Los Angeles | 2011
Bradley's POV
"'You think you're hot shit don't you?' 'Not so tough now eh?' 'Freshmen tryna boss us around.' 'I'll smack you five ways from Sunday you little shit.'"
I woke up gasping, my heart hammering against my cracked ribs. I thrashed for a moment, tangled in the sheets, my eyes snapping open to a room filled with nothing but shadows. I looked around me and found nothing but darkness. I could feel the cool, soft cotton beneath my palms. I was home. In my bed.
"I'm safe. I'm home," I repeated to myself, my voice a harsh whisper in the silence. The panic began to die down a little, receding like a cold tide, but leaving the familiar dread behind.
These panic attacks and nightmares had been my constant companions for the better part of five days now. Even in the hospital, I had not fared any better, waking up with a strangled cry, convinced I was still on that gym floor, the taste of blood in my mouth.
I was afraid. So very afraid. Ever since I had come to this world, life had mostly been smooth sailing for me. I had parents, a sister... eventually, I even had friends, and I had her.
Her smiling face came up in my head for a moment. I saw her on the beach, her face lit by the bonfire, her smile bright and full of a joy that was just for me. I smiled back at her before the image was violently replaced by a new one, a fractured, ugly picture I couldn't scrub from my mind: her being kissed by that guy. The faceless, nameless idiot from Wyoming. The only thing I could see was that the person kissing her wasn't me. I hated it. I hated myself for the visceral, possessive anger it still invoked.
I threw the covers off, my legs aching as I swung them over the side of the bed. I had felt so safe, so invulnerable in this new life I had built, that I forgot how powerful violence can be. How easily it can derail you from normalcy. Even in my previous life, I had seen violence, riots, gang warfare, but I was the third party there, never more than a bystander. The orphanage had fights, but the maximum anybody could inflict on anyone was a few cuts and bruises.
In this life, I didn't even have to face that. I had blissfully chosen to ignore certain realities. And then, on my first day of high school, reality really gave me a hard slap to wake up. The medical report was a testament to that: cracked ribs, a swollen eye that had just begun to open, bruised knuckles, a torn lip, and a whole lot of trauma to unpack.
I was overconfident. I thought my junior high dominance meant something. I thought I could take them. And I was not thinking straight. The things that happened with Alex made me feel jealousy and emotions I couldn't even define, and that made me act irrationally. I had walked into that gym looking for a release, for a target, and I had found one. And I had paid the price.
I am scared. Every time I remember the seniors pounding on me, the feeling of my arms being pinned, the boot connecting with my ribs... I remember looking for help until David, Leo, and Patrick stepped in to hold them off. And I feel ashamed of my weakness. I'm thankful they saved me, but I didn't like how meek and easily defeated I had been.
Oh, I recovered some respect by playing against Damien, but the raw physicality of that beat down had not left my mind still. I had nightmares of it, and it shamed me even more that remembering the incident invoked fear in me. The helplessness of not being able to defend myself. Of being at the mercy of another.
I stood up, wincing, and walked to the window, staring out at the dark, silent street. The Bradley Naird who had won the championship was gone. In his place was this... this victim. And I didn't know how to fix it.
It was still early in the morning; I couldn't go back to sleep again. The nightmare—the gym floor, the senior's fist, the feeling of powerlessness—left my heart pounding. I wanted to see the sunrise, to replace the image of the gym floor with something clean. I left Mom a text—Going for a walk. Need to clear my head. Be back soon.—and went out.
She would see it when she woke up. She had been very overprotective since that day, always hovering, her eyes constantly scanning me for unknown injuries that may surface, asking if I was okay, if I needed anything. It was suffocating, however well-intentioned. Mom had wanted to hold the school responsible, to call the principal, the school board. But I begged her not to.
I'd already lost on the court. I'd lost my cool. I couldn't lose this. I was already the beaten-up pansy; if I complained, then I would lose any semblance of control over the team immediately. I couldn't allow that to happen. She relented only after I promised her I wouldn't get into trouble again. The truth was, I was also afraid of what might go down if I tattled. This was a hierarchy built on violence and fear. Snitching wouldn't fix it; it would just paint a bigger target on my back. I needed to find my way out of this somehow.
I changed clothes with some difficulty, my cracked ribs sending sharp, stabbing protests as I pulled a sweatshirt over my head. I strapped on my shoes and headed down. Slowly unlatching the door so as to not make any noise, I walked out into the morning breeze. It felt gentle and soothing on my bruised face. Then I began aimlessly walking, my feet moving without conscious thought. I just stared at the road ahead and the dimly lighting-up sky.
There was so much to do. School had been missed for too long and probably will be a bit longer. My face was still a roadmap of purple and red.
Leo, David, and Patrick had come to visit at the hospital and again at home. Their faces were a mask of guilt. I had apologized to them for putting them in such a situation, for my arrogance in challenging Damien. And they had apologized to me for not being able to protect me better. A part of me wanted to blame them, to ask where they were when I was taking those first few hits. But so many sessions with Dr. Rhoades had taught me one lesson: before looking at fault in others, I had to first understand my own.
Their injuries were minor compared to mine, and while I did forgive them, I also couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness in me. I knew I could count on them for anything, but a part of me whispered that the best help was granted by my own hands rather than another's. I agreed with that sentiment.
I need to fix myself. Adding more weaknesses... will only slow me down even further. If I'm afraid to stand in front of these bullies now, what will happen when I grow up and step out? I had mom and dad today, what will happen when I cannot count on them to help me? The thought daunted me. I needed to act rather than procrastinate.
Suddenly, a gust of wind hit me as I looked around and found myself in familiar surroundings. The quiet, tree-lined street. The two-story house with the slightly manicured lawn. I sighed, looking at the sun growing brighter as the rays touched the houses around me.
'Fate,' I mused. I was standing in front of Alex's house. It had been a long walk it would seem.
This was the other wound. The deeper one. We had spoken on chat ever since the fight. She had even come by the house with Mandella, but we couldn't talk about what we wanted to talk about. We couldn't talk about Wyoming. Because Mom was always in the room, worrying, hovering, offering me water or adjusting my pillows, her protective aura a suffocating shield. Even Mom could see everything was not okay between us, but she simply ignored the fact and stubbornly stayed with me.
Even on chat, we just couldn't bring the topic up. It was too big, too raw for text. We both felt its shadow grow taller as the days went by. I could understand how much she wanted to talk about it through her texts, the hesitant "Are you really okay?" messages. But I wasn't ready. My pain, my humiliation from the fight, my... jealousy... it was all tangled up.
And even now, I don't believe myself to be ready. But as I stood there, looking at her window, I realized the truth. The longer I delay this, the harder it will be. So here it goes.
I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over her contact. My ribs ached. My head throbbed. I took a breath, the cool morning air steadying me. I dialled her phone. It didn't even ring twice before I heard the call connect.
"Brad? Are you okay?" I heard her tender voice ask in concern. It made me smile.
"I am. Could you come downstairs?" I asked.
"Wait, you're here? Like at my house?" she asked, surprised. I imagine I would have been too.
"Yes," I affirmed.
"I am coming down, hold on!" she said urgently as I heard her shuffling to her feet.
Within moments, the front door was opened as I saw her walk out in her night suit. She was haggard, and one look at her eyes told me she hadn't slept at all. She had scurried so fast that she hadn't even put on her specs.
She came up to me but hesitantly stood before me, her face showing both concern but also anxiety. Her gaze was lowered.
"Hey you," I said softly. "Did you not sleep last night?"
She just shook her head as she looked down again.
"Why?" I asked, at which point she finally looked at me.
"I couldn't," she said meekly. "How—how did you come here? You should be resting at home," she added.
"Is it just today or other nights as well?" I countered. She looked at me and saw I wouldn't answer before she did.
"It's been like this for the past few days," she said with hesitation.
"Why?"
At that, she looked at me—not at me, but at the injuries that marred my face and body, from my eyes to my lips to my hand. In that moment, all the jealousy, the hate, the anger, all that I had wanted to rave and rant simply ceased to exist within me.
When I met her gaze, it was looking at me in askance for love, for comfort, for care, and those dark eyes were also holding back all the love, care, and comfort they held for me. She was holding herself back because she was afraid. I couldn't torture myself like this, and nor could I torture her.
"Lexi," the words left my mouth in an almost breathless manner. "It's okay. I'm okay. I just left for a walk to clear my head, and without even realizing it, I was here at your doorstep."
Her eyes widened before all the emotions she had been holding back broke through. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do, how to fix this."
"It's okay. I don't know how to fix this either, but we can do it together. I'm not giving up," I said as I beckoned her to come closer, and she bounded at that, leaping towards me and hugging me. It was so flooded with emotions that I didn't let out the grunt that came from the pain of her pressing against my broken ribs. I needed this. Even after all the pain, it was a comfort that I had sorely missed. It soothed my heart and soul.
After almost minutes of us hugging each other while I breathed in the smell of her tangled locks as she just cried into my chest, she finally seemed to realize that she might be causing me pain as she panicked and stepped back.
"I'm sorry, I forgot. Did I hurt you?" she said hurriedly as she tried to caress and soothe the pained ribs of mine.
"It's okay. I needed that, wanted it even," I said with a small smile. She smiled at that too.
"Do you want to come inside?" she asked.
"No, we can sit in the grass and talk," I said. Then I gestured for her to hold my hand as we made our way to the front yard.
We sat on the cool, damp grass. There was silence for a few moments as I stared at her, and she stared back at me. She was waiting, and while the previous uneasiness was lowered, it wasn't fully gone. I had to be the one to break it. I had to tell her the truth.
"I see the image of you being kissed by a random person in my nightmares," I told her, the admission costing me more than I expected. She gaped at that, not having a response as her hand tensed in mine.
I continued regardless. "In the moment you told me, I knew, logically, it wasn't your fault. But I reacted poorly. That same image... it just popped in my head, and I felt all these emotions battering me: frustration, anger, jealousy, shame, possessiveness, all at once. But the emotion I showed you was a false one. I acted nonchalantly, even coldly." She gazed at me, lifting her head to look.
"I—I wanted to hurt you," I hesitantly expressed, the shame of the confession hot in my throat. "I wanted, in that moment, for you to feel as betrayed as I felt. And so I did the worst thing I could imagine. Walking away from you in that moment, leaving you all alone, was wrong. I'm sorry, Lexi."
She stared at me, and I maintained her gaze. She was searching for something in my eyes.
"It hurt when you did that," she muttered, releasing the weight of the hurt she carried. "I expected many things... You being cold to me and leaving me was also one of them. But I had hoped that I would matter enough that you wouldn't do it. Yet when you did, I felt it break me. In a way, you succeeded in making me feel the hurt you felt." She smiled forlornly.
"That day when I got home, I cycled through every emotion. I beat myself up, thinking I deserved this for betraying your trust. But then the rational part of me said that I hadn't done anything wrong; I was the victim. Haley echoed the same sentiment, and so I blamed you for hurting me with your actions. In honesty, I was just as confused as you... and I reacted poorly too. I told you in a very messed up manner about a messed-up situation, and we both reacted poorly to it." She squeezed my hand, and I did the same, constantly affirming her touch.
"Then when I called you and you didn't pick up, I spiraled even further. When you told me you were hurt, all the reasons I had made up to justify myself fell through. I cried..." she stated, sadness tracing her voice.
"I remember it," I said, the shame returning. "I was medicated, and I couldn't bring myself to talk to you. I was also angry at everything. What you told me in the hallway was the only thing on my mind as I entered the gym. The hurt and emotions made me act out, and in the end, I got into a fight with the seniors and got thoroughly beat up. I felt humiliated, ashamed, and like a coward, I hid from everything—even you." I looked at her, forcing myself to be as honest as she was. "I've had enough time to think, and I understand that it was not your fault. It was just a bad thing that happened to a good person, and I shouldn't have punished you for it. I am so sorry, Lexi," I said, pleading, as I caressed her face, holding her cheek in my palm.
She looked at me with the same eyes I dreamed of. "I'm sorry too. It's just so messed up how everything happened," she said, as she touched my cheeks, wiping away the tear that was falling from it.
I sighed. "I know. And I want you to know that I will never leave you alone, even if we have the worst fight of our lives. I will stay. Always."
She smiled at that. "And I promise I won't hide anything from you. I won't let it fester like a wound between us. Had I told you sooner, maybe we could have avoided all this."
"No," I said staunchly, which made her flinch. "I would have been jealous regardless. Even now, I can't help but have that image come into my head. But I know this for a fact: You. Are. Mine." I said it intensely, leaning close to her so that our foreheads touched. "I will kiss you so many times that I will remove the very imprint that piece of shit may have made on you. Your lips, your hands, your gaze are only meant for me," I said passionately to her.
"I don't want it any other way," she said, smiling and leaning in as she kissed me. The first kiss since then.
"I'll have you know I'm a very possessive person, Lexi," I warned her seriously as we parted.
"So am I," she said in her own serious voice. "You are mine just as I am yours."
After that, we just sat there in the yard, her head on my shoulder as we bathed in the sunlight.
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I hope this showcases some maturity on Brad and Alex's part and how they have grown in their relationship.