Page 29 of All My Firsts

“Xander,” I interrupted him, “I’m glad you told me that.” I turned and pressed my head into the couch cushion, too shy to look at him, knowing what I was about to declare. My beet-red face on full display, even in profile, I spoke into the couch as I continued. “I have feelings for you, too. But it scares me, because you’re right – it’s not the right time. If you only knew what was going on in my life, you’dunderstand.”

His hand moved up to rub my calf, to reassure me. “It’s OK. I’m more than OK with us being friends. Let’s start there.”

It wasn’t what I really wanted.

But what I really wanted couldn’t happen. There were too many dark secrets, ones I wasn’t willing to share yet. And the one who caused them, he would not go away without a fight, it seemed. Neither he nor the friend of hiswatching me.

“But I’d still like to tell you, if you’re up for it. I think it could help,”he offered.

“Yeah, as long as you’re willing to share it, I want to hear it. And yeah, I want us to be friends. I’d love that, too.” I smiled at him, a genuine smile, and hesmiled back.

It was such a simple moment, but one that held such gravity.

Because there was now trust between us, something I’ve never truly had with another person, ever. Our pasts,our secrets.

And I think he felt it, too.

He took a few moments, seeming to prepare himself, or maybe to allow me to prepare myself, I wasn’t sure. I could sense his hesitation, him deciding if continuing was a good idea. But eventually, the words started coming.

“I’m going to start with the end of my story for you so you’ll understand that I’m OK.” Another pause, our eyes connecting, his hand reaching out and finding mine, our fingers entwined. I had to look at our hands, the moment suddenly very intense. “My dad’s in jail, so I need you to understand everything I’m going to tell you resulted in him being punished the right way, OK?”

My breath hitched the moment he said this, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to continue. I yanked my hand from his and pulled my legs under my chin. I felt myself curling inward, my body beginningto tremble.

“Lanie, look at me. I’m right here, and I’m safe. Everything happened years ago. We made it through, and I’m OK.” He reached out for me, trying to pry my hands from their iron grip on my legs. “How about the abridged version, noteverything?”

He allowed me a minute. We both just sat there, his hands on mine, frozen. Eventually, I relented, allowing him to bring me to his lap again. He held me close, holding my head to his shoulder. “I’m right here. I’m OK, and so are you. You hearme, right?”

I nodded. “I hear you,” I whispered in his ear. “But I don’t want to even imagine your father doing unimaginable things to you. At least the monster in my life is not someone related to me. I couldn’t imagine if it were.I’m sorry.”

I looked up. I needed to see him. He looked determined, not wavering in his resolve to continue ifI was ready.

“Hey, no apologies, and I really just need to know you’re OK with me telling you more.”

It was a simple touch of his fingers to my chin, lifting my face to see for himself how I was. But it felt as though his whole body had touched mine, the warmth in his one fingertip spreading throughout me. Nothing was abrupt or harsh with him, so unlike what I was used to. He continued to gently tip my face up toward his, waiting.

“I’m good. I want you to tell me. I want to know how you got through this.” My eyes pleaded with his, and he saw something that told him I was OK. I felt a strong desire to hear this, a compulsion to know his story, howhe survived.

I heard the change in his breathing, felt it even up against his chest. He was nervous. He took another swig of beer and clearedhis throat.

“One of the things that probably made it a bit easier for me was I had my older brother during all of it. We were both going through it together. My dad was abusing both of us, including my mom. Thankfully, if there is anything to be thankful about, all he did was hit us, ya know, no other type of abuse. He kept it strictly to beating us up and fucking with our heads.” He smirked a bit after saying this, acknowledging the irony ofhis comment.

“I don’t know how long it had been going on with my mom before it started with us, but he started beating on me and Bryce, that’s my brother, when I was six and he was ten. Before that, things seemed kind of normal. He was never the kind of dad who hugged a lot or anything. He did yell, but he didn’t hit before that. It was little things at first. He would slap me or Bryce across the face if we talked back to him or Mom, but then he would apologize. Our mom, she would try to keep us safe from him the best she could, but there was nowhere she could go. There was no money unless we stayed with him. I guess, looking back, she should’ve taken us to a shelter with her, but I think it’s better how things worked outin the end.”

His words paused, but his hand did not. The circles Xander rubbed on my back made me feel so comfortable with him that I mindlessly found myself doing the same on his stomach. But I think it was helping him in some way, too. He let out a soft sigh beforecontinuing.

“As you can imagine, the beatings got worse as we got older and bigger. It was as if he had to keep proving he could always beat us, no matter how much we grew up. Bryce and I would hear our parents fighting at night, and then he’d beat up our mom. Eventually, it got to be too much. By the time I was thirteen and Bryce was seventeen, we were pretty big guys already. We had already had several trips to the ER because of him, all of them blamed on fights between brothers. But then we decided we’dhad enough.”

Xander paused with his story again, although this time he seemed to have to gather the strength to continue. My hand stilled on his stomach as he sat there, while his hand moved up to my head, fingers running through my hair. He pulled my head closer to his, and I could feel his lips putting a gentle kiss on the top. He took a deep, cleansing breath beforecontinuing.

“We knew that if we didn’t fight back against him, and soon, one of us would not survive him. The cops were at our house all the time, got called by the neighbors, but my mom was always too afraid to press charges. We decided we would have to come up with a way to do it without her. We learned my brother, as a seventeen-year-old, had some rights now, so we hoped we could file the charges against him ourselves the next time we had to. Like clockwork, the following day, the beatings started. He started with me, but I was OK with that. Better me than my mom.”

I could feel the anxiety building in him, the muscles under my cheek tensing up and his legs tapping on the floor.

“Xander,” I whispered, interrupting his story. “This seems like it’s too hard foryouright now. You don’t have to keep doing this.” Hearing what he went through as a child was horrific. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear the whole story anymore.

I tried to stop them, but the tears welled up and spilled over, streaming onto his arm.

“Shit, don’t cry. See, you’re not ready to hear this. I don’t want to make you upset.” He twisted me to face him, looking torn as towhat to do.

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