Masterpiece Theater

I woke myself up screaming. Sweat plastered hair to my face. My chest hurt with how hard my heart was pounding. The TV was off, making the salt lamp on the coffee table my only light.

Jason didn't come rushing down the hall because he and Ian had a reconciliation date. I guess it went well because my phone read after two in the morning, and if he had been home, he’d already be at my side.

I sat up, and pushed my hair away from my face, trying to steady my breathing. Another nightmare, always the same one.

Finn.

He came every night, like a disease, invading my brain and infecting my mind. I hadn't told anyone about it, not even the shrink I was seeing. I couldn’t talk about it.

I didn't feel safe anywhere. My skin crawled anytime I left the house. Wherever Finn was, he was watching me, planning his next move.

When I spoke with the police, they told me they'd put a warrant out for him, and make sure the right people in Chicago got the correct information. They assured me that if they found him, he would be arrested and charged, not just for the rape, but for aggravated assault and domestic abuse.

They also guaranteed that if they got him behind bars, I would automatically be granted a divorce.

Jason was excited to hear the news. I was numb.

When we got back to the house, Brian still hadn’t come back.

He didn't come in until late, when Jason left for his night out with Ian. He didn't say a word, but his hand was busted up. He disappeared into the basement and I left him alone, assuring my brother that I would be fine.

I couldn't blame Brian for being upset. I just didn't know how to explain things to him. I couldn't even manage my own thoughts and emotions, let alone articulate them to him.

All I ever had was Finn and Jason and my dad. Finn was my high school sweetheart and Jason never liked him, but he wanted me happy so he kept his mouth shut.

He shouldn't have. He should’ve tried harder to convince me to leave Finn before it was too late.

It wasn't just the trauma I was still trying to process. I was trying to adjust to the aftermath, to find a new normal. The psychologist told me that I needed to find healthy coping mechanisms, that I needed to figure out what my triggers were and how to respond to them. Openness was key. If I could confide in someone, besides her and the police, it would help my recovery.

But how could I tell Brian everything that Finn had done and still expect him to love me?

I showered in the dark because I couldn’t stand to look at myself, I was so disgusted. A part of me, the part that always made it so easy for Finn to manipulate, laughed and told me I had deserved it. If I told Brian, no way would he understand.

Shakily, I lit a cigarette. I heard footsteps on the stairs and saw Brian peeking his head over the banister halfway down.

I guess he'd gone up sometime after I fell asleep.

"You okay?" He mumbled. His hair stuck up on end and he had rings around his eyes. He'd done everything he could to take care of me, and I treated him like he meant nothing.

"Yeah, why?" I lied anyway.

"I heard you screaming."

"Just a bad dream."

A grunt of acknowledgement was all I was worth. The silence and empty space between us kept filling up with everything we weren't saying. He turned to go back up to bed.

"Bri," I called, as loud and sure as I could. He turned and took a few more steps down.

"I don't want to sleep alone."

Slowly, he came down the stairs. He was wearing a Metallica t-shirt and some basketball shorts, but he hadn't been asleep. He was too alert to have been woken up because of my screams.

Gingerly, he helped me stand. Walking hurt, but I could manage. Life had to go on, even with busted up insides.

Together, we shuffled to the stairs. Taking the first step had me wincing in pain. Without a word, he threw my arm around his neck and shoulder and hooked his arm under my knees, scooping me up in one swift motion. He waited, adjusting to my weight and making sure I was comfortable, before starting up the stairs.

As he walked, I buried my face into his neck, breathing him in. Marlboros and Irish Spring with a tinge of whiskey. I wanted to wrap myself in it like a blanket. It was the only thing I wanted to smell and feel and taste.

I clung to him tighter, not wanting him to let me go.

Since the attack, I’d been rebuilding the wall, putting distance between us. How could someone like him want damaged goods? It was different when he didn’t know. I could pretend that it didn’t happen, that I was shiny and new.

It was stupid and selfish, because if Brian had done anything right, it was showing me that he’d do anything to make me happy and wanted.

Loved.

He set me down on the side of his bed, still saying nothing. When he moved away to walk around to the other side, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to me. I laced our fingers together and kissed his, pressing my lips to each of the faded letters that had been tattooed there.

He lifted his other hand to caress my cheek, moving slowly so he didn’t startle me. I turned my face to kiss his palm, bringing his other hand up to the other side of my face.

My heart pounded, not from fear, but anticipation. Being scared of Brian’s touch didn’t mean I hadn’t craved it. I wanted him beside me, to hold me, to kiss away every mark Finn had left. My act of wanting space had been too convincing. He’d barely touched me.

Now we were here, and he was kissing me, burying his hands in my hair as he laid me back onto the bed. I kissed him back, opening my mouth to let him in. I pulled him onto the bed with me and wrapped my legs around him, pushing my mouth harder against his.

More. I wanted more.

Brian’s shirt came off. I grazed my fingertips over his stomach and along his abs. He moved my arms back around his neck, pulling away just to catch a breath before diving into me again.

I sighed into his mouth and turned my head, wanting him to kiss me everywhere else. His hand moved, caressing my cheek again, down my neck and to my shoulder. When they went further, I froze.

“Stop.” I mumbled, breathless. He hadn’t heard me. I felt his teeth as they grazed my skin, and his hands on my stomach, getting ready to lift my shirt.

“Brian,” I tried, a little louder. I put my hands on top of his to dissuade him. It didn’t work.

My shirt was halfway up and he was biting my neck, getting ready to suck on it.

“Stop Brian!” I shouted, my throat burning. He pulled away. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, folding my arms on top. Tears threatened to start pouring. I closed my eyes but they came anyway.

“Laurel...I’m sorry…” he whispered. He didn’t reach for me. Instead, he moved further away, to the bottom corner of the bed, giving me room to breathe.

“I didn’t...fuck Laurel. I am so sorry.”

I tried to take a deep breath, but my nasal passages were blocked due to the crying. “It’s not your fault.”

I opened my eyes to look at him. He wasn’t looking at me, but the floor. He was flexing his hand, with the busted up knuckles, as if he wanted to hit something else. He stood and lit a cigarette, keeping his back to me the whole time.

“I wasn’t there, and I should have been.”

“You couldn’t have-”

“It is my fault, Laurel, because instead of coming to the restaurant to see you, I was at a fucking club downtown, with your brother.”

I watched as he moved around the room to sit at his desk, at the beaten up swivel chair he’d had since high school. He pulled the ashtray into his lap and flicked his cigarette, but he still wasn’t looking at me.

“Your brother wasn’t at a meeting, Laurel. He was with me and we...fuck. I’m such a goddamn idiot. I should have...fuck.”

He didn’t have to say anymore. I had a pretty good idea of where he was going with it.

“You...you and Jason...you were hooking up behind my back?” I stammered. He nodded slowly, flicked his ashes again, inhaled.

I was at a loss for words, and at least I had an excuse not to say anything. I knew my brother went both ways, he never hid it, but Brian? I would have never pegged Synyster Gates as a switch.

When I’d called Matt out for being in love with him, it was a total shot in the dark, and when he didn’t say anything against it, I knew I was right. I didn’t think for a second that it wasn’t one sided.

“You and Matt?”

“Once. A long time ago. It didn’t mean anything. Nobody since. Not until Jason.”

The weight on my chest didn’t seem to want to go away. Instead of Brian chipping away at it, he was adding to it. My body shook. I stifled a sob and it came out as a cough. I didn’t bother wiping any tears away.

I stood on shaky legs and held onto the bed as I walked towards the door. I may have been stuck in the house, but I didn’t have to be stuck in the room.

“Laurel,” he said, finally lifting his eyes to me. I met his stare, wondering what else he could possibly have to say.

“I love you.”

A feather could have knocked me over. More tears welled up. I shook my head and ran down the stairs, clinging to the banister and tripping over my feet. I shuffled through the living room, to the kitchen, and down to the basement. He didn’t follow and I didn’t want him to.

Behind the bar, I found an unopened bottle of Grey Goose. Vodka wasn’t my first choice, but I wasn’t really going for preference.

I just wanted to forget.

I grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the carton he kept under the bar and went to the couch, bottle already pressed to my lips.