Broken Pieces

* * * * * *

The next couple of transition weeks were...difficult. In fact, they were extremely difficult. It would have been nice if the largest issue had been logistics, though it wasn't. Don't get me wrong, logistics were a big problem. My apartment was three rooms, a bedroom, bathroom, and a combined kitchen/living room that now served as Andy's room. There was simply too much adult life in that place to live comfortably. We both seemed to need the bathroom at the same time. Andy's things, which had been given a lot of space in my parents' house, took over the kitchen area as well. Neither of us cooked very well, but we even had trouble getting to the microwave. We had too much clothing for my washer/dryer, too many dishes for the dishwasher, and too many people for the bathroom sink and shower. We were constantly in each other's way. And with each passing day, as I realized more and more that this was not a passing thing; this was going to be my life from now on.

But the logistical problems were just a small part of that. Major personality differences seemed to provide even larger friction points. For example, Andy didn't like how messy I was. I could tell just looking at him that sitting amongst my old paper plates and dirty clothes made his skin crawl. At first he tried to ignore it, but it became too much for him. But when he tried to clean up after me he would put my stuff in places I couldn't find. So we both got angry with each other, Andy because I couldn't make the effort to make him comfortable and me because he was losing my shit.

Even when we were able to get past that sort of stuff, the friction was still there, and mounting. There was just no way to get comfortable. Back before Andy moved in, I had spent most of my time in my living room. I liked to watch television or read a book on my couch to unwind after work. Now that my bedroom (along with my only television) were in Andy's room, I'd lost my refuge. I resented the fact that I'd lost my living room. But it was bad for Andy as well. He'd never been a home body like me. At my parents' house, after work he would go out in the neighborhood for walks or ride his bike. I was nervous about the dangerous nature of my neighborhood and told him not to leave. He said I was treating him like a child but I stood firm. So he stewed unhappily, cooped up in the living room. Taking the space and doing the things I wanted to do, but feeling miserable doing it.

I think that the timing of the move-in was a major factor in our rocky start. I think if I had planned to have Andy move in and prepared, it would have gone better. Not perfect, but better. But coming as a surprise was bad. The fact that Andy was extremely depressed about my parent's death made it worse. I think that some of the mopey sort of things he did that got on my nerves wouldn't have been a problem. And I think the fact that my parents' death affected me less than him confused him and made him wonder about my state of mind.

On top of all of that, things at work were just as miserable as ever. Dale had kept his hands off of me for a week after my parents died, he even told me he'd reschedule my "date" with his friend. But after that I guess he figured I was over it. I was staying late two or three nights a week to "help" the boss. The same dynamic was generally true of my other co-workers. They hated me, but they cut me some slack when I was going through a bad time. But now they had forgotten my parents had just died and they didn't know I was struggling with my 31-year-old brother. So the cold shoulders and hateful whispers were back. I deserved it, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

About a month after Andy moved in, the whole situation came to a head. It was a Friday morning and I was in the bathroom, trying to get ready. I was already running late because the power had gone off the night before in an ice storm. I had my towel wrapped around my chest and I was trying to straighten my hair. There was a knock at the door.

"Roxie," Andy said, "Are you almost ready?" I rolled my eyes. He had already gotten his shower.

"Just open the damn door Andy, I hate talking through this thing," I said. He opened it up and stepped inside. Seeing me nearly naked (I mean the towel barely covered my ass) made him step back a half step.

"Oh, sorry," he said, blushing.

"I told you to come in, you don't need to apologize," I said, much more hastily than I intended. I looked back at the mirror, "But as you can see, I am not nearly ready yet."

"Can't you just get dressed now. You look good," Andy said impatiently, then he turned and looked at the clock in the living room. He was already dressed for work.

"What difference does it make to you?" I asked, my voice sounding cold. I had just finished straightening my hair and I set the iron down.

"It is cold today," Andy said.

"Well I will dress warm, I don't know what the problem is," I said, looking around for my make-up bag. I was listening to Andy as I knelt down on the floor and looked for it in the cabinet under the sink.

"No, not you," he said, "You told me on Monday that if it snowed today, you'd give me a ride to work." I suddenly remembered what he was talking about. The weather report had said it was going to be 15 degrees on Friday. I'd promised he wouldn't have to sit at the bus stop if it got that cold. Fuck.

"Shit!" I yelled, suddenly overwhelmed with frustration. I started grabbing cleaning items out from under the sink and tossing them all over the floor. I didn't have time for this. I was already late. Blowing your boss' boss doesn't change the fact that if you're late your boss will give you hell. Arguably, it makes it worse. As he had for a month, Andy's demands, even if spoken quietly and reasonable, were interfering with my life. I wasn't together enough to run my own life and now here he was. And he seemed so fucking helpless all the fucking time.

"What's wrong?"

"I am so goddamn late and now I have to drive you halfway across the fucking city and I am going to get my ass chewed out. And mom and dad's funeral used up the last of my personal days so I can't even call in!" I spat back quickly. It wasn't just the frustration with the moment; it was like a month's worth of feeling like I'd lost control of my life. Or lost what little control over my life I'd once had. And it was Andy's fault.

"You don't..." Andy started.

"No, fuck it. I will take you," I said, shaking my head, "that's what I do now. I do what other people need even if it screws me," I vented. Andy looked anxious, like he (reasonably) did not know where all of this was coming from. I threw more items from under the sink all the way out into the living room, almost hitting Andy.

"What are you looking for?" he asked finally.

"My fucking make-up case," I said, dropping down on my ass on the bathroom floor and turning towards Andy.

"I put it in your bedroom," he said. I felt my eyes widen and my nostrils flair. Again with the moving of my shit! I had already talked to him about it!

"Why in the Hell did you do that?" I asked, my voice coming out as a hiss.

"I was just cleaning..."

"When do I ever put my make-up on in my bedroom? Why do you think I keep my make-up in the bathroom? So I can cart it back and forth?" I started to get up now, and then walk towards Andy. All my pent up frustration was leaking out at me. And Andy had been the cause of that frustration. It felt so good to let it out, to put it on him. He looked nervous and took a step back.

"You don't keep it anywhere. Make-up was all over the house. I just put it in one place," Andy said. He was probably telling the truth. But at that moment, I didn't care.

"Why can't you just leave well enough alone? Why do you have to mess with all my shit? Why do you have to be so goddamned stupid?" I yelled. At the last line, Andy's head cracked back like I'd struck him. Suddenly, the self-righteous anger that had been boiling inside of me drained instantly. What in the Hell had I just said? I could have called him inconsiderate, or mean. Those would have been lies, but so what? But stupid? What the fuck was wrong with me. I saw hurt creep into Andy's eyes and he pursed his lips.

"I am going to get the bus. It will be here in 20 minutes," he said brusquely. I could hear how embarrassed he felt and my shoulders slumped.

"Oh Andy, I'm..." I started.

"I need to go. Have a good day at work Roxie. I love you," he said. Then he turned and walked quickly out of my house. As I heard the door close behind him, I dropped to my knees on the floor. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt disgusted with myself. I desperately wanted to climb out of my skin and leave this disgusting person behind. How could I behave like that? How could I say those things to my brother? He had endured bullshit like that from people his whole life and never deserved it. How could I, his sister, treat him like that?

Each stage of my conversation with Andy played over and over again in my mind. I felt literally sick as I thought about the things I'd said to him and the way in which I said them. My stomach hurt and there was a terrible taste in my mouth. It had felt so good to say those horrible things, it was like I was having a hangover from them now. I hadn't felt self-loathing like that in a very long time. I wanted to something to hurt myself, to make myself pay for my actions.

When I got to work that day, I asked Dale if his married friend was ready for a date that evening.

* * * * * *

It was two-thirty in the morning, Richard (Dale's friend "call me Rich") and I were stumbling up the stairs in my apartment building, heading for my door. The bars had closed at 2 and Rich had offered to drive me home. Despite the fact that he was visibly intoxicated, I had agreed. I was even drunker than he was, I was not making great decisions.

Of course, I had been making poor decisions all day. My outburst with Andy, my talk with Dale, those things had all been terrible decisions. I was reveling in them now. The whole date had been one giant bad idea and I was just enjoying how weird and unpleasant it made me feel. I deserved to feel that way. Drinking more than I had since college had just been the icing on the cake.

Dale, I think, had been a bit surprised by the head-first way I'd plunged into self-destruction. He had not brought up his friend Rich since shortly after my parents died, when he'd cancelled the date. But I gave him a look when he asked about it that suggested I was not going to change my mind. If he wanted to pimp me out to his friend, the look said, I was fine with that. I was a fucking awful person. This is what awful people do. So Dale had called Rich. Rich had initially said that he was probably going to be busy, but then Dale whispered something into the phone. Rich quickly changed his plans.

So after work, Rich had picked me up in his Lexus at the office. He was a fat slob like Dale. I wasn't wearing anything particularly sexy, just my normal work clothes. But I guess he could tell from the look in my eye that I was a woman on the edge. He skipped dinner entirely and took me to a fancy bar. We drank champagne until we didn't give a shit anymore, and then we drank vodka. Now we were climbing the stairs back to my apartment. I hadn't invited him, but I guess I hadn't stopped him either. In a short period of time we were giggling in front of my door.

"So Rosie," he slurred after a while, getting my name wrong, "Think I can come in, get a nightcap?" I wavered a bit on my feet and looked at my door.

"Well," I said and I was about to invite him inside. I heard a slight noise behind the door. For a moment, I thought in my drunken haze that someone had broken into my house. Then I remembered. Andy.

"'Well' what sexy?" Rich asked and then reached forward and pinched my breast.

"Well, I can't let you in..." I stated. I was just about to finish that if he wanted to find a hotel room, I would go with him. Hell, I was about to offer to blow him in the stairwell. I wanted to feel the shame that would come with doing that. I thought maybe the next day I would feel better if I did. I know, what sense does that make? Regardless, Rich did not wait for me to finish. His eyes suddenly narrowed and his smiled quickly faded.

"What the fuck do you mean you can't let me in?" he hissed at me. For a moment, I kept smiling, but I could feel the menace emanating from his body and fear started to rise in the back of my throat.

"I just mean..." I said, once again trying to offer my body to calm him down.

"You just mean you want to drink $200.00 worth of booze and then give me blue balls, you fucking cunt," Rich yelled back quickly. He took a step towards me. I backed up, feeling my ass bump against my door. I felt a lump in my throat and adrenaline began to pump into my veins, slightly lessening the effects of the alcohol.

"You need to calm down Rich," I said now.

"Fuck you, you fucking slut," Rich said. He reached his left hand forward and grabbed my chin, "You think this is some kind of game. We had a deal. We go out, and I get off." Rich said. I struggled against Rich's grip, but his hand squeezed tighter. I felt panic start to overcome me, and I squealed slightly. With his right hand, Rich reached below his waist and unbuckled his belt. In a few more seconds, I saw Rich pull his short, flaccid cock out from his underwear. It brushed up against my leg.

"Oh god!" I said, realizing what was happening here. I wanted to be hurt, but I didn't want to be raped. I didn't have time to think, I just acted. In a quick motion I brought my knee up, finding Rich's testicles. I heard the air go out of him and then there was a low grunting sound. Rich's hand slipped off of my chin and he sort of bent over. His hands rushed between his legs and his shoulder were hunched over. I could hear him panting in pain. I felt embarrassed and confused. I didn't know what would happen next.

"Rich I..." I started. Rich's head shot up and looked at me. His eyes burned and his lips were peeled back from his lips in a snarl. He looked at me for one minute and then lunge. He brought his hand all the way from below his waist in a long, wide arc. It moved so quickly I couldn't get out of the way. His open palm landed against my cheek with overwhelming power.

I heard the air escape my lungs and my face felt like it was shaking off my skull. I couldn't keep my feet, and collapsed onto the dirty hallway floor. For a moment, my face was completely numb. Then white hot, blistering pain overcame me. My hands shot to my face and I could feel tears rolling down over the aching skin.

"Oh god!" I yelled, to terrified to do anything else. I could still hear Rich panting and he lurched over toward me, still holding his balls.

"That's just the start, you stupid cunt!" he yelled, leaning down toward my face. I could smell the booze on his breath. He gave me a quick, sharp kick in the ass and then stood up. I moaned and tried to curl into a ball. I was too scared to even consider what he was going to do next. I looked at him, and saw him bringing his foot back to kick me again, this time full force.

Suddenly a bright light was cast over Rich's face and he stopped moving, covering his eyes with his hand. I could sense the light was coming from behind me, and I rolled over slightly. The door to my apartment had opened up, the light was on inside. Andy was standing in the doorway, looking tired and confused.

"What is going on out...Oh my God! Roxie?" He said, noticing me on the floor. He bent down next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I had never been so glad to see Andy. But I was still crying, I was still in pain.

"Oh God Andy," was all I could say.

"What happened? Where have you been? I was worried," he said.

"Who the fuck are you?" Rich said. Andy had been so concerned for me, that he had completely forgotten about the other person in the hallway. Andy looked back down at me and saw the red mark on my face. It was already starting to swell (and it hurt more than it had before). Andy instantly realized what had happened. I saw his jaw set in anger.

"What did you do?" He said, looking up at Rich now. Rich apparently could see the anger in Andy's eyes and could see Andy's large body. He took a step back and put his hands up. But he was still a very stupid, very drunk, man, so he proceeded to make things worse.

"Hey man, it isn't my fault your old lady is a skank. I didn't know she was with someone," Rich said.

"What did you call her?" Andy said, his voice rising to a level I'd never heard before. Rich quivered slightly.

"Hey buddy I..."

"Don't call me Buddy!" Andy yelled back at him. Andy took a half step forward towards Rich. I was afraid of what would happen, I reached up and grabbed Andy's arm. But it turns out I didn't need to worry about anything. Rich, seeing Andy start to move, let out a high yip, and then began to sprint down the stairs.

I felt relief like I'd never felt before. But, instead of feeling better, this relief seemed to break me down. As the threat of Rich completely disappeared, the fear that had been holding the last shred of my composure together went with it. I collapsed onto the dirty floor, crying my eyes out like a small child. I was completely oblivious to the world around me, and just abandoned myself into my pain. All of it, the physical, the mental, the emotional. I just broke there.

I guess I could hear Andy calling out my name, asking me questions, sounding concerned. But I was past the point where I could respond to that. I was too far gone. After a long while, I became vaguely aware of arms sliding underneath of me. I was still bawling as Andy lifted me up off the ground and carried me into my apartment. He closed the door behind him.

I am not really sure what Andy did immediately after that. I was absolutely hysterical, and piss drunk to boot. I knew he was doing things to take care of me. I recall an ice pack against my aching face. I remember him wiping the sweat and tears from my face and cleaning off my caked-on make-up. I remember him removing my shoes. Most of all I remember him speaking to me. I don't really remember what he said, but he spoke in soothing tones, trying to get me to calm down. In short, Andy had become my caregiver. And he was far better at the task with a far more needy patient that when the roles had been reversed.

Rational thought returned to me some time later. I am not really sure when. It was probably only an hour or so after Rich had left. I found myself in my living room. My face had been cleaned, and my shoes were off but I was still wearing my work clothes. I was sitting on the recliner, facing the television, while Andy sat on the edge of the couch bed. We were facing one another.

"Andy?" I asked, and the side of my face hurt as I spoke.

"Roxie?" he asked, sounding incredibly relieved, "Are you awake?" he asked.

"Yeah, I am here."

"You have been so weird," he said, "It was like you were asleep with your eyes open. I was about to call the ambulance. What happened? Who was that guy?" Andy wore a look of intense concern on his face and I felt bad for causing him so much trouble. But how did I even begin to explain what was going on with me?

"I am glad you didn't call the ambulance. I am going to be okay now," I said. Andy nodded, but didn't look convinced.

"Where have you been? Who was that guy? Why was he hurting you?" Andy asked, insistent on getting the full story. I sighed and sat up in my chair. The ice bag fell away, but I let it. I thought back to where I'd been that night, to Rich, and why he was hurting me. I felt an intense stab of fear, just for a moment. That had been so incredibly close. I might've been assaulted and beaten. There was a small chance I could have died. I shook my head. I looked up and saw my brother, still looking at me intently. I felt overwhelmed by the emotions I felt for him.