Hard to Admit

A week after my little meltdown at the bar, we went to Kinsley's house for some football game.  I groaned as I pulled up to Kinsley's house and parked.  "What?" Brody asked, looking around curiously.

"That's James's car," I said, pointing to a dark blue Jeep parked across the street.

Brody sighed.  "Why does he have to go everywhere that Damien goes?  Can't he just...stay home sometimes?"  I didn't answer.  I was about to ask Brody if he wanted to leave, but he was already getting out of the car.  I got out too, and we walked up to the door. 

When we walked in, Kinsley greeted us happily and pulled me upstairs.  "I don't do football, this is awful," she complained.  "Come see the new clothes I got yesterday."  I was happy to comply, since football isn't really my thing either, and I would have to suffer through sober, since I was driving.

"Why are you having a football party anyway?" I asked, confused.

She rolled her eyes.  "It was Damien's idea, but his place is being remodeled, so I offered mine.  I don't know what I was thinking."  She paused to show me a few things, then said, "So, is Brody okay with James being here?  Damien wasn't sure if he should come or not."

I shrugged.  "I mean, he'd prefer if James wasn't here, for sure.  I'm sure he's even more pissed at him after what happened last weekend, but he'll be fine."

We hid out upstairs for about a half hour before we decided we should probably make an appearance.  There was a lot of yelling downstairs and it sounded like the game was pretty exciting.  As we walked down, Kinsley glanced at me.  "You know, if you want to drink, you guys can definitely stay here tonight."

"We could walk back to my house too," I pointed out.  "But I don't really feel like it anyway.  Thanks though."  On our way down, I stopped in the kitchen and grabbed another beer for Brody.

He grinned at me when I handed it to him and pulled me down onto his lap.  "You are the best," he declared.  "I was just thinking about how much it sucked that I'd have to get up to get a new one soon."

"Now that is how a woman should act during a playoff game," Alex stated, looking pointedly at Lauren.  Lauren was wearing a jersey and I'm pretty sure she was yelling louder than any of them.  She also appeared to be cheering for the "wrong" team.

"You love that I love football," Lauren retorted.  "You're just mad that I told you to get your own beer."  This led to a lively debate about the pros and cons of female football fans, and Kinsley and I exchanged looks.

Apparently, football games are 3 hours long.  And there were two of them.  By the beginning of the second game, Brody had consumed more beers than I'd ever seen him drink at once, and he was clearly drunk.  He was arguing loudly with Lauren and the other guys about bad calls, and he was super touchy-feely with me.  At halftime of the second game, I went out to the car to grab my phone, which I'd left accidentally and could no longer survive without.

It had fallen beneath the seat and the center console and it took me several minutes to fish it out.  When I came back in, I went into the kitchen to get a soda and was surprised to find Brody and James standing there.  Their voices were low but both of them were standing rigidly, and it looked like they were arguing.

"I don't know what you want me to say," James was saying as I walked in. 

"Nothing.  There's nothing you can say," Brody spat back.  "But you should know that last weekend she tried to punch someone in the face because he grabbed her arm, and then she didn't talk or let me touch her for nearly an hour.  She cowered away from me like a fucking abused dog when I tried to hug her."  James looked at me, but I didn't speak.

"Do you think that I don't feel awful about what happened?  If I could go back and prevent it, I would.  There's--" James started.

"Did you know she has nightmares?" Brody continued, cutting him off.

"How would I know that?" James asked in exasperation.

"Well, I assume you spent at least a couple nights with her," Brody said, shrugging casually.

James rolled his eyes.  "Not even going there.  What do you want?  Do you want to get your hands on him again?  Will that make you feel better?  Be my guest.  But don't expect it to go as well as it went the first time."

They were starting to raise their voices, and Alex and Damien were both watching from the dining area, probably ready to step in if things got physical.  I finally broke in.  "Brody," I said softly, touching his arm.  "I'm ready to go."  No one spoke for several minutes, then Brody turned on his heel and stormed out.

Damien and Alex went back to the living room, and James and I just stared at each other for a second.  "I'm sorry," I started, ready to make excuses for Brody.

"I had no idea it was that bad," he interrupted.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What would you do about it?  I don't like to talk about it.  And he made it sound worse than it really is," I lied, not wanting to talk to James about it.  Not wanting to talk to anyone about it.

"But you punched someone?" he asked, looking pained.

"I didn't actually.  I mean, I did try, but Alex blocked it, so instead I punched his forearm.  He should have just let me punch the drunk asshole."  I tried the last part as a joke, but James just looked upset.

"Liv, I feel a little ridiculous suggesting this to you, considering what you do for a living, but have you considered talking to someone?"

I rolled my eyes.  "I'm fine, James.  Thank you, I appreciate your concern, I really do.  But I don't want to see someone.  And I really should get Brody out of here."  I said goodbye and walked into the living room.  I said goodbye to Lauren and Kinsley, and waved to Alex and Damien and Christian.  Brody was pacing by the front door, and when he saw me he pulled it open.  I walked out and he followed, pulling the door shut.

We were silent on the short drive back to my house.  When we got there, Brody sat down on the couch and shoved his hand through his hair.  I sat in one of the chairs and looked at him.  "What the hell happened?" I asked finally.

He shook his head.  "I don't even know.  We both had too much to drink, and he made a comment about me being hostile, and I just lost it.  I'm sorry, I just think it's better if I'm not around him.  After what happened last weekend, I can't even be in the same room as him without wanting to punch him and his brother."

I sighed and leaned my head back against the chair.  "I just don't understand why you have such a hard time with something that doesn't even have anything to do with you.  I mean, you weren't even in the state of Colorado when it happened."

"Nothing to do with me?" he said incredulously, sitting up and leaning forward.  "You're right in the sense that I wasn't there.  But when someone slaps your ass right in front of me, it has something to do with me.  When you wake up in the middle of the night sobbing and disoriented because you had a nightmare, it has something to do with me.  When I have to take you home, terrified and shaking, because some drunk idiot put his hands on you, and there isn't a damn thing I can do to fix it, it has something to do with me."

I didn't say anything for several seconds.  He was right, of course.  He waited until I looked back up at him, then said gently, "I don't understand why you're trying so hard to pretend like it's not a big deal and you can handle it yourself.  You're so damn stubborn, Liv, and you want everyone to know that you don't need help with anything.  I love that about you, but it's okay to admit that what happened scared the hell out of you.  You were assaulted.  You were probably nearly raped.  You'd be abnormal if you weren't freaked out."

I blinked back tears and swallowed hard.  Then I said quietly, almost whispering, "What happened scared the hell out of me."  I looked up at Brody and continued, "And you're right, it has everything to do with you.  I don't know why I keep trying to insist that it doesn't.  I just keep hoping that enough time will pass and it will go away, but it seems like every time it starts to get better, something else happens that makes it worse."

Brody stood and walked over to me.  He pulled me up from the chair and hugged me, then led me over to the couch where he sat and pulled me against his chest.  I sucked in a shaky breath, still fighting back tears.  After a couple minutes, Brody said, "I heard your conversation with James, and as much as I hate to say this, I agree with him.  I think you should consider talking to someone."  I didn't say anything, and Brody sighed.  "Look, this isn't about me, but last weekend was so hard for me.  It was awful for me to see you like that, and even worse that I couldn't do anything to fix it.  I don't know how to fix it, but maybe someone else can."

Even though I am a therapist, and believe wholeheartedly in therapy, and know that results were likely for something like this, the idea of talking to someone about it terrified me.  But it would probably be the most helpful thing I could do for myself at the moment.  "I promise that I'll think about it, and that I'll at least do a little looking online to see if I can find someone that might be a good fit," I said finally.

"Thank you," Brody replied, sounding relieved.  "That's good enough for me."  

Wanting very much to talk about something else, I said, "Did you want to watch the rest of the game?"

"Do you?" Brody asked with a laugh.

"Not really," I replied honestly, "But I know you do, and maybe you could explain it to me."  And that's how I came to spend the next 45 minutes being educated on false starts, touchdowns, running backs, and personal fouls.