Vivian's List (Vol. 1) (3 page)

A moment passed, and then another, and still she said nothing.

“Trust your instincts that you always relied on before. You know how Brody treats you is fucked. He manipulates you by making you doubt yourself. Do not believe his lies. You know the truth. Deep down, you know you
are
being abused. There is no question about that.”

She
began to worry her lower lip between her teeth and my gaze dropped to her mouth, taking in the gentle curve of her lips. Lush, moist, and so incredibly full.

I frowned, irritated that I found the sight
so alluring. “You do not have to take his bullshit. You deserve to be treated with respect, Viv. You deserve better.”

As the
faint moonlight played across her features, I could see the struggles reflected on her face. Something in my heart softened for I understood, perhaps too well. I’d seen the same struggles my own mom had battled.

W
hen finally she spoke, I heard the weariness in her voice. “Maybe I should try to understand him … you know, put myself in his shoes.”

“
Vivian,” I implored. “There is no justification for being yelled at. None. Absolutely none. Don’t try to understand Brody because you will
never
understand him. You’ll drive yourself insane trying to understand him. Trust me, most abusers are irrational. You think Brody is rational? Let me tell you, he’s not. You think you can make Brody understand you? Wake up!” I snapped my fingers. “He’s not going to.”

There was a long pause.
It seemed to go on for eternity.

I heard her draw in a
deep breath. “So how long did your mom stay with your dad?”

“Too long,
” I said quietly.

The look she gave me was long and considering
. “Is that why you spent so much time at my house?”

I shrugged. “
I guess you could say that. Living with my dad … it was just as bad as living with an alcoholic or a physically abusive person. I couldn’t stand it … watching my mom constantly shredded to pieces by all the criticizing, the belittling, the yelling.”

She tilted her head to the side
and studied me, as if I were some complicated mystery she must solve. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about it?”

“I did.
” I gave a tired laugh. “I told my whole family—my grandmother, my aunts, and uncles, but they just brushed it off. Mostly, they didn’t believe me since Mom bore no visible scars. It almost seemed trivial to them whenever I’d brought it up.” My lips twisted in bitter amusement. “Like it didn’t even matter.”

“I’m sorry.”
Her voice came out in a whisper. “I didn’t know.”

There was another long pause.

Viv watched me closely and our eyes lingered on each other for a moment before I looked away. As my gaze slid down to my cigarette, I was surprised to see that it had burned away without me even noticing. I lit another and took a long drag. “To me, Mom was a battered woman, just as if she’d been beaten. Dad—he killed her spirit. Yes, there were no visible scars, but all his abuse scarred her on the inside. Eroded her self-esteem. It was so gradual I think Mom didn’t even realize it. Every time he verbally abused her, Mom’s spirit—it died a little. It paralyzed her. She became a prison of his demented mind. After a while, I think she’d pretty much forgot what a healthy, normal relationship was like.”

A beat passed, then another.
“Does she know now?”

“Yeah.” I nodded,
and even managed to smile a little. “She’s got a good man in her life at the moment.”

Her brows lifted in surprise.
“Remarried?”

“Yep.
” I nodded again. “They live in Australia. Mom moved back to Melbourne after the divorce and she met Paul a year later.”

“What about your dad?
” she asked. “Is he remarried, too?”

“Don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Don’t care. I’m just glad Mom is out
of his life. It wasn’t easy for her. When she left my dad, she left with almost nothing. But she’s in a much better place now.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “It took years … many long years, but I was finally able to convince her that she wasn’t loved, only controlled.”

“I see …”
Vivian broke off. She said nothing for a long moment, lapsing back into her own thoughts. “I’m glad you looked out for your mom,” she said at last. “I remember you used to look out for me, too. Do you remember Angela Lowry?”

I gave a wry smile.
“Are you referring to The Jolly Green Giant?”

“Yes.” Vivian
burst out laughing. “
Her
. She was always so mean to me. And she was so miserable. Never skipped a day in her life. I’m pretty sure she’s just as miserable today. Little girls who don’t skip in their childhood grow up to be miserable cows.”

“Keen observation.
” My lips quirked and I suppressed a grin. “And what’s Angela Lowry doing these days?”

Without missing a beat, she said,
“Bagging my groceries at Safeway.”

I studied her with a glint of amusement.
“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Vivian
stood there grinning, taking enormous pleasure in Angela’s misfortune. “Serves her right for being such a big bully.”

I barked out a laugh.

Vivian was only in third grade when, Angela, a fifth grader at the time, and much bigger than Vivian, started picking on her. One day, Vivian came running back home in tears because Angela had pushed her around and slashed her Hello Kitty backpack.

I
’d happened to be hanging out in the front yard, popping wheelies on my BMX while Julian was inside the house grabbing a drink. When I’d heard what had happened, I immediately sped off on my bike, tracked Angela down, and had some words with her. 

“
Did Angela ever bother you again?” I asked.

Viv
ian squinted up at me, her mouth set into a firm line. “Come to think of it, no one on the street ever bothered me again. Just curious …” She frowned at me as if trying to work out a puzzle. “What did you do to her? Even back then she was so much bigger and taller than you.”

I gave a short shrug. “I didn’t do anything to her. I
simply had a little chat with her.”

“W
ell.” Vivian looked at me expectantly. “What exactly did you say to her?”

I flicked my cigarette.
“I told her that if she ever messed with you again, my pastor would pay her a visit.”

“Oh, Liam!” Vivian
shook her head, bubbling with laughter. “You never even went to church.”

“True.
” I stubbed out the remainder of my cigarette. “But that sure scared her off. That and I preached about hell and eternal damnation.”

“
For real?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Uh-huh.
” I couldn’t hold back the smug smile that crept across my face. “I told her she was going to burn in the fires of hell.”

“Wait
, wait.” Vivian waved her arms in excitement. “Start at the beginning and tell me
word
for
word
exactly what you said to her.”

“Hmm,” I pondered. “It’s been years, but I remember saying something along the lines
of: When you go to hell, the darkness is so terrifying it engulfs you. You feel something moving in the darkness … you think it is the nest of maggots in your rotting corpse. But it is not. Something horrible is happening. Terror and fear beyond anything you could imagine surrounds you.

“
No! This can’t be happening!” you scream. It is the smell that reaches you first. Your nostrils fill with the stench of burning souls. Your face scorches from the boiling heat. Flames are now blazing out from your eyes, your nostrils, your ears, your mouth, your butt hole—flames are roaring out of every orifice. As the fire licks your body, your raw flesh and your guts slowly melt into your bones, and you convulse from the excruciating pain.

“Why
won’t I die?” You rear up, roaring with pain, longing to flee the carnage. You begin weeping and thrashing about. “When will this pain ever stop?” But you know it will never
ever
stop …”

I paused and cleared my throat
so I no longer sounded like Darth Vader. “Um, yeah … as much as I can recall, my talk with Angela went something like that,” I finished, wearing a satisfied smirk on my face.

Vivian laughed
again, melting the ice I wanted to keep around my heart. “Well, thank you.” She reached out and patted my arm affectionately. “Thanks for protecting me from The Jolly Green Giant. But you don’t need to protect me anymore. I’m a big girl now, Liam.”

At her words,
I remembered the days when Viv was little enough to perch on my shoulders as Julian chased us around the backyard in a game of What’s the Time Mr. Wolf (Julian always ended up being the wolf, and when he yelled “Dinner time” I’d take off running at a fast clip with little Viv clinging onto my back like a second skin).

Now I found myself wishing I could carry her away from the
real
wolf—the wolf disguised as her boyfriend.

I sighed deeply.
Viv was right, though. She was no longer that little girl and I could no longer just whisk her away as I pleased. But I could still look out for her.

I couldn’t protect my mom from my dad. But I could protect
Viv.

I
had
to. The thought of adding that failure to my list was almost unbearable.

“
Viv.” I waited until her eyes met mine. “I realize you’re a big girl now.” Just saying those words aloud, it made something in my heart soften. “A grown woman. But big girl or not, you
are
being abused. And you need to
know
that you’re being abused. Recognize it for what it is. Not knowing you’re abused is bad. But refusing to know it? Refusing to recognize it? That’s far worse. Do you hear what I’m trying to say?” When she looked down, I lifted her chin so she had no choice but to face me. “Do you hear me, Viv?”

“I do.” Her w
ords were couched in a whisper and I could tell misgivings still warred inside her.

“
Then stand up to Brody. And stand up for yourself, Viv. If you don’t stand up for yourself, you’ll fall for anything.”

At last s
he exhaled a quiet, steady breath. “I know. I just need some time to think things over. You know, sort out my feelings. Sort out my head.”

I wasn’t
so sure if I believed her, but I chose not to push the subject any further.

I
nstead, I tousled her hair and clasped her in a brotherly embrace. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here for you, okay?”

“Okay,” s
he murmured, hugging me back so hard I thought I might not live to see tomorrow.

Smiling,
I dropped a feathered kiss on her forehead.

Like the hug, i
t was a brotherly kiss. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“
Night, Liam,” she said, her voice coming out small and tired.

“
Good night.” I stood watching her as she shifted away from me.

A
t the doorway, she paused and cast a look over her shoulder. “When will you be going back to Iraq?”

“In a week,
” I answered.

“I see,” she said quietly. There was a pause until she added, “Do you want to? Go back there, I mean?”

I nodded. “I do.”

“Why?” she ask
ed. “Why do you want to go back?”

It
sounded like a simple question, but to me, it was a loaded one.

Why d
id I want to go back?

Her question
hung thick in the air like battle fumes.

Why would
anyone
want to go back to a war without any clear demarcations of a battlefield? The I.E.D.s, the harsh desert environment, the shitty food, sand in every crevice, seeing the fear and desperation in the faces of the Iraqi civilians, witnessing my own friends and soldiers getting blown into smithereens.

Why?
Why would I want to go back there and risk my life in a war that has no real objective? A war, with its ongoing shifting battle lines, that seemed to lead to more and more destruction and ruin?

Because I would hate myself if I
didn’t.

My men were back there
. The infantrymen in my platoon—my brothers-in-arms. And we protected one another. In the army all you’ve got is your squad and your comrades and you accomplish everything together.

It’s the kind of fraternal bond that Ho
llywood tends to overplay, but to me it was something real. Something important.

And I believed, despite the faltering support for the war, despite the fucked up politics, I believed we were making a difference over there.