Right now
All I want to do
Is get real
If that's alright with you
Right now
All I want to do
Somehow
be myself with you.(1)
"Brad. Come here."
Setting down the last of the freshly-washed dishes on the counter-top, Brad moved over to stand beside Chris, who nodded meaningfully in the direction of the living room. As he looked in the direction she motioned, he saw what had caused her to call softly out to him.
Slumped down on the couch, his arms hanging lifeless at his side, Kevin was snoring softly. His head turned towards the television, he seemed to be watching the program which still played. A thin trail of spittle hung from the left side of his open mouth.
"He looks so... content. Where are you going ?"
Brad stopped in mid-stride, turning back to look at Chris, "We can't just leave him there. He should be in bed."
"He'll be alright."
"But we might disturb him..."
"We don't have to watch tv." she suggested. "We can go to your room. You can show me your books."
Brad hesitated, looking from Chris to Kevin, then back to Chris, before nodding. "Just let me turn off the tv, first."
As he crossed the room to where Bugs Bunny was once more outwitting Marvin the Martian, Chris excused herself to go to the bathroom, leaving him momentarily alone with his younger brother. In the sudden silence which filled the room as the picture faded to black, Kevin moaned contentedly in his sleep, at the same time raising one arm slightly, as if starting to reach for something only he could see.
A smile in his eyes, Brad found himself drawn to his brother, the need to wipe away the spittle hanging from the corner of his mouth outweighing the possibility of waking him from his dream. Removing a tissue from his pants pocket, he reached out and gently brushed Kevin's chin clean.
"Brad ?" Chris called softly from the hallway. "Are you coming ?"
"In a second."
Placing the tissue back in his pocket, he leaned down and placed a quick kiss on Kevin's forehead.
"Pleasant dreams, Kev..."
Returning the book to its place on the shelf, Brad jerked back unconsciously when he turned to face Chris; he had not heard her rise from the bed.
"I'm sorry..." he began to apologize, but she cut him off by moving even closer, her lips rising to meet his. Startled - pleasantly so - his eyes remained open as their lips touched, and he found himself gazing into hers.
For a moment they stood transfixed in the centre of the bedroom, greyish-green eyes looking into dark brown, hearts beating quickly in time with each other, lips joined... just the feel of her mouth on his caused a burning flush to race through Brad's body.
Then she broke the contact.
"Wow..."
She again cut him off with a kiss - her lips tasted of apples and roses - but only a quick one, only long enough to get her meaning across: "don't talk."
Purposefully, she took one step toward the bed and turned her back to him, at the same time pulling her long brown ponytail away from her neck.
"I need your help."
Stepping closer, he reached for the hook and zipper at the top of her dress with trembling hands.
"Chris. I..."
Without turning to look at him, she made a ssshhhhing sound before going on, a comforting smile plainly evident in her voice. "Unhook me."
Doing as she said - unhooking the dress and then gently undoing the tiny zipper - it was almost painful the urge he had to bend his face to her skin and gently kiss the whiteness of her back, to tenderly caress her smooth shoulders with the lightest of touches...
He stopped when the zipper reached the small of her delicate back - the absence of a bra strap did not go unnoticed - and simply stood there, transfixed by the vision standing before him. In all of the time they had been together, he had never imagined this moment - he had never even considered that their relationship might possibly reach this level.
But now...
The touch of one of her hands on his own broke him from his reverie.
"Chris..."
"Don't..."
The movement of her arm had caused the left side of her dress to slip from her shoulder, revealing more of the milky whiteness of her skin. Strengthened by something in the tone of her voice - that one word had the power to brush away all of his fears and hesitation - he lowered his face to her flesh, brushing his lips ever so gently and lovingly against her skin.
"Yes..." she purred in satisfaction.
While he continued to caress her shoulder and neck with his mouth, her hands moved to the back of her dress, pulling it away from her lithesome form and allowing it to drop unheeded to the floor, leaving her almost fully exposed to her lover.
Instinctively, Brad let one arm wrap around her petite frame, his hand coming to rest against her warm stomach, while his other moved to touch the flesh of her calve with the tips of his fingers.
The heat emanating from her body brought him fully back to his senses.
Realizing what was about to transpire, he raised his lips from where they had been touching her neck, and let his hands drop back to his side.
"I'm sorry..."
Patiently, Chris turned to face him; at the same time, his gaze dropped to the carpeted floor, followed by his head.
"Brad. Look at me."
When his only reply was a soft shake of his head, she reached out and gently took hold of his hands in hers.
"What's wrong ?"
"I..." he started to stammer nervously.
"Look at me."
Still holding his hand in hers, she raised the pair to the underside of his chin, forcing him to raise his head; his eyes remained downcast.
"Look at me."
Nervously - shyly - he raised his eyes from the floor, his glance taking in her smooth feet, the curvature of her legs, the whiteness of her cotton panties and the tautness of her stomach, her young breasts, the delicate play of her neck... The understanding in her gaze caught him by surprise.
"It's okay," she whispered. "There's a first time for everyone."
Then everything was alright as she pulled him down on to the bed...
He didn't know what it was that caused him to open his eyes.
In the dark of his bedroom - the only light was the faint glow coming under the crack of the door - everything was silent.
From beyond the closed door could be heard an equal silence - not surprising, considering that his room was at the far end of the house from the living room, the area where he spent the most time.
Turning his head to the left, he could just make out the clock through sleep-blurred eyes: 3:23 AM.
Even though his world was silent, something did not seem quite right.
The carpeted floor of the bedroom did little to warm his feet as he swung them out of bed.
Cautiously, he slipped on his robe and made his way into the hall.
From the front half of the house could be seen the glow of the light in the living room, a light which seemed to cast its dancing reflection on the walls with a vengeance.
He was halfway there when his nose caught the first traces of smoke.
"Dad ?" he called out softly.
But there was no answer.
There never was. Not anymore. Not since...
Banishing the memory away with a shake of his head, he continued to make his way down the hall.
Just as he reached the archway leading into the living room. he could make out the first of the smoke in the air.
Looking within, he saw all as it had been before he had gone to bed, with two exceptions: the program on the television had long since given way to white snow, and the carpet and one edge of the chair in which his father sat were on fire.
He opened his mouth to call out to his father - to warn him of the danger - but then he stopped.
The flames were beginning to spread along the carpet, and the arm's chair would soon be gone.
His father snored on, unaware, his body twisted to one side, just barely out of reach of the fiery fingers.
He did not have to see the cigarette butt on the carpet - most likely long since burnt away - to imagine it falling from his father's fingers as he had curled up on the far side of the chair.
At his father's feet sat an empty bottle of Johnny Walker Red.
Again he opened his mouth to call out - there was still time to save him - and again he stopped, all of the memories of the last years of his life flooding back in one rush.
Turning his back on the tableau, he made his way back down the hall.
To his brother's room.
"Kev, you have to get up !"
"Brad ?" his brother sleepily asked. "'should be 'sleep."
Ignoring the protests which ensued, he quickly gathered up his younger brother in his arms, giving no explanation as to the why.
"Brad ?"
The curiosity in his voice had changed; now it was tinged with fright.
"It's okay, Kev." Positioning himself between his brother and the living room so that he would be spared the vision within, he hurried toward the front door. "It's going to be okay."
The fresh air from the clear night was a blessed relief when the door opened.
He ignored the pain in his barefeet as he made his way up the rough gravel path to the sidewalk.
Clutching his brother close, he stood watching the house.
It was not until the anguished cry rose from within the flaming pyre that he began to scream for help.
"Brad ! Wake up !"
His lids flashed open at the sound of his name, and his eyes quickly scanned the darkened room as he sat up, looking for the flames.
"It's okay, Brad. It was just a dream."
The soft touch of her hand on his shoulder caused him to start violently; he instinctively moved his body forward to break free of the grip.
"Just a dream..."
"Chris ?"
Realizing where he was - safe in the apartment he shared with Kevin - the tension eased from his features, and he slowly leaned back against his pillow; his eyes closed momentarily, but there was still visible in the set of his jaw some resemblance of the earlier anxiety.
He remained in that position for a few minutes, even after Chris had snuggled in close against his body, her head resting against his chest. In his mind he replayed the images of the dream - they seemed somehow safer, though no less real or less vivid, as he looked back on them.
"Chris ?"
"Hmmm..." she hummed sleepily in reply.
"I have to..." he paused, looking for the words. "There's something you should know. About Kevin and me. And our father. Something I've never told to anyone."
Despite his words, there was hesitation plainly evident in the look Brad gave to her.
"Take your time," she lightly kissed his chest - a soft touch to let him know that whatever it was, she was there for him. "Whenever you're ready is okay with me."
He nodded his thanks and began to stroke her long hair as he gathered his thoughts, trying to decide how to explain what he had to explain.
Almost five minutes passed before he finally started, his tone seemingly distant, as if trying to detach himself from the words.
"After Mom died, it was just the three of us: me, Kevin and Dad.
"Everything seemed fine, for the two or three years, at least as far as I can remember. I mean, it was obvious that Dad had taken her death quite hard, but he tried not to let it show; he had the two of us to raise - a six year old and an infant - and there was only him...
"But then Kevin's... problem... became more apparent.
"We knew that he wasn't like other kids - even then you could tell just by looking in his eyes that he was... slower - but it wasn't until he began to walk that it became noticeable. There was no way either of us could mistake the way he stumbled around, or the way he held himself when he stood still.
"And then when he started to speak...
"We couldn't ignore the fact that Kevin was... different."
Wrapped in the reality of his memories, he barely noticed the fresh touch of Chris' hand as she placed it comfortingly on his shoulder.
"That's when Dad started to change. Really change.
"At first, he was late coming home from work: an hour, then two, then four. It didn't take long to figure out that he was stopping off at a bar on the way home - I may only have been eight or nine by that time, but I knew the smell of whiskey on his breathe.
"Then there was his temper...
"'Retard' and 'stupid,' he would mutter under his breathe - for the first while, anyway. But he quickly started to yell the words out, whenever Kevin would do something that irritated him.
"Kevin was only four. Just a kid. But our father didn't seem to care. He had no patience with Kevin...
"I think I was fourteen when he first struck him.
"By this time, we were living in a small, run-down house - Dad had long since lost his accounting job, and had been forced to take work as a night watchman. I had lost track of time, and was late coming home from school. I don't know where Dad was - probably in the shower getting ready for work - when Kevin tried to use the toaster.
"When he pushed the lever down, he must have pushed too hard or something, because it got stuck. There was still the smell of smoke in the kitchen when I got home, even though the windows had been opened. No one answered me when I called out, so I assumed that Dad had left already.
"I found Kevin in the corner of his bedroom, crying, the imprint of Dad's left hand still outlined in red on the side of his face.
"He never told me what happened, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out.
"That was the last time I was ever late coming home from anywhere."
Forced to face his memories - to articulate them in such a straight-forward manner - Brad fell silent to ponder the next set. Chris remained as she was, one hand on his shoulder, looking up at his shadowed features with sadness in her moist eyes.
"Even though I tried my hardest never to leave the two of them alone, there were still those frightening moments when I'd enter the house and hear Kevin in his bedroom; those times when the bruises would last for days..."
"You don't have to go on," Chris whispered softly when Brad again paused. "I'll understand."
"No," he went on after a moment. "I have to finish it. You have to know.
"The fire happened two years later.
"It was shortly after three in the morning when I woke up - 3:23, to be exact. I'll always remember the time. The clock was one of the first things I saw when I woke up.
"I knew something wasn't quite right. Everything was too quiet. So I got out of bed and walked down the hall to the living room, where there was a light. Looking in, I saw... I saw... Dad... sleeping in his chair, an empty bottle of Johnny Walker Red on the floor at his feet. And the room was on fire...
"I could have woke him up," Brad went on quickly, as if somehow forcing the words out as fast as possible would make the telling that much easier. Still, the emotion was plain in his voice, even if his features were mostly hidden in the dark. "The chair was on fire, but it hadn't reached him yet. There was time. I wanted to cry out to him - I tried to call out - but I couldn't.
"Seeing him there, lit by the flames, every bad thing he had ever done to Kevin came back to me in a rush: the yelling, the beatings...
"As I stood there I realized for the first time that it would never stop. I knew that he blamed Kevin for Mom's death, and that he always would. That the beatings would continue, and probably get worse.
"There would be no end.
"Not until one of them died."
The silence of the night filled the room while he prepared to face the worst, to admit the truth of that night; their breathing and their hearts - gently beating in time - were the only sounds to disturb the quiet.
"So I let him die.
"I turned my back, grabbed Kevin from his bed and escaped into the night..."
There was no more he could say: the tears he had been holding back broke through at last, streaming down his cheeks in thick rivulets.
With his free hand he covered his mouth - tried to muffle the cries - while turning his face away from Chris in shame at his deeds.
For a time - ten, fifteen, twenty minutes ? - she did not speak, did not comment on his admission. While his body was silently overcome with cries of anguish, she merely remained where she was, one hand on his shoulder, her head resting on his chest.
She had known he had harboured some secret from her, but she had never imagined... by his own admission, he had killed a man.
No. Not killed him.
He had let him die.
But was there a difference ? His father was still dead because of his inaction. Did he deserve to die because he had beaten Kevin ? Was that a good enough reason ?
But then again, by that self-same argument, did he deserve to live ? Wasn't the fact that he had beaten Kevin reason enough ?
"Brad," she spoke his name tentatively. "I... I don't know what to say."
His sobbing had begun to trail off at the sound of his name - though his body continued to shake from the force of his emotions - until at last he had quietened enough to hear her words. "I don't know what you want me to say..."
"You don't have to say anything..."
"But, " she cut him off, "I can empathize. I know what you must have been feeling - I've seen the same thing happen too many times with those I work with not to have come in contact with your pain before. And I can understand your actions.
"But I don't know if it was right or not. To allow someone else to die...
"I can't answer that question."
He nodded his head in understanding as he used his free hand to wipe at the corners of his eyes.
"But that doesn't change who you are. You did what you did for what you thought were the right reasons. And maybe they were. I don't know. But I've seen you with Kevin - I know how much you love him, and he you. If you hadn't done what you did, think of what his life would be like. You've made his life - and yours - better. You've given the two of you a chance you might never have had."
Removing her hand from his shoulder, she used it to turn his face back to her, at the same time raising herself so she could look him in the eye.
"And it doesn't change the way I feel about you, except maybe for the better. I love you. There, I've said it. I love you."
Her own admission caught him off-guard. He had guessed that was the case, especially after what had just transpired between the two of them. But to hear her actually say it was something different altogether. And for her to say it after everything he had told her...
He had no more time for thought, as she brought her lips to his, and once more everything was alright.
