Survivor’s Diaries: Chapter Three
By: Little One
Tags: Trauma, Trauma Recovery, Violence Against Women, Fear, Sadness

Survivor’s Diaries: Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Brody

A week had passed. It was a bright Saturday morning in San Francisco. The work week was a blur and I was relieved when the weekend finally arrived. Jesse texted me a couple times since our date but I was so busy with clients and schoolwork that I did not have time to talk much. I felt guilty considering the man just dropped four hundred dollars on dinner the past weekend. I made a mental note to text him later.

Today, a family friend was in town for a few weeks for business and wanted to come visit. His name was Brody. His mom and mine were best friends growing up and our families have remained close ever since, although as teenagers, I had always been much closer with his sister Brandy than him. We only became close recently, when he had reached out to me about a year ago to reconnect.

For some reason, I had always seen him as so much younger than I was, even though we were only a year and a half part. I suppose that children and adolescents weigh age gaps with much more significance than do their elder counterparts.

At first I was hesitant when he reconnected. He had a small crush on me growing up and I was concerned that this might be an attempt to reprise some of those old feelings. But he never made any advances or overtures of any kind and, as time passed, seemed to be content with the friendship we had developed. So we talked a lot, and became very close. He shared everything with me and I shared, not everything, but a lot with him. It was strange to have such a close relationship with a male friend. I usually kept men at arms length, for many reasons, but I did not sense any danger here.

I loved having him in my life. He was so full of sunshine, happiness, and life. Talking with him almost made me forget everything else. His presence was like a therapy for me.

Three knocks on the door interrupted my reverie.

“Come in!” I called, as I was doing the dishes.

“You know Fiona, you really shouldn’t leave your door unlock — OW! FUCK!” was all I heard.

I spun around and saw Brody standing in the doorway, clasping his forehead.

Wow.

He looked so different from the last time I had seen him. I was expecting a skinny, lanky, adolescent teenager with long blonde hair and instead saw a fully grown adult with much darker tresses. He also appeared about four inches taller, which explained why he hit his head on the doorframe. I just realized it had been almost five years since I had last seen him in person.

“Oh no, are you okay?” I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

He closed the door behind him and recovered, removing his hand from his forehead, revealing a dark red mark. “Yeah, I’m fine. This literally happens all the time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh then. He then turned around to face me, beaming then wrapped his arms around me, pulling me off the ground into a vice-tight hug. “Hey, how are you it’s been so long!”

“Good,” I squeaked. He lowered me back down and pecked me on the cheek. I backed up to take a full look at him. “Gosh Brody how tall are you? You’re like a tree or something.”

He burst out laughing. Of course he did. What a stupid thing to say. I went bright red.

He recovered. “Oh Fiona I forgot how funny you are. I’m 6'4”. I’m tall but not that tall. It’s just you, girl you’re small.”

I ran my hand through my hair and laughed self-consciously. “Only compared to you.”

“I like your place. This is really nice,” he remarked, looking around. I exhaled, grateful for the change of subject.

“Thanks. I love everything about it. Except the sunsets are a bit bright.”

“That’s why they call it Sunset, I guess.”

I laughed. “Are you hungry? I made this ravioli casserole last night and ended up with way too much food.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds great.”

“Good, it has meat in it, is that okay?”

“That’s perfect.”

I nodded and started toward the fridge. I braced as I lifted the large casserole dish from the top shelf moved it into the oven, hoping he didn’t notice how much effort that took. “So how’s the family?” I piped quickly.

“Good, good,” he chirped.

He gave me an update on his sister, how her studies were going, and his mom, how she was enjoying retirement. He gave me some gossip about the people we used to know and where they ended up.

I placed the dish in front of him and let him serve himself. He continued telling more funny stories about the crazy people at our old church and the religious lunatics that populated the town. I watched in awe as he consumed literally half the casserole. It was impressive. I really didn’t understand how some men could eat so much and stay so skinny. He was still a beanpole.

While he talked, I spent the time appreciating how much he had changed — physically at least — inside he was the same, happy-go-lucky kid.

His hair, formerly the lightest shade of blonde, was now a much darker shade of auburn, almost brown but not quite. There was also some red in it, as well as many of the erstwhile golden tones. It was still long and fine, cascading over his ears and touching his shoulders, but wavier now, not so straight, and curling at the back of his neck.

His skin was warm toned and golden, like his hair.

The eyes were the same — almond-shaped and blue. They were the one thing that hadn’t changed.

Body-wise, he was still slender and tall, but no longer lanky and gangly like a teenager. He didn’t slouch anymore and had developed a subtle and wiry but visible muscle-tone beneath his skin.

And the way he moved was different too — smoother, more graceful. Very different from the lumbering, uncoordinated gangling I had remembered, the teenager on a growth spurt.

He had grown into his frame.

Lastly, his facial features were stronger, jaw and cheek bones sharp and more pronounced. The feminine beauty was still there, in the pink lips and bronze lashes, but it was less controlling, as if the child-like mask had slipped away and a more dominant masculine version had emerged, making for a uniquely aesthetic blend of both features.

He almost looked almost like Prince Adam from Disney crossed with Jamie Cambpell-Bower.

I smiled, seeing so much of his mother’s beauty shine through. The gold everywhere — in his skin, his hair, his brows, his lashes — that was all Sarah Beth.

Except the eyes. The eyes were all Jack. Which reminded me —

“Oh my god, Fiona. This is amazing,” he said as he patted his flat stomach.

I chuckled, cleaning up, then remembering what I wanted to tell him.

“By the way, I know I already said this. . .but I was really sorry to hear about your Dad.”

Brody smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

“How are your mom and sister taking it?”

He sighed. “They are okay. Just taking it one day at a time.” Then he sneered without humor. “My mom is already getting courted by half the town.”

Of course. By that I wasn’t surprised in the least.

Sarah Beth was a goddess back in the day and remained a strikingly beautiful woman now.

I smiled weakly. “She’s a knockout. That’s going to happen no matter what. But she’s tougher than nails that Sarah Beth.”

He laughed, for real this time, “Yeah, she sure is.”

I kept smiling, resting my jaw on my wrist.

Brody looked down, running his hand through his long amber hair. Then he perked up again. “She misses you though. I told her and my sister I was going to see you and they were jealous.”

I smiled weakly. “That’s sweet of them.”

He looked up soberly. “My mom loves you something terrible, you know.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer. A wave of guilt crashed over me. I hadn’t seen the woman in five years.

“Well, I love her something terrible too. You send her my love.”

“I will.”

He reached for my hand and held it, playing with my fingers. I smiled as he warmed them.

“Did you notice, Brody that you’re losing your Southern twang?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Thank God, it’s about time. I thought it would never go away.”

I chuckled as I took his plate to the sink.

A few minutes of silence passed as I cleaned.

Brody spoke first.

“Fiona, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but you really are a tiny thing. You’re like the size of one of my arms.”

I sighed. I had heard similar versions of this observation a lot. “Brody, do you know how many guys have told me that?”

He laughed, “I’m just saying,” stretching his arms behind his back.

“You and everyone else.”

It was true. Almost every male friend or acquaintance I knew liked to point this out to me, as if I didn’t already know.

Brody’s laughed again but his tone was somber now, no longer jocular. “I mean I just say it because I hope you’re like eating and stuff. Seems like you’re shrinking.”

I reached for an excuse that could be construed as at least partially true.

“I just work a lot, Brody, this new place I’m at has me going nonstop.”

“Okay,” he replied. I could tell he wasn’t satisfied with the answer but he didn’t push further, for which I was thankful. This was one of the things I loved about Brody. He never forced tough conversations out of me and always knew when to let something go.

Three quick raps on the door interrupted this conversation.

“Fiona, a package for you,” my landlord’s dead voice carried from the hallway.

I opened the door and picked up a medium-sized parcel sheathed in bright red wrapping paper and criss-crossed with a white satin bow.

There was a rectangular gold tag attached to the ribbon, inscribed with gold script.

For the cold nights — Jesse.

I beamed. Inside was an electric heating blanket.

I heard Brody start the dishes behind me.

“No, no, no!” I squeaked in protest, running over to the sink. “You are the guest, sit down!”

He laughed. “It’s the least I could do after eating all your food.”

I grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him away from the sink, but he didn’t budge. He rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’m supposed to give you a tour of the city aren’t I?” I demanded.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said as he dried his hands.

I grabbed my jacket. “Let’s go, I need to stretch my legs. I want to get back before sundown.”

I checked my watch. Sunset was never far away this time of year in San Francisco.

“Let’s do it.”

We were supposed to stick close to my neighborhood because I didn’t want to end up in a bad area but Brody insisted on covering more ground. He pulled out a map on his phone and I was impressed by his ability to get around in a city he had never been.

The best part was just his company. I had never met someone who was so perpetually happy all the time. His sunny disposition was a balm for me, like aloe vera on a burn.

He chirped on and on about life back home as we walked and told some really funny stories about our old friends that had me keeling over several times. He had some epic college stories too which I got a kick out of. I had to admit, Brody made me laugh so hard that the muscles in my abs were aching for most of the day.

At one point we raced through Golden Gate Park and he pretended to trip so I could win.

Later, the weather was clear enough to go see the water so we did. The wind was brutal though. It blew through my hair so hard that I’m pretty sure I looked like medusa with snakes for tresses. I didn’t have an elastic to throw it back with and pouted until Brody actually offered to french braid it for me.

“You know how to french braid hair?” I beamed, impressed.

He rolled his eyes. “I grew up in a house full of women, so yes. Turn around”

I obeyed and smiled as he weaved his fingers through my hair, pulling from the sides and forming the plaits. He took a picture of the back and showed me.

“Pretty,” I remarked.

He shrugged “My hands are really big so it’s harder now. It was easier as a kid.”

We then took public transportation down to Pier 39 and Fisherman’s Wharf and walked around for a couple hours. The salty air was refreshing, as were the sounds of the waves.

We had fun people-watching the most. After all, in San Francisco there is no shortage of nudists or just plain weirdos walking around.

Before I knew it a question I wanted to ask him came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“Do you think you’re such a nice person because you grew up in a house full of girls, like you said?”

He looked at me, surprised.

I tried to explain. “Most men aren’t like you, I mean. . .they’re just mean and cruel and. . .selfish I guess is the right word. Like right now, if this were any other guy, he would probably be pouring booze down my throat and thinking of a thousand different ways to get into my pants, I don’t know.”

Don’t ask me why I said it. It just came out. For some reason, I felt like I could be honest with Brody without fearing that he might take advantage of it.

I couldn’t read his expression. Partly because I kept looking away out of self-consciousness.

He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me into a hug, kissing the top of my head.

“I don’t know, probably,” he laughed.

“Sorry, that was a super random question.”

“No, no, it just caught me off guard. I just never thought about it. Girls have to deal with so much shit that guys don’t. Do men do that to you a lot?” He looked at me seriously.

“Not recently, more when I used to date early in college. I was just curious.”

He nodded.

I instantly regretted bringing up the topic. I didn’t want him to worry about me any more than I’m sure he already did. The placating facade came naturally to me but sometimes I wondered if people could see through it.

Thankfully, we quickly moved on to lighter topics and the seriousness was replaced by laughter once again.

The whole day passed like this. It was nice.

We were laying in a grassy park towards the end when I could see the sun starting to fall in the sky. I sighed. Time to go.

“We should probably get inside,” I said.

“Are you afraid of the dark, Fiona?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes and got up. “No, I’m not. The dark is fine.”

“Hold on, real quick,” he insisted, getting up. “Stay here, I will be right back.”

I sighed and laid back down, covering my eyes with my forearm and trying to ignore the light, which was getting stronger with ever passing second.

He returned a few minutes later with two tacos and a drink.

“Fiona, you need to eat something,” he ordered, towering over me.

I got up and peered at the offering. Chicken tacos with all the fixings. It looked really appetizing and I was starving.

“I already ate.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fiona, you are such a liar I have been with you for the past seven hours you haven’t eaten anything.”

I sighed. “I’m not sure that’s the healthies — ”

Before I knew it he was shoving one of the tacos in my mouth. I couldn’t get angry or upset with him though, the image of it was just too funny that I was laughing before he was.

When I finished eating, I met his gaze. He was looking at me funny.

“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. I thought I ate with my mouth closed.

“You’re skin and bones, Fiona why aren’t you eating?”

I bristled. “I’m not skin and bones, Brody.”

My weight was a touchy subject. It was off-limits and he knew it.

“You’re awful small,” he remarked quietly, tugging at my arm.

Not this again.

“I’m only small compared to you, Brody.”

“You’re small compared to everyone, Fiona,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

“I suppose,” I sighed.

I figured it was best to agree with him rather than disagree in order to avoid a lengthy discussion on the subject. It was complicated and I didn’t want to get into it. I knew he would understand of course. Brody knew more about me than most people did. We both knew my nonexistent appetite and extremely low weight had nothing to do with an eating disorder.

I looked back at him with a hard expression on my face. “Seriously though I don’t want you running home telling your mom I’m skinny or sick or something.”

He stared back at me surprised, like I had offended him. Then his eyes narrowed. “I never divulge what you tell me, Fiona. At this point I thought you’d know that by now.”

Great. I had insulted him. Wonderful.

I quickly backtracked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, right, I know that,” I apologized sincerely, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, looking down, like he was thinking of something he wanted to say.

I got distracted by the time as I checked my phone. Damn it. I wanted to be back my sundown. It was too late now.

His voice was shaking as he spoke. “You know, Fiona, I just wanted to say that I know you’re unhappy a lot and I hope you know that I’m here for you, always, any time.”

I looked back, shocked. I never heard him get emotional like that. The tremor in his voice had startled me.

Then I sighed, defeated. I had been fooling no one with my facade, had I.

Jesse probably already thought I was basket case already. Who knows why he was still interested. Fuck, I forgot to text him and thank him for the gift. What a rude person I was. I made (another) mental note to do that tonight.

A warmth rushed over me as the conflicts in my head subsided and my attention refocused. I smiled, squeezing his leg. “Of course I do. And I already rely on you. More than you know.”

He beamed.

I returned a weak smile and broke his gaze, holding my breath for a moment. I thought I had been doing better at holding it all together.

I was.

Wasn’t I?

Brody just said that because he knows me, because we’re close, because he know’s why I’m sad, that must be it, right? I got promoted at work, that doesn’t happen to basket cases right?

The question spilled out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop it; my voice quivered and the words came out fast. “Brody I just need to know, I need you to be honest with me. . .don’t hold back, okay,” I gulped. “Do I strike you as like a basket case or something? Do I look like I’m sick or dying or anorexic or whatever because I need to know, and I need to know now.”

I looked fiercely into his eyes and forced his gaze. As much as I was tempted to look away, I didn’t. I wanted to see every nuance of his expression when he answered; to be able to identify any trace of doubt.

He looked a little taken aback by the question, or perhaps the level of intensity in it.

He held my gaze as he answered. “No, Fiona, I don’t think you are a basket case or crazy. I just think you’re sad. I think you’re too skinny but you probably already know that. I’ve said it before.”

I nodded.

The pained expression on his face was difficult to read.

“Alright,” I sighed.

He combed through the braid in my hair till it was undone, unweaving each plait one by one. “I think you’re perfect.”

“You got my hair to hold a curl,” I beamed distractedly, marveling at a ringlet that coiled around my shoulder.

He laughed and shrugged. “Sleep on it wet it, the curls will be even tighter. House full of women, I know these things.”

I returned his smile briefly, then broke his gaze to look at the sky.

My heart sank as I noticed the sun setting in the distance, irradiating the city with bright violet light.

I suppose it would seem beautiful, to most eyes.

“We should go,” I insisted, rising abruptly.

“You don’t want to watch the sunset?” he asked incredulously.

“Not tonight.”