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Brady’s finishing his shower. I realize I’m in his apartment for the first time. It’s not how I pictured it would be. I’m not exploring and learning about him. I sit on his bed, my towel barely wrapped around me, my body sedated, numb. He’s screaming, a harrowing cry for help. I want to go to him, but I’m frozen. I don’t know why I left the shower for sure. I just know I couldn’t stand the guilt that was radiating from him like heat from a raging furnace. That bitch is gone, and he’s still blaming himself.
Brady enters his room and walks straight toward me, wearing only a towel around his waist. His eyes are red and swollen, yet determined. Determined to what, I have no idea. He falls to the floor in front of me and wraps his arms around my waist. My heart breaks for him, for everything he’s been through. What they’ve all been through. A sob tears through me.
Brady looks up, directly into my eyes.
“Brady, I’m so sorry.” I’m bawling now and stroking the hair on the side of his head. My body is wracked by tremors, and I don’t know what else to say or what else to do for him. I’m completely helpless, unable to offer him anything to remove what’s happened from his memory.
Brady is crying, too, and shaking his head. “No, Tori. Don’t. This is why I never wanted to get involved with you.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I love you.” My tears stop, and I look right into his eyes and tell him, “I’m strong, Brady. I never believed it, before you, but I am. And you are, too. It’s over. She can’t hurt either of us. Not anymore.”
“It’s not over. I have to live with what I did. I killed her.” He rests his head in my lap, face down, and begins to cry, violently cry. For several minutes, I let him, and then I can’t take it any longer.
“Brady, you didn’t kill her. She killed herself because she was a coward.”
He keeps his head buried. I hate that he thinks he can’t look at me.
“I’m not talking about Sheila.”
I gasp softly and cover my mouth with my trembling fingers. What did he just say? Who is he talking about? He begins to shake wildly, and he won’t let go of me. He holds me so tightly that I can barely breathe, crying
so hard he starts to heave and cough.
“Brady, what are talking about? You didn’t kill anyone.”
“I did, Tori,” he shouts through his tears. “I did.”
“What?” I scream, and slide up the bed away from him. His words confuse and frighten me. I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, rocking back and forth, and I cry out. He killed somebody? He said he killed someone. Did he do something to cover this up, too? Oh, my God. I want to vomit, but I can’t move.
Brady throws his head into the blanket and fists the covers. He removes them from the bed right out from under me. He punches his fist into the bed repeatedly. Standing, he reaches for two bottles of cologne on the dresser. He throws them, first one, and then the other. The smell of soap and spice fills the air, the brown liquid staining the wall. He’s growling, and he reaches behind the dresser and pulls on it until it falls over. Spinning, he punches the wall, putting a hole right through it. His screams are so loud, his voice tears through my chest and pierces my heart. I am absolutely frightened.
“I hate you. You fucking bitch. You ruin everything. I fucking hate you!” He sinks to the floor and buries his head in his hands.
I don’t understand what’s happening, but I have to go to him. His pain is fierce and terrifying, but I love him, and I have to help him heal.
Kneeling beside him, I put my hand on his shoulder. “Brady, you’re scaring me. Please talk to me.”
He puts his hand over mine and looks up at me. So much sadness in his eyes, I want to die. He’s broken, and I’m so afraid it’s irrevocable. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I told you I was toxic – I’m fucking poison.”
His head is on my chest. I put my arms around him and hug him close, embracing him, giving him comfort. I want to fall apart, but he needs me to be strong. “Brady, you’re not poison. Please tell me what you’re talking about.”
He pulls away from my embrace and scoots away from me. Tears fall from his eyes, but there are no sobs. His fight is fading away. I want him to fight because if he doesn’t, he’s giving up, and then I’ll lose him. “My mother, Tori.” He chokes out each painful word. “I killed my mother.”
Realization sinks in deep and I suck back a sob as I crawl over to him. I can’t allow him to own the guilt for something he had no control over. “Oh, Brady. You didn’t kill her. Your mother died giving birth to you. It’s tragic, but you didn’t kill her.”
“Sheila told me everything. There were so many complications with the pregnancy. My mother and I weren’t compatible. I was toxic to her, poison in her blood. Towards the end of her pregnancy she had headaches and her blood pressure was high. I killed her.”
Fucking bitch! Even dead she continues to torment him. I grab his face and grip it tightly in my hands. “Brady, please, God, baby, listen to me. You did not kill your mother, and don’t you dare let that bitch ruin you. Do you hear me? Do that for your mother. Give her that.”
He nods in my hands, and I let go of his face. I can’t bear the look in his eyes, so I yank on the terrycloth towel wrapped around me, baring myself to him. It falls to the floor, and I throw myself at him. He catches me and tightens his grip around me. He holds me with a sense of desperation. We cling to each other for what may have been hours, sharing a closeness we both need.
I will be strong for him, help him heal. He will never be alone again in this world.
He cries into my neck, and I let him. He’s crying for a mother he never got to know, grieving for the first time since he found out. I don’t move, and I don’t interrupt. He needs this.
His lips move on my neck. His kisses get thicker, linger longer, breath hot on my skin. He pulls back, his chest rising and falling slowly, desire overcoming grief. His eyes travel my body, gazing at my breasts, then moving lower. Quickly he’s on his feet, and just as swiftly, he lifts me into his arms and sets me on the bed.
He moves up my body with urgency, slides his hands around my neck, and devours my lips. His heartache rolls out of him in waves, desperate yet hopeful. His hand slides down my thigh, and he pulls my leg up around his waist. I kiss him back and let him use me to dispel his grief. I’m using him, too, to forget everything I’ve heard and seen today. Right now, we have each other, and we can forget about everything else.
