(Then/Now) Ken: We All Changed

Whew, I did it!  This was a tough post to write for several reasons.  Hopefully it sheds some light on Ken and the Adler family dynamic in general.  My plan is to have at least one more regular storyline post up later this week.  My best guess is Thursday.  Thank you for your patience with my somewhat erratic posting schedule!  It's what's easiest for me right now and what gets you guys the best posts I can write.
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When Heather died, we all changed a little.  The asshole that called himself our father increased his extracurricular activities and general dickishness.  Our mom retreated even further into the hollow, submissive, vacant-eyed persona she'd adopted as her own once our father's indiscretions and controlling actions became too obvious to ignore.  Jen tried to pretend like nothing was different, but she was more emotional, whinier, and much more needy.  She followed Brody around like a puppy, desperate for someone to just take care of her.  Brody, for his part, obliged her.  Actually, he took care of mom and Jen.  Always subtly--it wouldn't have done for mom to catch on and think that he thought she was incapable.  But she was.  Not physically, but emotionally.

Heather had always been the golden child.  Valedictorian of her high school class, captain of the dance team, and of course, Homecoming queen to boot.  It came naturally to her, and she graciously accepted each honor in turn, genuinely surprised but still charming as hell.  Once she was gone, Brody usurped the golden child role.  He had always been hot on her heels, but never quite at her level.  He was a natural choice to replace her as the brightest shining Adler child.  And I resented him for it, even though he had very little control over it.

Me?  Well...I watched everyone fall into their new roles and adjust to their new lives as I slowly self-destructed.  I was 20 when Heather died; just barely older than Heather herself was when some unknown, worthless motherfucker destroyed her car and left her to die in a ditch on the side of the highway.  We were close in age, and close as siblings.  Heather had covered for me when I was out getting into trouble, and I had facilitated the few devious and unwholesome things she'd managed between dance practices and tutoring at-risk middle schoolers.

I was close to Brody too, but in a different way.  Brody was still working on his filter, and I'd spent our elementary and middle school years protecting him in a way that Heather never needed.  It was almost weekly at some points:  Brody would run his mouth to the wrong kid on the playground (usually someone older and bigger, because the kid had more balls than brains at that point), and I'd have to swoop in and save the day.  I lost track of how many kids I beat up in the name of protecting my idiotic little brother.  Someone with a little more sense might have been embarrassed that his older brother had to save his ass on a regular basis, but I think Brody enjoyed it.  I can't say I blame him...no one else was protecting us from anything, so I'm sure it was reassuring to him to know that if nothing else, I had his back.

As he got older, he learned when to keep his mouth shut, and he no longer needed me to protect him.  He learned this lesson the hard way, mostly through butting heads with our father and becoming the victim of his special brand of psychological warfare.  This led to me cementing my black sheep role in the family by sticking my neck out to try to protect Brody (who, half the time, had no idea he was being manipulated and controlled) once again, this time from our own flesh and blood.  By the time Heather died, Brody had finally figured him out and he really didn't need me to watch out for him anymore.  I was displaced from two roles at the same time, and then had to watch Brody step seamlessly into Heather's role.

So I did what any reasonable person would do, and I drank myself into oblivion.  It started with a night or two a week, and it progressed until it was more nights than not.  And eventually, alcohol wasn't enough, and I was stumbling in the door at 4 in the morning, drunk as hell as higher than a kite.  I stuck mostly to marijuana but occasionally popped pills.  I also tried acid, Ecstasy, and almost tried heroin once.  I'm glad I decided not to.

My mom ignored my drinking and drug use for a long time.  It was like she couldn't even be bothered to worry about me when she was mourning one golden child, admiring the next, and trying not to screw up the baby of the family.  I was an adult now, free to make my own choices.  Brody, on the other hand, pleaded with me to clean up my act.  He hounded me to come to his football games, his track meets.  And I just couldn't.  I couldn't sit and watch him become the new star of the family.  He didn't need me anymore.  No one did.

I was surprised when my mom finally told me I needed to move out.  She had finally reached her breaking point, and according to her, she "just couldn't watch me ruin my life anymore."  I was pissed.  She hadn't tried to stop me from "ruining my life" prior to this moment.  Brody was gone by this point, and I'd never been close to Jen, so there was no one to advocate for me.  No one left who gave a shit.

I moved in with some "friends."  I say it like that because they were not so much friends as they were using buddies.  They were out of bedrooms, but they let me sleep on the couch in return for chipping in for groceries and utilities.  It was a really great place to be staying when all I wanted to do was get drunk, get high, and forget about all the shitty things.  I talked to Brody occasionally.  He called me, I never called him.  He told me all about his conquests, the notches in his bedpost always increasing.

Our conversations got further and further apart as I grew more and more disgusted with the way he was acting.  Don't get me wrong, I'd had my fair share of casual sex, but I couldn't hold a candle to my brother.  My baby brother that I used to beat kids up for.  Now he was out fucking every girl in Miami.

I haven't yet decided if my trip completely off the rails is related to my brother's antics, or the timing was a complete coincidence.  Either way, I found myself drinking even more, smoking even more, popping even more pills.  By the time two months had gone by since my last conversation with Brody, I was swallowing a handful of Vicodin every morning, chasing it with a shot of vodka, and following it up with a couple Ritalin to fight the more obvious side effects of the Vicodin.  I went to work with another handful of Vicodin in one pocket, and 1 or 2 Ritalin in the other.  I needed them just to get through the day.

3 weeks later, I'd lost my job.  I'd been late too many times, made too many mistakes, went home "sick" too often.  A month after that, I landed in detox after a drunken/high fight with the friend whose house I was still crashing at.  We'd yelled, thrown a few punches, and he'd finally told me to get out before he called the cops.  I'd stumbled out, too fucked up to have any idea what I was actually doing, and passed out in someone's yard.  They'd called the police, who'd taken me to detox, and there I was, shivering and sweating on a thin hospital mattress, positive I was going to die.

When I'd woken up there, I had no idea where I was.  I had only a hazy memory of someone waking me up and putting me in a car.  Everything after that was lost to the blackout.  I'd ripped an IV out of my arm when I woke in a panic.  I was so sick.  I needed a fix, but it clearly wasn't going to happen.

It took 5 days until I felt decent enough to attempt to eat something.  7 before I wanted to get out of bed.  It took the entire first month of rehab for the scabs to heal from where I'd scratched furiously at my skin as I detoxed, unable to shake the feeling of bugs crawling under its surface.  It was two months before I started to feel how I vaguely remembered feeling before I started drinking and using.

But with feeling "normal" again came all the feelings about Heather's death that I'd been fighting.  It was a solid year before I was ready to get back in touch with any of my family members.  Surprisingly, I ended up talking to Jen the most.  She'd always been the most forgiving of my siblings, and that hadn't changed.  She was the one that talked me into coming to Thanksgiving a couple times.

Things with Brody remained strained and tense.  He'd reached out to me a few times while I was in rehab.  He'd wanted to come visit.  I just couldn't see him though, I wasn't ready.  He took it personally, and I don't blame him.  He was the one that had gotten a call from the police the night they'd picked me up, because he was in my phone as "Little Brother", and was the only obvious family member.  Dad was in as "Asshole" and mom was under "Thalia" because I didn't ever want her to get that phone call from the police.  Even with as low as I was, I had recognized the possibility.  I wish he hadn't been tasked with filling in mom and Jen.  I was grateful that he hadn't told dad.  That was one of the best decisions he's ever made, and I appreciated it more than I'd ever tell him.

When Brody brought Olivia to Thanksgiving, I was confused.  She was nothing like how I'd imagined the girls he "dated".  She seemed like an actual nice girl.  I didn't know what to make of that, and I instantly got angry that he'd bring a perfectly nice girl around for a holiday as though he had any serious intentions.  I'd lashed out at her, hoping she wouldn't get too comfortable here.

Jen had made it very clear what she thought of my behavior.  She'd knocked twice on my bedroom door after dinner and then barged in without waiting for me to answer.  "What the hell, Jen?" I snapped.

"No, don't you 'what the hell, Jen?' me," she retorted.  "What the fuck was that?"

"What the fuck was what?" I asked mildly, even though I knew damn well what she was talking about.

"Why were you such a jackass to her?"

"Why were you so nice to her?" I challenged in return.

Jen's jaw dropped.  Even for being the most forgiving of my family members, she also had the most fiery temper.  "Because she's a guest and I have manners?" she shot back.  "Because she's Brody's girlfriend?  Because there was absolutely no legitimate reason to not be nice to her?"

I snorted.  "None of that means you need to be her champion.  She's not going to last, Jen.  Don't get attached."

"I see very little has changed," she muttered.

I sat up and put my hands on her arms.  "Listen to me, Jennifer.  If you want to talk about how little someone has changed, look at your other brother.  Your favorite brother.  He views women as nothing more than conquests, as challenges, as objects meant solely for his pleasure.  You think that 'nice girl' out there is going to put up with that for long?  She'll get tired of being bought soon enough and she'll be out the door.  I'm pissed at him for even bringing her here and giving mom hope that her golden boy might someday settle down and give her some nice prodigy grandchildren."

"No, you listen to me, Kenneth!" she hissed back.  "It doesn't matter what Brody's intentions are.  You can't just treat the poor girl like shit because you don't approve of Brody's....habits.  And you haven't heard the way he talks about her.  I have.  This is different.  She's different.  He's different.  So if you can't fucking behave yourself around her, maybe you should just go ahead and stay in this room by yourself tonight so you don't make a fool out of all of us.  She already has to deal with dad tomorrow, she doesn't need your bullshit too!"  Then, in true Jen fashion, she spun on her heel and stormed out of my room, leaving me with no chance to respond.

The entire exchange was enough for me to want to back away from family business again.  Mom called, Jen called, Brody even called a couple times.  I got the news of my father's idiocy through a phone call from an FBI agent.  I got the news of his death in a voicemail after Jen had tried three times to call and actually talk to me.

For some reason, when I listened to Brody's voicemail announcing that he had proposed to his girlfriend--the same one from Thanksgiving even, I'd decided to call him back.  I wasn't entirely sure what my purpose was in doing so.  His response to me calling him out for leaving his news in a voicemail was just as smooth and smarmy as I expected, and it grated on my nerves.  But when I spat out an insult about our dad, I was surprised by the regret I felt instantly.  Brody had been closest to him, despite how awful he was, and now he was dead.  And I didn't have any idea how Brody felt about that.  When I apologized, something in my head changed.  I suddenly wanted that apology to mean so much more than it did.  I wanted it to mean that I was sorry for not doing a better job of protecting him from our dad.  I wanted it to mean that I was sorry for not being there for him after Heather died.  I wanted it to mean that I was sorry he had to get the phone call from the police, and even sorrier than I refused to see or speak to him after that.  I wanted it to mean that I was sorry that I had let my life get so far out of my control that I had damaged our relationship in ways that it might not ever heal.

But I didn't say any of those things.  And I'll probably never know whether or not he felt those things in the silence that followed.  But I do know that when he cracked a joke, the entire tone of the conversation changed.  It wasn't even close to what it used to be, but it was better than it had been.  When I hung up, I wondered if it was possible to get things back on good terms.  I wasn't sure, but I knew I had to try.  

(Then) Brody

Denver

I was happy to go back to Denver and leave Miami behind.  When my dad had told me a former associate had contacted him about setting up shop in Denver, I volunteered immediately.  My dad sent me off with barely a wave or second glance.  Working for him had been trying, especially in the beginning, before I got into the habit of agreeing with him to his face and then doing whatever I had been planning behind his back.  He never even noticed, and happily took credit for all my hard work.

The worst was his insistence that we have dinner together weekly.  It wasn't long before he started bringing women with him.  They were generally closer to my age than his.  At least he could get women to actually go out to dinner with him, though. 

Anyway, I busted my ass for two solid months before leaving for Denver, getting things set up remotely.  I flew back and forth a few times too.  My dad came with me once I had narrowed potential office buildings down to three options.  He picked one, wrote the check, delegated office space, and was on his way back to the airport in less than two hours.  I did everything else, from hiring the decorators to picking out furniture to interviewing people.  I was only taking a handful of people from Miami with me, so we'd have the heavy task of training a whole new staff.

Once I was in Denver, I worked non-stop for 3 months.  6 or 7 days a week, at least 12 hours a day.  I lost myself in it, enjoying watching the branch rise from the ground.  Finally, things were taking off on their own, and I could start working a more normal schedule.  Our people were trained, and the clients were trickling in.

I was having some drinks with my coworkers one night when I ran into Dan.  I recognized him right away, even though I hadn't seen him since 8th grade.  We sat down and caught up a little, and he invited me out that weekend.  I agreed.  I hadn't seen anyone but coworkers and my mom since I moved up here.

That weekend, he took me out with some guys we knew from when I lived here, and some that I didn't know.  They were a hard-partying group, rivaling my Miami friends.  It had been months since I got laid, and it was easy to take women home when you could tell them ran your own company (a bit liberal, but I did run the company here) and could pick up the entire bar tab without batting an eye.  I didn't even have to rely on my old fall back of "My dad used to be an NFL cornerback."  Apparently, old habits are hard to break. 

When my dad flew up several months later to chew me out in person, I was irritated and spent a couple more months running around town, doing whatever the hell I wanted.  But one Friday morning, when I struggled to drag myself out of bed after a particularly hellish bender the night before, I realized that as much as it pained me to admit, he was right.  If I wanted to be successful, to buy a house, and to be an adult, I needed to act like one.

I started avoiding Dan's calls, and I called Kevin and invited him to come over and watch a game with me.  We reconnected and I started hanging out with him more.  His friends, who I had previously thought boring, were actually pretty cool.

One night, shortly after I bought my house, we were watching a Broncos game at a sports bar when a pretty blonde walked up and said hi to Kevin.  He turned to introduce her to me, but she interrupted him, beaming at me.  "Hi," she said.  "I'm Savannah."

"Brody," I replied, smiling back at her.  Savannah ended up sitting down with us and watching the game for awhile.  She was surprisingly knowledgeable about football, which I found attractive.  When she bought us a round of beers, I was sold.  Her friends left awhile later, and we invited her to stay with us.  She took us up on it.

When the game was over, she asked for a ride home.  After a short discussion, we realized her place was on my way, so I took her.   When I pulled up in front of her apartment building, she smiled at me and asked if I wanted to come in.  I briefly considered saying no, but she seemed so laid back, and she was pretty.  How do you say no to that?

The sex was nothing special, but Savannah was enthusiastic at least.  She didn't seem upset when I got up and left awhile after either.

The sex was better the second time, a couple weeks later.  We had run into each other again and one thing led to another.  I hadn't been expecting a repeat performance, and I didn't want her to think I wanted anything more, but it all just kind of happened.

When she sought me out a week later, inviting me to the bar to hang out with her and some friends, I said no.  I didn't want to give the impression that I wanted this to be anything more than occasional, casual sex.  I wasn't even totally sold on wanting occasional, casual sex with her, to be honest.  And anyway, I already had plans with Kevin and his friends.

My plans with Kevin and his friends happened to take me to the same place that Savannah was with her friends.  Seriously, could this city get any smaller?  We ended up combining our groups, and I struck up conversation with Savannah's friend Alex.  He was from the area and had gone to the school that would have been my high school's rival, if we had stayed here long enough for me to attend high school.  We ended up exchanging numbers and making plans to get the guys all together for some football.

I politely refused when Savannah asked for a ride home.  She pouted, but I plead fatigue and early morning workout plans.  She rolled her eyes and flounced away.

Our football game was a success, and I started hanging out with Alex more.  I still saw Kevin, but I was splitting my time between his group of friends and Alex's and Savannah's.  Occasionally we all got together, and everyone got along really well.  Kevin got along especially well with one of Savannah's friends, Kinsley.  I think they were hooking up for awhile, but Kevin never mentioned it.  Savannah and I fooled around a couple more times.  She never pushed for more, and the sex got better every time, so why not?

I was having a get together at my place when Alex pulled me aside.  "You know that Savannah wants to date you, right?" he asked me quietly.

"She does?" I asked, dumbfounded.

Alex stared at me.  "You don't already know that?  She talks about you non-stop.  I thought you knew."

"She's never said anything," I said, shaking my head.  "She's always just asked me for a ride home, then invited me in.  She doesn't say a word when I leave.  I had no idea."  I shoved my hand through my hair, feeling like the world's biggest asshole.

"Well, I'd be careful if I were you," he warned.  "She doesn't take rejection well."  His grimace that accompanied that statement made me wonder if he knew from experience.  I thanked him for the head's up and returned to playing host.

Since my house was so far out of town, some of the people that came over stayed the night.  Savannah was one of them, and when I showed her to the guest room, she frowned.  She stepped closer to me and put her hand on my arm, then turned her doe eyes up to mine.  "I was thinking maybe I could spend the night with you," she said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I said, turning her gently towards the door of the guest room.  "Goodnight, Savannah."  I walked away before she could protest.  I was worried she'd follow, but luckily she didn't.

I avoided her calls that week.  When I went to happy hour on Thursday, which was becoming a weekly tradition, she intercepted me on my way from the door to the bar.  "Can we talk?" she asked.

"Can I get a drink first?" I replied, stalling.

"I'd rather you didn't, can we go outside?"  Sighing, I followed her outside, having a pretty good idea what was coming.

"Look, Savannah--" I started, ready to beat her to the punch and apologize for misreading the situation.

"No, you look," she snapped back.  "What kind of girl do you think I am?"  Was that a trick question?  Inviting someone in and jumping on him after knowing him for a mere couple of hours sends a pretty strong message.  Luckily, she saved me from having to answer that by continuing.  "I was under the impression that this was going somewhere.  You made me look like such an idiot last weekend!"

"Savannah, I'm sorry, I really am," I said sincerely.  "I had no idea that you wanted a relationship.  I thought that we were both cool with just hooking up.  I didn't mean to hurt you or embarrass you."  This was my first time apologizing to a woman since high school, and it was weird.  It also wasn't received well.

"You had no idea," she scoffed.  "Of course you didn't.  How convenient for you!  Tell me, Brody, do you know many girls that are 'cool with just hooking up'?"  She paused, staring me down, apparently expecting an answer to this question.

"Well, actually I do," I said.  Bad move.  She glared at me.  Then she stomped her foot.  She actually, legitimately stomped her foot.  "I mean," I said quickly, trying to recover, "I used to, anyway."

She laughed, a high pitched, sort of creepy sound completely unlike her normal laugh.  "I'd heard about you, but I thought things would be different now that you were hanging out with different people.  Guess not."

"Savannah, I'm sorry.  I don't know what else to say.  I'm actually really confused because you've never said a word about wanting more than sex, and every other girl that's ever invited me in within hours of meeting me has never wanted more than that.  I misread the situation, and I feel really terrible."

"So, you think I'm a slut?" she asked, challenging me.

I'd had enough.  "No, I don't.  I don't think of women that enjoy sex, even casual sex, as 'sluts'.  I'm not doing this anymore," I said, throwing up my hands.  "I'm really sorry.  I'm not interested in dating you.  I don't know what else to say, so if you're finished, I'm going to go inside and have a drink."  She started to open her mouth, and I cut her off.  "Actually, even if you're not finished, I'm going to go inside and have a drink."  I turned and walked towards the door.  I stopped and looked back at her.  "I am really, really sorry though," I insisted.  She didn't respond. 

She came back in while I was at the bar.  She stopped at the table for a minute, then stormed back out.  I approached the table cautiously, sitting down by Alex.  "Dude," he said, looking at me carefully.  "What did you do to her?"

"I apologized," I said wryly.

"Looks like you did a good job," he said with a laugh.  "Told you she doesn't take rejection well."

"Yeah, and that was an understatement," I replied.

Alex shook his head.  "Don't stop coming now that she went crazy."

"I won't," I promised.  "She'll get over it, right?"

He made a face.  "I hope so," he said, not sounding at all convinced. 

(Then) Brody

Miami

"Come on, man," Jack said, shaking his head.  "Have a little fun for once."  He was looking at a couple of scantily clad girls that were sitting by the keg.  "Which one do you like better?"

I'd been in Miami for a month, and it had been harder to break out of my "good kid" role than I'd thought it would be.  I finally had the chance to grieve for my sister, because I was no longer the glue holding the family together, but the grieving was already old.  It felt strange to be doing it now, so long afterwards.  I reasoned that I never really had a chance when it was fresh, but that just kicked up old resentments and made everything more complicated.  I wanted to move past it and enjoy my college experience, but I felt guilty about it.

I looked over the girls carefully.  One was clearly drunk, and both held plastic cups of keg beer in their hands, giggling as the drunker one sloshed some onto the unamused girl on her other side.  I sighed and said, "I guess the one in the black," indicating the less drunk of the two.  She was pretty, with long dark hair and round brown eyes.  I mean, they were both pretty, but sloppy drunk girls aren't really my style.

"Bet you the case of your choice that I can get the other one's number before you can get hers," Jack said, grinning lasciviously at me.  He was a terrible influence, but I was also tired of watching my friends go home with different girls every night while I went back to my dorm room by myself, drunk and miserable.

"You're on," I said, shaking his extended hand.  He waggled his eyebrows at me and we got up to walk over to the girls.

"Ladies," Jack said, stepping between them, a hand on each back.  The girls giggled.  Jack was seriously good looking and I had witnessed several times the effect his face and wit had on the female students here.  He introduced us both to them and I grinned at the one in black.  Kelly, I think she said her name was.  I made small talk with her for a little while while Jack worked on charming the pants off the other girl.  It didn't take long, and he was soon leading her away, throwing a wink over his shoulder at me.

Kelly looked at me expectantly.  "Maybe you could walk me back to my room," she suggested, laying a hand on my arm and smiling.

"Of course," I responded, smiling back.  "Wouldn't let a gorgeous girl walk alone."  She really was hot.  As she turned and walked towards the door, I couldn't help but admire the curve of her ass in the shorts that were barely long enough to cover it. 

She pointed us towards her dorm, and I settled an arm around her waist as we walked.  When we got to her dorm, I asked for her number.  She laughed.  "I'd rather you just came up," she said, her hand on my chest.  So I did.

Jack and I called our bet a draw, since neither of us actually ended up with a phone number.  Subsequent nights became easier.  I wondered if drugs and drinking did for Ken what sex did for me.  If so, I could start to understand his undoing.  It was simple and I didn't have to think.  In fact, I couldn't think.  That was the biggest draw.  And then after awhile, it even became fun.  I began to develop a reputation, and while it wasn't a wholesome one, it wasn't completely negative either.  Girls began to seek me out, making it all even easier.   Of course, none of the girls were girls I'd bring to meet my family, but let's be real...I wasn't planning on subjecting anyone to that trainwreck for a very long time. 

One night, I was out at a bar with a habit of serving the under-21 crowd with Jack, Gray, and Aaron, when Aaron spotted some girls he knew from a class.  We walked over to join them, and one of them, Alexa, raised her eyebrows at me.  "The infamous Brody Adler," she quipped, looking me up and down.

"Infamous?" I joked back.  "You wound me." 

She snorted, her full lips twitching into an almost-smile.  "And not even with the good grace to act ashamed of your reputation," she said haughtily.  Man, she was hot. And the fact that she wasn't throwing herself at me made me want her even more. 

I shrugged and leaned against the table next to her, my arm brushing her shoulder.  "Not really my style."

She rolled her eyes.  "So I've heard."  Even thought her disdain for me was apparent, she made no move to remedy the fact that our bodies were touching.  As the night went on, her banter slowly moved from semi-hostile to flirty, and she even let me buy her a drink.  When Jack told me they were leaving, I said I'd catch up with them outside.

I turned to Alexa.  "Can I call you?" I asked.

She laughed.  "Not a chance.  But why don't you give me your number, and if I decide I want to see if the rumors are true, I'll give you a call."  She looked blatantly south of my waistband as she said this, then let her eyes travel slowly back up to my face.  This was unprecedented, but she had me intrigued, so I gave her my number and left.

I was shocked when she called not even a week later, at 11pm on a Thursday night.

"Is this the infamous Brody Adler, or did he give me a fake number?" came the voice on the other end when I picked up.  I recognized her voice right away.

"Alexa, I'm surprised you called," I replied.

"Well, that makes two of us, except I'm surprised you recognized my voice and remembered my name," she tossed back.  "Can I come over?"  Right to the chase.  I told her she could, and she said she'd be there in a half hour.  I jumped in the shower and kicked some dirty dishes under my bed.  I was glad I wasn't too messy.

She looked around my room.  "A single, how convenient," she said with a smirk. 

"Believe it not, I didn't get a single for the sole purpose of hooking up," I replied.  She nodded like she didn't quite believe it but wasn't going to waste her energy arguing.  She dropped her purse on my desk chair and sat on the edge of my bed.  I leaned against the wall near the door and watched her.  Her eyes drifted around the room, then stopped at me.

"You're not nervous, are you?" she said, looking a little surprised.

"You don't get a reputation like mine if you get nervous when a hot girl is in your room in the middle of the night," I said arrogantly.  Truthfully though, I was nervous and I had no idea why, but hell if I was going to tell her that.

She cocked an eyebrow at me and smirked again.  "Well maybe you should come sit by me.  I didn't come here to talk about the weather or enjoy the view from a different dorm room."

I walked slowly over to her, letting my eyes slide up and down her body as I went.  "Then what did you come here for?" I asked, sitting next to her.  In response, she pushed me back on the bed and kissed me.

Alexa and I saw each several more times over the next few weeks.  Always at night, always in my room, and she always left right after.  One night, I asked her to stay.  She sat up and shook her head.  "Brody, you're a great guy to fuck, but not really a great guy to spend the night with," she said dismissively.  "Next you'll be asking me out on a date."  She got up and pulled her clothes back on.

I sat up too.  Her hand was on the doorknob when I said, "And what if I did ask you out on a date?"  She turned in surprise.  She didn't say anything for several long seconds.  Then she said, "I think you should stick with what you're good at," and she was gone.  I laid back and pondered her words.  Was sex really all I was good for at this point?

I was surprised when she called again a few nights later.  She stayed for about 15 minutes after we were finished, which was about 14 minutes longer than usual.  It gave me hope.  I didn't ask her to stay, but I thought that eventually she might change her mind.   She kept coming, once or twice a week, every week for months.  One night, it began pouring while she was there, and she ended up spending the night.  I was not surprised to find her gone in the morning, though. 

Finally, six months into hooking up, I did ask her out on a date.  She had just gotten there and was sitting on my bed.  I sat in the chair and asked her.  She laughed.  "I thought I told you to stick to what you're good at," she said, standing and walking over to me.  She tugged at my belt and smiled coyly.  "Come on, I don't have all night.  Can you shut up and get naked?"  She was shocked when I asked her to leave.

Alexa didn't call me again, and when we'd run into each other out, she was chilly towards me.  I took a brief hiatus from hooking up, but was quickly tempted by eager girls that seemed happy I was available again.  Not that I had ever been unavailable, apparently.  But I hadn't hooked up with another girl since before the first time Alexa had called me.

In the end, it was easier to just fall back into casual sex.  Putting in the effort to win Alexa over had been hard work, and I had failed, so why bother again?  I made it through the rest of my college days without ever asking another girl out, and that was fine with me.

(Then) Brody

Seattle

Somewhere in the house a door slammed, waking me up abruptly.  I rolled over and squinted at the clock.  4:37am.  I sighed and shut my eyes, hoping to fall back asleep quickly.

I was almost asleep when my bedroom door flew open.  Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light, was my older brother Ken.   "Dude," I said, "I have to be up for school in two hours.  Go away."  He ignored me, and stumbled in.  On the way, he almost sent my lamp flying.  Ken sat down heavily on my bed.  I recoiled from the stench of stale beer and cigarettes.  "Come on, man," I tried again.  "You smell like a bar, it's 4:30 in the morning, and I have school.  Please."

"Why don't you ever want to hang out anymore?" he slurred.

"Because you only seem to want to hang out at 4 in the morning after you've put away a case of beer," I snapped back.  I yawned.  "Seriously, dude.  If you want to hang out, be home tonight when I get home after track practice.  We can hang out then.  I miss you.  But for right now, I really need to sleep."

Instead of leaving, Ken laid down on the edge of the bed.  "Seriously?" I muttered.  I shook him, but he just groaned and pushed my hand away.  "Fucking hell, man."  I climbed over him, shoved him into the middle of the bed, grabbed my pillow and a blanket and went down to the couch.  I flopped on the couch and pulled the blanket over my head.  What a disaster.

I woke up barely an hour later to my little sister Jen screeching about the rain from the hallway.  I rolled off the couch, grabbed my pillow and blanket, and walked back to my room.  On the way I nudged her in the back and said, "We live in Seattle, dingo.  It rains every day."  She screeched at my back as I walked past.

Ken was nowhere to be seen.  He must have woken up at some point and gone to his own room.  I yawned as I dumped my stuff on my bed and walked into my bathroom.  Hopefully a shower would wake me up.

As I stood under the hot water, I thought about the disaster that had become my family since Heather's death.  I had thought things would slowly return to normal, but it was almost 18 months later at this point, and things were only getting worse.  Ken was out almost every night, boozing and smoking and probably doing drugs.  When he was drunk, he was being an asshole.  Jen was even screechier than she used to be, though maybe that's just what 15 is like.  Mom held it together on the outside, but I'd heard her crying when she thought we weren't paying attention.  Dad was...well, he was being Dad.  Philandering, controlling, and overpowering. When he wasn't gone playing football. Actually, even when he was.  Always his M.O.  At least one thing was constant.

And me?  Well, I was doing everything I could to get out and stay out.  School, track, working at the local radio station doing their bitch work.  I tried not to think about what it would be like for my mom when I left in August for school in Miami, but I was going crazy here.  I felt like I was walking on eggshells all the time.  I was doing well in school and track, and behaving myself because mom had enough problems without worrying about what I was doing, but being the good kid was starting to become suffocating.  I wanted to be able to do what I wanted without worrying that it would make my mom cry quietly in her room by herself.

I had been sort of dating Kaylee Connors for awhile too, except then we got to that point where she wanted to come over for dinner or something to meet my family, and I just couldn't do it.  I don't blame her for being mad or breaking up with me.  I probably won't be dating for awhile.  I just want things to settle down here, but I don't think it's going to happen.

The water started to turn tepid, and I suddenly realized I had been in the shower for a really long time.  I jumped out, dried off, and got dressed.  I pulled a comb through my hair and brushed my teeth and ran down the stairs.  As I grabbed my backpack, I heard my mom from the kitchen.  "I don't care how late you are, young man, you will eat breakfast!"  I rolled my eyes and jogged to the kitchen.  My mom held out a piece of toast on a paper plate and a banana.

I kissed her on the cheek as I grabbed it.  "Thanks, ma!" I called as I made for the door.

I pulled up to school 3 minutes before the final bell.  There was nowhere to park in the student lot.  I briefly considered taking a chance on the staff lot, but thought better of it and drove out to park on the street.  I skidded into first period 3 minutes after the bell.

"Mr. Adler, it's so nice of you to join us," my history teacher said sarcastically. "And just in time to turn in yesterday's assignment."  Mr. Johnson stood a foot away from my desk as I rifled through the contents of my backpack, not seeing my assignment.  Shit.  My history stuff was laying on my desk, where I had finished it the night before.  I cursed myself for not putting it right back in my backpack.

I gave Mr. Johnson my most charming smile.  The girl next to me giggled.  "I seem to have forgotten it at home," I said.  "I'm really sorry."

"The only one who's going to be sorry is you," Mr. Johnson said with a shrug, walking away.  The girl next to me giggled again, but looked away quickly when I turned my smile on her.

After class, as I was gathering up my notebook and pen, Mr. Johnson called out to me from the front of the room.  "A word before you go, Mr. Adler?"  I sighed and walked slowly up to his desk.

When the last  of the stragglers had filtered out, I started talking.  "Look, Mr. Johnson, I know that I've been a little scattered lately, but--"

He cut me off.  "Save it, Adler.  I just want you to know that I know this is all out of character for you.  If something is going on, whether it be in another class, girl stuff, track stuff, at home, whatever, if you need someone to talk to, I'll take one for the team."  I studied his face for a second.  He looked genuinely concerned.  I nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson.  I appreciate that.  Can I go?"

"You can.  Get that assignment on my desk by the end of the day and I'll forget you didn't have it with you for class."  With that, he turned to erase the board.  I jogged to my next class, not wanting to be late.  At lunch, I signed myself out (the best thing about being 18 during your senior year) and drove home.

I didn't have much time, and I barely saw my mom sitting on the couch as I flew into the house.  "What--" she started, but I was already up the stairs.  On my way down, I stopped.

"Forgot my history homework," I explained.  I noticed her red eyes and wet cheeks, and saw a corner of a photo album sticking out from under a pillow.  I sat down and hugged her hard.  "I love you, mom," I said, feeling guilty for not saying it more, for not paying more attention.

"Oh, sweetie," she said, sniffling a little.  "I love you too.  Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, baffled.  Did my mom just thank me for loving her?  Or saying I loved her?

"For being you," she said simply.  "Now get back to school!"

Now I knew I had to keep up my good kid routine for a few more months.