On the tail end of her thought, she hears her sentiments rehearsed back to her. “I’m sorry,” Johnny finally divulges.
She smiles, pausing momentarily in her nursely duties. “What was that?” She cocks her head to the side as if she must have heard wrong, an apology from Johnny Vito.
He grins, fully affected. “You heard me.
I’m sorry,”
he emphasizes the unfamiliar utterance, “that you had to see that. Back there. At my father’s.” He looks down, unable to maintain eye contact.
“Since apologies seem to be okay and appropriate in this instance,” she prefaces. “I’m sorry you had to experience that. You know that’s not normal, right? Fathers are not supposed to hit their children.” She worries about how he may rationalize such things.
“I know it’s not
normal,”
he acknowledges, “but it is for me.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be.” Silence passes between them. Brianna wrings out her cloth, returning it to Johnny’s bottom lip where it is split and swelling. Her hand, light in its touch, is mindful of the pain it must cause him. “How often does this happen…to you?” She remains focused on his lip, purposely avoiding his eyes, hoping to come across as sincere rather than interrogating.
“Not any more often than what I can handle,” Johnny aims at settling her concern.
His answer, albeit honest, strikes Brianna as very peculiar, causing her emerald greens to finally settle on his sky blues. Even though he exudes confidence and security with such a dismissive explanation, he cannot camouflage the hurt looking back at her, his eyes simply unable to distort the truth.
Brianna lays her hand tenderly against the side of his face (the side fortunate enough to remain unbruised). “You shouldn’t have to
handle
that…ever, Johnny,” she speaks soft and low. Looking at the boy across from her, the same age as she, unable to fathom the adult problems he has been thrust into, a completely different existence from her comfortable and ideal childhood, she continues, “You’re just a kid.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Some kids have it worse off than me.” Her sweet devotion, quite strange, nearly begs of him to give in. Johnny closes his eyes, reminding himself of who she is and who he is not, slowly reopening, now empty of emotion as his defenses deliver. “Not everyone has the privilege of being a kid,
rich girl,”
he digs, aiming to push her away with his words.
She removes her hand from his face, sitting upright. Aware of his intention, an internal battle ensues where she ultimately abandons her resolve, resorting to his level. “Yeah,” she prefaces, looking around the large, lonely house, devoid of her parents, “because rich girls are immune to life’s cruelties.” She stands to walk away from him.
He catches her by the hand, pulling her back down to him. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just…” He pauses, assembling his thoughts. “I’m not used to this.” His hand subconsciously touches his heart, then finds its way to hers. “You’re kind. And caring. And…I don’t know why.” Feeling her heartbeat enhance under his touch, he quickly pulls his hand away.
“People have to have a reason to be nice?” she asks innocently.
He shrugs, contemplating how most of the people he associates with are nice when and if it suits their purpose.
“You were kind to me. You helped me. You helped Lon,” she points out.
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I was simply helping myself.” Raking his fingers through his dark hair, he pushes the unruly bangs out of his line of sight. In doing so, Brianna notices a cut on his forearm untended.
“You make a habit of lying to yourself?” she asks, convinced he is more kind than he cares to admit. Taking his arm in her hand, she inspects and tends to the laceration.
“I find the truth to be quite disappointing, in most cases.” He watches her intently, pondering the authenticity of his growing feelings for the newly auburn-haired beauty. That truth causing him to grow uncomfortable, he pulls his arm away from her. “Think I’ve had all the swaddling I can handle for one night.” He stands, placing an agreeable distance between them. “This is a real nice place,” he says, looking around the house.
His comment causes a lightbulb to go off in Brianna’s mind. “You could stay here. That way you wouldn’t have to go back to your father’s.”
“Stay here? With you?” His eyebrows furrow.
“No.” She ducks her head shyly. “Not with me. I’ve been staying with the Castilles.”
“With
Loverboy?”
he says, surprised at the notion, figuring her for a prude.
“Not like that,” she defends. “His parents are there. They’re really sweet folks.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” he dismisses her offer. “I doubt the neighbors would take too well to me anyway.”
“But, where are you going to go? You can’t go back to your father’s.” She paces, thinking. “What about your mother? You have one, don’t you?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, we all have one. Haven’t seen mine since she left, when I was six years old.”
Brianna groans, looking at him empathetically, wondering if his story ever gets better.
“It’s all good,” he comforts. “Can’t say as I blame her. You saw my father. Would you wanna stay married to the man?”
She does not answer his question, knowing it to be figurative. “What about grandparents? Any other family member? Someplace you’ll be safe?”
Johnny grins, fully entertained by her naïve sense of urgency. The thought quite comical to him, seeing how he has lived his entire natural life with his father in such conditions, and now here is this girl all up in arms about his situation. “You’re just a regular Mother Teresa, huh?” He can’t help but chuckle.
Brianna stomps her foot. “Johnny, this is not funny.” Her strained facial expression, a clear illustration of the seriousness of the subject matter.
“I’m not laughing at you,” he defends. “It’s just that I don’t see it as severely as you do. It’s my life.” He shrugs. “The only one I’ve ever known. I’ll deal with it. The way I always have.”
“You’ll deal with it?” She walks to him. “Look at you.” Pointing out all of the bruises and scars on his face and body, she exaggerates each action. “It’s not right, Johnny.” Finally settling back down, now face to face with him, moisture surfaces in her eyes.
He touches her cheek with an unsteady hand, ever so gently his thumb catching and wiping away an escaped teardrop. Her compassion, tears shed for him, deeply affects him in an unfamiliar yet sweetly provoking way. Her heart-shaped lips, quivering, prey on his internal desire.
“My God,” he whispers, his face bending down to meet hers. “I’ve never known anyone like you.” Unable to resist any further, he kisses her tenderly, his lips now as full as his heart with her taste.
Brianna indulges momentarily at the intoxicating feeling, but ultimately pulls away, such affection usually reserved for Lon. She looks at Johnny, confusion plaguing her expression, unable to formulate fitting words.
“Ahem,” Johnny clears his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.” His hands now retreating, palm side out at his shoulders. “I just…got caught up…that’s all.” He backs away from her.
She presses the back side of her hand to her lips. “It’s okay.” She forces a nervous, unsettling smile.
“I…um. I should go,” Johnny fumbles his words, headed for the front door. His hand, on the doorknob, is met with resistance as it is already in motion. Johnny steps back, the large wooden frame coming at him. In walks Lon. “Geez-us,” Johnny mumbles at the junior Castille’s inopportune timing.
Lon quickly assesses their expressions. Brianna looks back and forth between him and Johnny, her eyes apologetic and fearful. Johnny can’t even look Lon in the eye, his head cocked to the side and disregarding.
Noticing the scars and bruises on Johnny’s face, Lon instantly grows concerned and angry, his mind racing with what or whom caused them, and what kind of danger Johnny may have exposed Brianna to in obtaining such injuries. He lurches at Johnny, his hand wadding the bad boy’s t-shirt into a knot at his neckline.
“Lon!” Brianna calls, rushing toward them as he pushes Johnny up against the wall, his fist drawn at shoulder level simply waiting to extend.
“What’d you get her into this time?” Lon seethes through gritting teeth, scanning Johnny’s marred face.
Lon’s physical aggression, second nature to Johnny, causes him to prepare his arms into combat position, the same way he has done against his father’s assaults for years. Johnny smirks, his emotional defenses uprooting, now fully transformed into his bad boy demeanor, he spars, “If you weren’t so boring,
bayou trash,
she wouldn’t have to come to me for a good time.”
Johnny’s image of he and Brianna’s
good time
snaps through Lon’s mind. He releases his fist.
“No!” Brianna screams, standing over Lon’s shoulder.
“Argh,” Lon laments at the pain shooting through his fist and arm after sinking through the wall directly beside Johnny’s head. A perfectly placed strike; Lon’s intention to exhaust his anger while jarring Johnny, if only a little.
Johnny’s lip twists upward slightly, his suspicions validated—
Loverboy
is soft for Brianna. Either that, or he may be a pretty decent guy. Johnny shrugs, opting for the former.
Brianna pushes Lon backward, away from Johnny, freeing him from the wall. “What is the matter with you?” she challenges.
“Me?” Lon slaps his chest with his hand. He winces, realizing he opted for the same one he rammed through the wall. “What’s the matter with you?” he pleads, his protective nature growing offended. “Running off with this guy at all hours of the night. Chopping your hair off. Pushing me away. What the hell’s going on, Brie?” His arms flail about with his onslaught of concerns. “You like this guy that much? Is there something going on you want to tell me?”
“There’s nothing going on,” she snaps, “we’re just friends.” Brianna aligns herself across the room with Johnny. “And I’ll do whatever I want to my hair.” She strokes her hand through the auburn locks, growing self-conscious of Lon’s opinion. “Are you okay?” She turns to Johnny.
He throws his hands up in the air, moving away from her. “I’m great,
friend,”
he enunciates, disappointed by her illustration.
“What happened to your face?” Lon interrogates Johnny.
“His father…” Brianna starts.
“It’s nothing, man,” Johnny forcefully interrupts her. “Got into a fight, that’s all.”
“Looks to me like you finally got what’s coming to you,” Lon pipes, assured Johnny provoked and deserved whatever beating he took.
“Lon,” Brianna exhausts, wishing him mute, knowing even he would feel bad for Johnny if he knew the truth.
Johnny shakes his head, that cocky smirk forming, his arms extending to his sides, an open invitation. “Anytime you wanna try and give me what’s coming to me, just track down your girl here.” He points in Brianna’s direction. “She’ll know where to find me.” He winks at Lon.
Fully provoked, Lon wastes no time in briskly threatening Johnny’s personal space yet again.
“Stop it, you two!” Brianna forces herself between them, her arms outstretched.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Johnny says, “I’m leaving.” He opens the door, making a point of turning back to Brianna. His eyes purposely intrigued and focused on her, blatantly ignoring Lon’s presence, he continues, “Don’t be a stranger,
rich girl.”
“Johnny,” Brianna calls after him, still concerned with his living conditions. She watches him peel out of the driveway on his motorcycle, surely disturbing the neighbors.
Closing the door, she turns to find Lon looking at her expectantly, his arms crossed over his ever-expanding chest. “What?” she challenges, her hands on her hips.
“Are you two fooling around?”
She rolls her eyes.
“I’m serious, Brie. Are you? All you have to do is tell me. I’ll walk out that door right now.” His heart pumps ferociously on the inside, preparing for disappointment as he maintains a composed exterior.
“No. We are not
fooling around,”
she says. “But, I should tell you that I kissed him. Or, he kissed me.” She questions the role of aggressor, noting that she did participate and didn’t exactly push him away.
Lon spins around, away from her, that ferocious heart of his feeling as though it may crumble.
“Lon,” she whispers, walking up behind him. “I didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to. It just happened.”
“What’s to stop it from happening again?” he questions, still turned away from her, biting down on the inside of his cheek to refrain from overreacting.
“I don’t know,” she sighs. “It’s all so confusing.” She replays the day’s events, and how the kiss even came to be. “I guess I just feel sorry for the guy.”
Lon turns, facing her. “You kissed him because you feel sorry for him?” He wrings his hands around the back of his neck, looking up at the ceiling. “Come on, Brie. I know you like the guy. He’s
exciting
and
challenging,
remember?” he uses her adjectives, finally resting his vulnerable steel blues on her.
She looks down at her fidgeting hands. “Maybe I can relate to him right now, you know. His life. It’s kind of upside down…like mine.”
“Well, some people thrive on drama. Maybe his life is upside down because he likes it that way. He’s a troublemaker, Brie.”
“You don’t even know him, Lon.”
“I believe I’ve listened to you defend him long enough,” he says, walking by her toward the front door.
“Lon. His father is abusive,” she divulges, causing him to stop. “All of those bruises. His father did that to him.”
“You sure?” he speculates. “Or is that just his way of gaining your sympathy?”
“I saw it, with my own two eyes.” Her hands slap loudly over her forehead, still trying to digest the scene at Johnny’s father’s house. “Today. When I took his bike back to him.” Her arms fall to her sides, her expression helpless. “His father was drunk, and crazy. He just kept pounding him, Lon.”
“What?” He makes quick work of walking back to her, his eyes inspecting her face and frame. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”