twists and rips through my soul. I’ve always chalked it up to genetics. It’s in my DNA. My mother was disturbed. My father was abusive in a different way. My own brother carved his mark in me. It is something Nora and I share. We both bear the scars of Holden. We both survived him. But I don’t have that need in me. Scaring others does not get me off. I require a different brand of abuse. Pleasure and pain together, safely. I crave being brought, or bringing someone else to the brink and then pulling back. I desire the pain of whips and floggers, accompanied by the pleasure of soft lips or warm cunts and crushing orgasms. I grin at Mike.

  “I have my reasons.”

  Mike shakes his head and laughs it off. He knows not to push. He knows the most about me, out of anyone. In school, when we had to come home for vacations, he knew my house was not pleasant. He never pushed. He never asked questions. He never judged. He understood what was going on, and gave me a safe escape when I needed one.

  “You laugh now, but you won’t when you see her,” I say.

  “Good luck, man. Seriously, I feel like you’ll need it for this one,” he says.

  The rest of my day is so busy, that I have no time to check in on Nora. I have no time to watch or stalk her. I check my phone periodically, to see if she has texted, but she hasn’t. It’s best this way. I don’t want to scare her off.

  Nora

  It is three days before I text Liam again. When I do, it is not much of a text. A simple hello. He does not respond immediately and for some reason that pleases me to no end. He gets me. I know his end game is not to be friends, but he is willing to play my game. I relish the feeling of being in control.

  “How much longer do we have to wait?” I ask.

  Eve shrugs. “It said it started at six.”

  “I’ve had naps more exciting than this,” I say.

  We are packed in a crowded auditorium, waiting for the chorus concert to start. I love watching Lotte perform. I love hearing her voice. I do not love being sandwiched between other parents in a stifling room lacking air conditioning. It makes me feel claustrophobic. The kids start filing in, filling up the risers according to height. I breathe a sigh of relief that they will be getting started soon. The woman to my right elbows me as she shoves her hand into her pant pocket and pulls out her cell. I glare at Eve. I’d rather stand in the back the entire time than be crammed between her and a stranger for an hour in tiny seats. She silently chuckles at me. Lotte’s voice, to me, is clear as day when they begin singing. I could pick her out of a crowd blindfolded. I close my eyes and let the music assuage me.

  My phone vibrates against my hip. I delicately remove it from my pocket, without bumping the woman next to me.

  Meet me at the aquarium at 11 Saturday.

  Liam. I smile at the screen. Eve leans over and reads before I can turn the it off.

  “Go,” she whispers. I shush her and look to the stage with a grin.

  I wait hours before replying, even though I know my answer. I wait until Lotte’s concert is over. I wait until we’ve gone out to celebrate afterward at the gelato shop. I wait until Lotte and Eve and I have all retired for the night. Right before turning out my light, I text back.

  See you there.

  It is my nature to get quiet and observe, to examine. I press my hands flat against the cool glass. Jellyfish gracefully undulate around me. They are so serene. The glass surrounds me. It is a glass tunnel. Water to the left, the right, overhead. One floats to the spot where my hand touches the glass. I spread my fingers wide as if I might, for a moment, be able to touch it. What does it feel like?

  “You’re like a child,” Liam says behind me. I turn to him, grinning. He snaps a picture of me on his cell and I frown.

  “I don’t like that,” I tell him.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Unplanned pictures,” I say. He approaches. I step backward until my back is against the cool glass. He plants his hands on either side of my head, trapping me.

  “I couldn’t help myself,” he says. His face inches closer to mine and I find myself paralyzed with anticipation. Is he going to try and kiss me? His eyes stay fixed on mine. The pupils dilate, our breaths mingle. He takes a step back.

  “Look,” he says. He holds out his cell. I glance at the screen. It is a picture of me, hands planted against the glass, staring up into the surrounding water. Mostly a silhouette. I do look guileless in it. He flips to the next. In it, my smile is wide. My hair vibrant against the blue water backdrop. I look ... blithe.

  “Okay,” I say. “You are forgiven. This time.” Liam chuckles and wraps one arm around my shoulder. He pulls me to his side.

  “Come on, camera nazi, let’s go check out the sharks.” A nickname. Me tucked in the crook of his arm. I am not sure how to feel about this but I let myself indulge in the moment anyway.

  Liam and I spend hours exploring the aquarium. He reads all the placards to me. We make up stories about the various animals. I find myself at ease the longer we spend time together. I don’t mind the occasional brushes of his hand on mine. He picks up a sea cucumber and holds it out for me to touch. We laugh at the way the starfish tickle our palms. I catch him watching me when he thinks I don’t detect it. It makes me blush. He is smitten, I think. He is playful and jokes with me but there is something lurking beneath the surface. Maybe I am paranoid and the simple explanation is that he is interested in me.

  The sun is setting and we are standing on the sand at the beach outside the aquarium, taking in the waves as they crash against the shoreline. My shoulder touches his body as we stand side by side and I find my mind wandering. Could he be rough enough? If I open up; if I take him to bed; could he satisfy me? He looks like a man who could take charge but I’ve been fooled by appearances before.

  “I really like you,” he says. I give him a quizzical look.

  “Maybe you should stop,” I say. He wraps an arm around my shoulders. For a moment, I swear I can feel my future on his skin. The air comes off the ocean. Its briny odor invigorates me.

  “I could make you happy, Nora.” I look up to him in surprise. He is being serious. We stare at each other for a drawn out moment before I inch out of his hold. It gives me time to think of what to say.

  “The best things in life are always worth waiting for.”

  Liam laughs a naughty laugh. “I wouldn’t know. When I want something, I never wait for it.” He inches his face toward mine. His lips hover inches from mine. I can see each long eyelash framing his eyes. If I move, just a smidge, my lips would touch his. Are they warm? Soft? My pulse speeds. His head moves slightly.

  “Stop,” I breathe.

  “I’m not the good guy, Nora. I’m no hero.” His breath smells like coffee.

  I grin at him and step backward. “I’m no heroine,” I say.

  Liam grabs my hand and speed walks us to his car. It is jarring and sudden and I let out a small squeak in protest. His grip on my hand hurts, but I don’t dare complain. My stomach clenches. What is he doing? Heat creeps between my legs and I feel myself growing turned on.

&nbs
p; Liam

  Her flip-flops slap the pavement. It echoes in the still air surrounding us. I know just how bad she is. I know just how she likes it. I am growing weary of the game she is playing. I want to push her on the hood of the car, lift the skirt of her dress up over her hips and show her just how good I can be for her. Instead, when we reach the car, I release her hand and open the passenger side door for her. She looks frustrated but I remain quiet.

  It is ten minutes into our drive home when she finally breaks the silence.

  “I ... I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says.

  “You didn’t,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “I did,” she says.

  “No, Nora, you’ve been nothing but upfront with me. You said friends. You said you don’t date. It is me who overstepped boundaries.” I grind my teeth as I stare out the windshield. These are not the words that I want to say but they are the right words for her.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I ... you know I was ...” her voice fades as she stares out the passenger window and she releases a monumental sigh.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I had a difficult relationship with someone. It—changed me.” She’s opening up about my fuck-wad of a brother, Holden, but I don’t want her to know that I’m aware of her story.

  “We’ve all been in difficult relationships,” I say.

  “No. This was different. This was ... you know who I am, right?” she asks.

  “You’re Nora Robertson, co-founder of N.E.L.,” I say.

  She stares at her lap. “That’s not what I meant.”

  I sigh. Playing this pretend game is tiring at the moment. “What did you mean then?”

  She shakes her head. “I was in love once. I was ...” she makes a pained expression. “it wasn’t a safe relationship. It was, abusive. I wasn’t allowed to be away from him.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

  “That isn’t love. It sounds like ownership.” The glare she gives should slay, but here I sit—heart beating.

  “Who made you an expert on love?” she asks curtly.

  “No one. I was simply giving an outside opinion on what little information you’ve shared.”

  “Yeah well, we all know the saying about opinions,” she says. She is angry with me for judging. It is written in the furrow of her brow. In the set of her lips and her rigid posture.

  “You’re exasperating,” I say. I drag a hand through my hair before shifting into fourth gear.

  “Vexatious.”

  “What?” I ask harshly.

  “Never mind,” she mutters. I almost laugh. She is complicated and difficult but she is also soft and intoxicating. I want to drink her up, inhale her. I cannot wait to see what her face looks like when she comes. I have plans for her.

  So many plans.

  I pull up to the curb at the park where she insisted on meeting me, even though I’ve walked her home. I know where she lives. She’s a conundrum. She undoes her seatbelt and turns to me.

  “Bye.” I arch a brow at her. She pushes her door open and gets out. When she shuts the door, she gives me a half wave. Her rosebud lips are turned down. She is looking at me, continuing to stare—her eyes boring into my face—until I can’t bear her gaze any longer. I’m so irritated with her, that I put the car in drive without a wave.

  I feel like I’m taking up space, wearing a half-hearted smile. Time ticks by too quickly and it is fraught with uncertainty. Soon enough, I will be a part of her past. I want to linger just a while longer, make the present last. My heart pounds against my ribcage. Maybe it will burst. I crave a bourbon. Bourbon is easy to understand. Tastes like summer on a hot breezy day. I drive like an asshole until my breathing becomes slow and even.

  It is dusk when I arrive home. My house large and empty. My sneakers squeak on the spotless tile floor in the entryway. I change into sweatpants and hop on the treadmill. After a cathartic run, a warmed plate of dinner from the fridge and a shower, I take a glass of bourbon to the patio, sit poolside and enjoy the taste. Before refilling the glass, I text Nora.

  Did you know starfish eat inside out?

  She doesn’t respond. I fall asleep thinking of all the things I can do to her. All the ways to make her beg.

  Nora

  I’m curled up on the couch watching TV with my girls when my phone vibrates. It is a text from Liam. Aubry pauses our show and I show the text to Eve and her.

  “I try to fight it, but he sends one text and I am smiling all day long,” I admit.

  “You hate smiling,” Aubry says.

  I grin at her playfully. “Exactly.”

  “Why are you playing hard to get?” Eve asks. Burt nuzzles his nose under my knees to keep warm. I reach out and massage behind his ears.

  “I don’t mean to.” I shrug.

  “Yes, you do. Just give the guy a chance,” Aubry says. I roll my eyes at her. She is the Queen of playing hard to get with men.

  “You like him, right?” Eve asks. I bite my lip and nod. I do. I like Liam Lockwood. He crept up and wormed his way into my thoughts. But If I let it go further, if I let him see all of me, it may end horribly. I am curious about him and want to know more. I’m not sure that is the ‘like’ they are speaking to, but there is tension between us, the kind that leads to lust.

  “You know what Dr. R. would say,” Aubry says, kicking off her shoes and setting her feet on the coffee table.

  “It’s not that easy,” I say. My shoulders slump. Why is dating so difficult?

  “Yes, it is,” Eve says.

  “I’ve gone out with him. I gave him my number. I feel like these are big steps. Major progress.” Eve throws her head back and cackles. Aubry reaches out and smacks her.

  “That is progress, but seriously, you can’t even pretend to know if he’s worth dating, unless you let him take you on a real date. And personally, if you don’t even kiss the guy, you’ll never know if there’s a spark.”

  “You don’t need a kiss to know if there’s a spark,” Eve says. I lean my head back on the couch cushion and listen to the two of them argue about love and sparks and butterflies in bellies.

  I am distracted through the rest of our show. Aubry leaves when Eve falls asleep on the couch. I walk her to the door.

  “Just text him back,” she says, “tonight.” She hugs me tightly. “I’ll see you Wednesday to interview the new counselor,” she says.

  “Oh, right, thanks for reminding me,” I say.

  “And you’ll text him back, right?” she asks.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath before looking at her again. “Fine. I will text him back tonight. Even though our aquarium date ended terribly.”

  “You said it wasn’t a date.” She opens her mouth and points at me.

  “Semantics, Aubry. Good night.” I smile my biggest, brightest smile and close the door. I laugh at her grumbling at me on the other side of it.

  I wait until I’m in bed, half sleep induced by an Ambien, to text Liam back about the starfish.

  I did not. Also, that is foul. Night.

  Five days of no Liam has made me jittery. I responded to his starfish text that same night and haven’t heard from him since. I contemplated calling or texting a few times, but talked myself out of it each time. I trudge up the stairs and stick my hand in the mailbox. I tuck it all under my arm and make my way in the house. I drop my purse on the counter and spread the mail out before me. I am shocked to receive a creamy, ivory envelope in my mailbox, my name penned in ink across its matte expanse. Inside, an invitation rests. I breathe deep, filling lungs that have had the air sucked from them.

  You are cordially invited to attend a reason to celebrate, a reason to dine,

  A reason to enjoy good company and wine. Come for a delightful evening among friends to honor Mr. Lockwood.

  “Eve, look at this.”

  “What?” she calls out as she comes into the kitchen. She picks up the stack of mail and starts shuffling through it.

  “Not
that. This,” I say and extend the invitation to her. Her brows shoot up and a smile spreads across her face.

  “You have to go.”

  “But we haven’t spoken since the aquarium.” I pout. She flips the invitation over and laughs. “What?”

  “It looks like Liam left you a note.” I take the card from her and flip it over. In his neat but small handwriting it reads; ‘Wear the green gown’.

  My mind spins. Is this a peace offering? A joke? Why hasn’t he contacted me all week?

  “Stop overanalyzing, Nora.” Eve’s voice breaks my train of thought. I look to her and she simply nods. I grab my cell, find the number and dial. Eve crosses her legs and waits. The phone connects and rings. On the third ring, he picks up. My hand is clammy. My heart beats just a tad faster. It feels good; it is frightening. I can still hang up. But then Liam says hello.

  Liam

  “Hello,” she says. Her voice sounds hesitant. I have managed to throw her off balance. I smile at the thought. This week was torture. I watched her. I read her emails. I saw the despondent look in her eye when she checked her phone, only to find nothing from me. From me. I matter. I’ve weaseled my way into a seat at her table. It gives me a thrill knowing that I have that kind of power over her moods, her days.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “I’m well, thank you.” So formal. She doesn’t know which way is up with me. I chuckle. Mike kicks my shin under the table. I glare at him.

  “What can I do for you, Nora?” I ask.

  “I was ... I received the invitation. I’m ...”

  “RSVPing?” I say, cutting her off.

  She blows out a breath. “Yes.”

  “Wonderful. I will have a car pick you up at your house at seven on Saturday.”

  “Oh, well, I can meet you …”

  I cut her off. “The car will pick you up Saturday. Good night, Nora.” I end the call and take a long sip of my drink.

  “Bossy much?” Mike muses.