30. Oli
Oli
Brave
D r. Langley looks both shocked and impressed.
He straightens in his chair, sets his notepad aside, and clasps his hands over his lap. I know I could’ve asked for an emergency appointment, which he reminded me of, but I’m glad I didn’t. I’ve had a full week to process everything since our last appointment. My temporary truce with Phoenix, Morgan harassing me at my work, this intimacy with Jorge—it was good of me to wait.
I told my therapist my rapist’s name, too.
I’ve never been able to cough it up before.
Maybe a part of me always knew that it wasn’t meant to be him that found out first. I trust Dr. Langley, but this broken part of me was never his to heal. Eli and I have been texting regularly as well. The way he was able to pull himself out of addiction and see his distorted reflection for himself has given me the courage to look at my own—really look at it.
Ultimately, it has to be me that fixes what was damaged. Or at least, I have to try. I don’t think I’ll ever fully recover from my trauma or my vices; that’s just not realistic.
However, I am learning to allow myself some solace. I’m allowing myself to accept it happened, to admit it freely. And, fuck, it feels good to let it out. I’ve kept it in for so long that I was poisoning myself. No wonder I could never move forward, always stagnant and miserable. I’ve never been more grateful for this second chance at life.
“I know it goes without saying, but I’m proud of you, Oliver,” he tells me, offering a kind smile. “Do you plan on reporting Morgan?”
Hearing his name still makes me flinch, but I recover fast. “The statute of limitations—”
“Is irrelevant. You can still make a report. He could have other victims.”
“Would it…do you think it would help?” I ask. I’m not sure who it would help—myself or potentially others.
“I think it would. You’ve come a long way since our first session. Claiming that justice, however small, would be healthy and help you move forward. Don’t you agree?”
I think about it.
The idea that Morgan has done this to other people is horrible. My guts knot up instantly.
I’ve lived through his defilement—his cruelty. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, not even him. The damage done to me can never be repaired, and if someone else was a victim and my voice could help, I don’t think I’d be able to ignore that plea. What if my admission is the final nail in the coffin? The ammunition needed to take him down?
“I do,” I say. “How would I even do that, though? Just walk into a police station? His dad used to be the chief.”
Humming, my therapist grabs his laptop off his desk and opens it. “Let’s do some research, shall we?”
We spend the rest of my session looking into it, and the result shakes me to my very bones.
Turns out, as of January first of this year, California has eliminated the statute of limitations for childhood sexual abuse, which is what I classify as. I was fifteen. Until I’m forty, I can report what Morgan did to me. I can file a lawsuit, file a fucking police report—the whole nine yards. I’m nauseous, scared shitless, and clutching all the print-out papers Dr. Langley supplied for me as I leave his office.
When I get to my car, I carefully set the papers on the passenger seat and take a moment to breathe. I won’t file my report at the station Morgan’s dad used to work at—that’s just asking for trouble. So, I’ll have to go to one farther away and hope the cops at that one aren’t close with the dude.
One thing I know for certain is that I can’t do this alone. I’ll shut down and possibly come off like a psycho. Jorge will come with me; I know he will, but I need more than that.
God, I need my fucking parents.
I need my momma.
S wallowing an obscene amount of spit, I kill the engine and get out of my car.
Looking at my childhood home, I’m assaulted with endless memories. Some wonderful, some terrible, especially when I glance up. I tried to kill myself right inside that window. The death of my brotherhood with Phoenix happened in the room beside it. I’ve caused so much hurt to my family and kept them in the dark when it wasn’t their fault. God, what if they don’t forgive me? What if Dad tells me to fuck off and kicks me out before I even get a foot through the front door?
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I steel myself and move.
Veronica is here. I hear her loud giggle through the door, and her car is parked next to Dad’s old pickup. I haven’t seen my older sister in a long time. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time because I was high as fuck.
Clenching my fists, I hover on the porch, debating what the hell I’m doing. I’ve avoided coming here for as long as I can, ashamed of myself and worried I’ll let my parents down again. What if I relapse after all this? What if I’m not strong enough to file the report?
Endless what-ifs keep me frozen solid until the door opens. I gasp, startled. Mom sees me, and her eyes well up with tears. “Oli? Oh, baby,” she coos and launches at me.
Pinpricks settle over my skin, the familiar dread crawling up my throat, demanding that I free myself of her embrace, but I shake it off and hug my mom. Her hands pat me down, her lips peck my scruffy cheek, and she cries in my arms.
“How are you? You look so good!” she squeals and then shouts, “Brandon! Veronica!”
I hear my dad’s gruff voice coming from the living room. “I’m coming. Give me a damn second to get my cane.”
Veronica peels around the short foyer, my niece—who I’ve yet to meet—perched on her hip. Delilah is all curls, just like her dad. She literally tosses her baby at Mom and pulls me in for a bear hug. “You little shithead. Where have you been?”
I wheeze, not used to this much touching. “Around,” I croak.
“Not around here!” She releases me and slaps my shoulder. Hard. The kind of slap only a big sister is allowed to give you.
“Ow,” I whine, rubbing the sting away. “I meant to call, but—”
“Oliver,” Dad barks, and I go ramrod straight. My shoulders yank back like I’m in the damn army, and my sergeant just caught me doing something bad.
“Dad,” I say around the lump in my throat.
He studies me for long seconds, swooping his gaze over my entire body. “About damn time you showed up.”
“I—”
He holds up his free hand, leaning heavily on his cane. Nyx told me that he uses it more for his arthritis than his back these days, but it still hurts to see my dad so vulnerable. I remember thinking he was a giant as a kid—indestructible. The greys streaking through his blond hair make it look more silver than yellow. His green eyes pin me in place, and I brace for whatever harsh words he throws at me. Out of everyone—except Phoenix—my dad is the most disappointed in me.
But something in his gaze softens, and he releases a relieved sigh. “Come give your old man a hug.”
“You’re not mad?” I squeak out, taking a hesitant step forward.
“Don’t make me say it again,” he huffs.
A watery smile breaks across my face as I hurry to him and hug him. Dad smells the same, like laundry detergent and cologne. Even in his sixties, his embrace feels strong. I squeeze him tightly, trying to fight back the sob building in my chest. It doesn’t work, and I break down.
“I’m sorry,” I cry.
“Emma, take this,” he grunts. And then both arms envelope me. “Twice now, I’ve had one of my kids break down on me. Am I really that terrible?”
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“It’s alright, kiddo. You’re alright.”
Dad holds me tight for long seconds before we enter the house.
Veronica immediately hands me her daughter, who I hold under her arms awkwardly. My sister huffs and shows me how to hold her. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never been around for any of my nephews, so I don’t know how to do this.
Even when Damien's twins were little, I was already well past gone by then.
Once Delilah is settled in my arms, she reaches up and yanks at my beard. I hiss, reeling back, but her big brown eyes crinkle in delight.
“You little sadist,” I tell her and let her wrap her tiny fist around my finger.
“He looks good with a baby, doesn’t he?” Veronica sighs wistfully, looking at my parents.
“Sure does,” Mom beams. “So what have you been up to, hun?”
I hold my niece to me tighter. Now that I’ve got her in my arms, I’m oddly protective of this little girl. I also don’t want to spew all the ugly, horrible things I came here to with such innocence blinking up at me. Feels wrong. Like I’ll taint her somehow. “Ver, take her, please,” I croak.
My sister obliges, situating the baby before whipping out her boob. I avert my eyes instantly. “It’s natural, you weirdo. That’s what they’re for.”
Dad sighs, like he, too, is tired of seeing his daughter’s boobs. “Don’t argue with her. We are all pervs if we think it’s unusual.”
Mom sits down next to me and fingers my hair. “Trying to look like Phoenix again?” she teases. “You two were like twins, I swear.”
“No—I—” The words lodge in my throat.
I came here for a reason. Mostly to beg my mom to accompany me to the fucking police station because I’m terrified that I’ll be the one in trouble somehow. But now that I’m here, welcomed with literal open arms, I can’t ignore the pestering guilt anymore. They deserve to know. They deserve to know why I was such a horrible son. The stealing, the lies, the drugs, and the disappearances. Dr. Langley said it’s healthy to get it out. I have to get it out.
All of it.
“Mom, Dad, I…I have to tell you something.”
“You can tell us anything,” Mom chirps immediately and holds my hand. Dad adds, “What is it?”
I take a deep breath, flicking my eyes between them and my sister. “It’s not going to be good. So this is me warning you.”
Dad stiffens, glancing at Mom. “I’m going to want to kill someone, aren’t I?” he growls.
Probably, but I don’t say that.
Bracing myself, I start with Michael and Morgan’s eighteenth birthday party. The rest comes out like vomit. By the end of my purge, my mother is sobbing, Veronica has set the baby in her bouncy chair to go throw up, and my dad holds his head in his hand, shoulders shaking with silent cries. I sit perfectly still, my breaths sawing out of me, and my fingers numb from my mom’s tight grip on them.
When Dad finally lifts his head, green eyes like beacons against the bloodshot whites, a snarl rips his features in half. “He will not get away with this. I swear it to you.”
Jorge: I’m at the studio. It’s weird. And Phoenix is ignoring that I exist.
Do you need me? I can come.
Please.
Okay. See you soon.
See you soon. Heart Emoji
I ’m already at the studio, but I figured checking was best.
Phoenix said once before that I was welcome to come. And honestly, it’s about time that I face Michael. One of the only good things about that guy is that he doesn’t look like Morgan. They are fraternal, not identical.
After my parents had calmed down enough to hear my plan, they agreed that I needed to report it. It seems like that’s the only choice I have. Morgan is going to have to pay for what he’s done to me, and I’ll sleep better knowing he isn’t doing this shit to anyone else.
Something has got to give.
Dad wanted me to go down to the station today to make the report, but there’s still more that has to be done. I need Michael to understand that his brother is a monster. I need Phoenix to stop this bullshit with Jorge. My muscles ache from how tense I’ve been today, and my guts are unsettled. I might throw up once this is all said and done, but I’ll have to white-knuckle it for now.
Getting out of my car, I swallow the dread and march for the studio.
There was a time when all I wanted was to be in Phoenix’s band. I remember practicing until the tips of my fingers bled. I could play all their first songs by heart. I guess I’m still bitter about it, maybe even a little jealous over Dreadful’s success. Phoenix has always hated being in the spotlight, but I used to love it before my life was ripped from me. Dad would have me play guitar for my grandparents on Christmas. Mom would occasionally bust out her violin so we could duet a song together.
I loved making people smile with the music I created.
That’s the past, though.
Opening up the glass door leading into the building, I look for the suite number and debate knocking once I find it. What’s the rest of their band going to think? I don’t know Devon or Kelly at all. They came around once I disappeared. Spit squirts from my glands, coating my tongue and forcing rough swallows. I open the door, creeping inside and ducking my head like that’ll make me invisible.
The chatter that hits my ears stops.
“That was fast,” Jorge blurts, rushing over to me. “I didn’t have time to tell anyone—”
“Oli?” Phoenix says, confused by my presence. He looks at Jorge and narrows his eyes.
Devon, their bassist, studies me suspiciously while Kelly, their keyboardist, waves and approaches me. “Ah, the infamous Oliver.”
Michael then appears from the sound booth. “What’s going on?”
“What is going on?” Phoenix asks me.
I can’t decide where to look, what to say, or where to start. Jorge looks downright guilty as he chews his bottom lip. Devon sighs dramatically and blurts, “He brought his boyfriend because you won’t talk to him, obviously. ”
“Damn, Sawyer, something in the blood or what? Who is next? Devon?” Kelly teases.
Devon scoffs. “The other two are married, and Nyx is twelve.”
“She’s nineteen,” Phoenix growls, then clears his throat. “Seriously, Jorge?”
“Can you fucking blame me?” Jorge explodes, pointing his finger at Phoenix. “You won’t talk to me! Won’t look at me! I’m sick of the silent treatment, you fuckdick!”
Phoenix pops off right back at him. It’s a tidal wave crashing over everyone. Their yells are belligerent, almost unintelligible, and when Jorge starts crying, Phoenix cries, too. I’m not sure what to do or say.
So, I let them ride the damn current, hoping when it’s said and done, I’ll be able to figure out what the fuck I intend to do.