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When I say it out loud, I realize just how true that is, and how that may not have been a truth she was aware of. After meeting Kea, Jax and I found and thenlistened toa book about survivors of assault or abuse. It talked about how even victims who seek extensive therapy in the aftermath, there’s still a slither of blame that they carry on their shoulders.
“He is the problem here, not you. I promise you. He’s always been the problem, and no matter what you do, you will never be at fault.”
Dani bursts through the door like something from those fucking alien movies, chest heaving with panicked pants, her eyes wild as they search the area. When she finds no sign of the bastard, shefocuses onhow my hands have her sisters encased, and she settles down, calming her breathing and nodding.
“Right. You’reokay?”
“Yeah, I’m so sorry—” Bri looks on the verge of tears, and before she starts to word vomit all of her guilt out again, I press my palm over her mouth.
“It’s not your fault, Bri. Don’t even try to apologize. He created a situation and we reacted a certain way because of what someone else did. You have nothing to apologize for because you didn’t create that situation.”
At this, Dani cocks her head to the side and a slow smile spreads across her face.
“So, someone read ‘How to talk to survivors of abuse’, didn’tthey?”
It’s not a question, so I don’t answer. I just shrug.
“Well, he’s right. Don’t apologize. You’re supposedto be freeto go wherever, whenever, without invoking worry. And on that note, I’m starved and there’s food inside, so if we could please return indoors. I would very much like to enjoy my lunch.”
Dani takes a sarcastic bow, which is an impressive feat, and heads back inside. Bri goes to follow, but I pull her back for just a second.
“I need to hear you say that you know this wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”Hershoulders relax, and she takes another deep breath.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she repeats.
“Good job. Now, let’s go eat.”
Life could never be as easy as us simply sitting down and eating sandwiches peacefully, but it’s a near thing. Though they’re all humming with anxiety, no one speaks of it. In fact, Dani takes it upon herself to ensure they speak of anything except the incident.
“I just don’t understand why she sought to tellmewhat style suited me best. "Lady, if I want to wear pinstripes, I will, and I’ll look hot doing it.”
“As if you could not look hot doing anything,” Jax says into his sandwich, but Dani hears and her lips twitch.
“Agreed. Well, the woman proceeds to explain that she’s been doing her job for fifteen years, at which point I tell her that I’ve been dressing myself for twenty-five, and she just gives up. As if it was her decision in the first place. I didn’t want her help if she was going to insist on telling me she knew me better than I did. Honestly, some people.”
The entire time Dani is complaining abouta store stylistbeing ‘literally the worst’, the rest of the team are stealing anxious looks at Bri. I know that they have questions. I’ve seen enough women fawning over serial killer documentaries to know that there’s a morbid fascination with dark subject matters. But I’m grateful that no one says anything.
The rest of the day goes slowly, and I know I’m not the only one sneaking into the back office to make sure that Bri isokay. She keeps her head down furiously typing away and rustling through a mountain of papers without looking up.
For a million different reasons, I’m grateful that I went to Edge that day. Not only have I found a person I want to spend time with, but Bri really does know what she’s doing. She’s efficient, smart and doesn’t let her personal life interfere with her worklife. Which is astounding, really, since I know there’s no fucking way I’d be able to stay straight and work through the stress of what she’s enduring right now.
I wish I could tell her how brave I think she’s being without sounding like a condescending prick.
I settle for dropping a giant cup of strong coffee at her elbow. She looks up at me, eyes warmed by gratitude, and I feel a pang of regret that she ever had to feel anything other than simple happiness at the hands of other people. But she’s with us now. She doesn’t need to be sad anymore.
I know it’s a challenge I’ve issued to myself, but I never back down from a challenge.
****
That night, as I slave over the stove top, trying to make an omelet and deciding to make scrambledeggsinstead, Bri is showering. I can hear her butchering a perfectly good song, and cringe under the weight of her tonelessness. It’snojoke howbadly she sings. I’ve been to kindergarten performances with more talent than this woman has.
“Is something burning?” she asks when she walks through the kitchen in her short pajama bottoms and alooset-shirt.
“Yeah, my ears.”
A red blush spreads over her cheeks.
