Maisey woke up feeling woozy and wobbly but alert. Brett was still breathing deeply next to her in the bed--she couldn't remember much about the night after the fourth or fifth shot, just that Jason was pouring and she was drinking. She carefully went to the kitchen for a glass of water and then went to sit in the big comfy chair in their shared room. It had been positioned so that she could look out the window when she was sitting in it and was pleased that she could still see the moon high in the sky.
She remembered other nights she'd sat awake staring at the moon: most were unpleasant. She had her knees pulled up to her chin and was staring so intently she didn't notice Brett move until a blanket dropped around her shoulders and then sat back on the bed not wanting to break the silence. He wanted to know what had upset her so much; he knew she didn't drink, so whatever it was had to be bad.
"I used to stare out the window after he went out drinking," she did softly, "I'd be locked in my room and terrified that he might come home and... want me," there was pain the words, "One time I was asleep when he came in and he slammed my head against the wall and dragged me down the stairs to where Jesse was waiting. Brothers share everything, he told me, and filmed while Jesse did the most horrible things to me. Funny how I'd forgotten about the videos until now. I suppose I'll have to remember to tell Terri-Lee." her voice was tired, "I don't think there was a day I was left alone after that first time--even when Luke would travel Jesse would come over."
"The belt was his favorite weapon," she mused, "I suppose he got that from Donovan. I lost count of how often they choked me until I passed out or beat me with a doubled over belt. Luke would watch over camera if he wasn't home and then they'd make me watch as he had sex with whomever he had at the hotel with him. Jesse would touch me and whisper about how I should feel special that my husband wanted me to watch him with others and share me with his family. I would stand under the shower head for hours scrubbing the stench off me every time."
Brett continued to listen to the monologue, "I thought it was over, that Luke was in jail, we were divorced..." she trailed off, "I never imagined they would go so far to find me and hurt me. Terri-Lee said that Bandit being hurt by Jesse helps our case but I imagine finding the videos would even more so. She's going to have to get a warrant and search his house. His mother and sister could get implicated too because of the videos. I just want it all to end." She sighed, fighting the tears, "I'm sorry about tonight, I just needed to be numb. It didn't work though. Alcohol really is disgusting." She watched the moon and stars and went silent. Her eyes felt heavy but more from sorrow than tiredness, "Some times I wish you hadn't found me that night."
Brett knelt beside her on the area carpet they'd bought together, "Don't say that," he whispered, "I know it hurts too much right now but you're a really special woman Maisey." he stopped himself from telling her he loved her. She laid a hand on his cheek and he wondered if she even realized how sensual her thumb felt rubbing his cheek and then she was staring at his mouth, her thumb teasing it. "I need you in my life," he whispered.
Maisey's blue eyes shone with intensity unlike any he'd seen before, then she glared and turned away, sitting back up on her chair and no longer looking at him. He didn't understand the glare and stayed where he was, waiting. "I'm not going to run away," she sighed, "I can't be anything to anyone, not now, maybe not ever," her tone was hard.
Brett thought to defend himself, to argue with her, but thought better of it, "as long as you're safe," he told her, "that's all that matters."
Maisey fought herself. She wanted to care about Brett, she wanted to snuggle back into his arms and just forget about Luke and Jesse and Donovan, but she couldn't. She was broken. He deserved more. He deserved someone better. She was already regretting the shared bedroom, especially since Bandit's family wouldn't be coming to stay with them. She waited until she could hear his breathing settle into a rhythmic pattern before she go up and went into her old room. Laying on the bed she let herself cry into the pillow for everything she'd lost and would never have, exhaustion took her and she fell asleep.
Brett could hear her crying in the other room but forced himself to stay where he was. She was pushing him away, telling him she needed space and he would give her that space, knowing that if she really wanted him to be there for her she would let him. He could hear her thrashing on the bed and crying out after she fell asleep, Henry whined and paced but Brett still left her alone. He covered his head with a pillow, tried listening to music through headphones and eventually found himself standing in the doorway watching her. He ached to pull her to him and sooth her fears. He ached to make the memories go away and for her to be able to smile and laugh. He tried to encourage Henry up on the bed next to her, but he wouldn't go. Brett knew it was because Maisey had trained him to stay down. It was a horrible thing watching her thrash, he forced himself to leave the room and went to clean the kitchen instead.
It was only one in the morning.
When she screamed out like someone was strangling her he dropped the cloth in the sink and raced into her room. She was upright on the bed, her breathing erratic, her blue eyes haunted, "He was here," she sobbed, "I thought he was here." She clutched her hands to him. He wrapped her in his arms the way he had wanted to hours earlier and she sobbed into his shirt.
"Shhh," he soothed, putting his fingers through her hair, "I've got you, I've been here all night, you're safe now."
Maisey's panic subsided very slowly, Brett worried he'd need to call Andy but then she shoved at him and rushed to the bathroom. He tried not to laugh at the sound of her vomiting as he went to their shared bathroom to get a clean washcloth and a stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water. He could hear her no matter where he went. He wondered if she'd ever had a drink before and doubted she ever would again and chuckled.
Her face was sticky with sweat from the effort it took to throw up, Brett handed her a warm, wet cloth and wiped her face before rinsing her mouth out. "why do people drink?" she moaned, "that was disgusting."
"Come on, sweetheart," Brett encouraged, reaching to her up off the floor, "let's get you something to settle your stomach."
Maisey lay down instead, pressing her face against the cool floor, "I'll just stay here, " she said, "the floor is nice and cool."
Brett left her there and went to fix her some toast, she was snoring lightly when he returned with a plate. With a sigh he took the plate to the bedroom and then returned for her. He carefully lifted her off the floor and took her to their shared bed.
She didn't stir when he set her down except to snuggle into the mattress. He went around and turned off all the lights then slipped back under the covers with her. He would deal with her anger and the fall out in the morning.
Maisey burrowed her face into the arm he wrapped around her. He froze when her lips caressed the muscles of his forearm. It was only one tiny kiss but his body reacted. He argued with himself whether it had been a kiss or just the movement of her lips while she settled until his eyes grew heavy and he slept.
It was hard to open her eyes, her head ached and her body felt bruised, she groaned and then felt the hard body next to her. For a moment she panicked and then she started to remember the conversations with Brett in the night and realized that like every other morning he was there beside her: her rock and her anchor to sanity. She crept an eye open and floundered her hand about for the phone she normally put on the dresser, when she found it she brought it close to her face and groaned at the time. 11:52.
"Morning," Brett said softly trying to be conscious of whether or not she had a hangover, "How you feeling?"
"Like I have cotton balls in my mouth," she admitted and was greeted by a chuckle, "It's your fault, what the hell did you give me to drink?"
"Twenty seven shots, including the 4 you had before I came along," he chuckled, "most were various types of Sourpuss, tequila and rum, if you're going to drink you should know it's a bad idea to mix hard alcohol."
"Twenty seven," she repeated, "Not ever have I drank so much."
"Had you ever drank before?" he asked.
"Once," she admitted, "After a very bad day in the trial. I can't remember what it was but I was so ashamed of myself and worried I would turn into him that I left it sitting on the bar after one mouthful."