Brea Mitchell
Brea sat down next to Deen at the bar and watched as his surprised gaze fell on her. She knew what he must be thinking: Why is this woman just showing up here after not even responding to my text, and she would have answered but at the moment all she wanted was strong liquor and no feelings attached. "Sure. What do you want? It's my treat." She smiled her thanks and looked up at the bartender, not even wanting to try and decipher what that smirk was. Tonight just wasn't an analyzing night for Brea. The first in a really long time.
"Vodka. Please," she said and the bartender nodded, pouring her a quarter of a glass and then filling it to half with a surprised look after she took it quickly. She didn't really care what anyone thought of her tonight. Cam had shaken her up and most likely ruined the rest of her week, that was, if he didn't show up again. Deen asked for another martini and a first aid kit and that's when Brea looked up at him. "You don't need to do that," she said tiredly. He didn't respond, just looked at her as the bartender handed him the kit. Brea thought she saw something...something odd...in his eyes as he stared at her wound but again, she wasn't really in the mood for analyzing anything.
"...what happened?" He asked and Brea looked away, biting her lip and taking another long sip of her vodka. The strong alcohol was doing a good job of numbing everything, but she wasn't nearly as intoxicated as she wanted to be. She knew she had gotten buzzed from the wine earlier, but that left the minute Cam walked in the door. Deen touched her forehead lightly, and she winced, but still said nothing. "Brea, this is bad. We need to go to a hospital, right now," he said, pulling her from the bar stool. She groaned in distaste and finished off her glass before Deen dragged her away.
"Was that really necessary?" Brea asked as she stood outside waiting for a taxi, and aggravated Deen by her side.
"Brea who did this to you? It wasn't because of an accident right?" Deen asked her and she pursed her lips. "You can't even tell me a lie. I won't buy it. Tell me. I am not such an incapable guy who'd let a woman in trouble alone." Brea sighed and turned away from him, sucking in a shaky breath and running her fingers through her hair. Turning back around, she bit her lip and looked up at him.
"When I was in high school, I had this boyfriend. Let's call him Cam, for namesake," she said. She thought that maybe if she said it like that, Deen might not think it was his real name and do anything about it, because Brea definitely thought he seemed like the type who would do something about it. The taxi arrived and Brea got in, waiting for Deen to get situated before continuing. "I wasn't the greatest kid in high school. I didn't care about my grades, and I certainly didn't care where I was considering how many times I bounced around from foster family to foster family," she took a deep breath and accepted that she was finally going to tell her story, even if she didn't really want to. "I got in with the wrong crowd, but I liked it. We partied every night, we drank, we smoked, and it was fun. That is, till Cam came into the picture. He was the leader of the bunch and they treated him like God, and he even considered himself God of all the misfits, which is what we called ourselves. And when he saw me," she laughed a little bit, remembering before it got bad, "when he saw me he knew what he wanted, and nobody stood in his way. I thought I was special, getting chosen by the "pack leader". But all he wanted was a sex toy who stayed on his arm all night long, and after a while that got tiring for me. So I ventured off, joined a club or two, and didn't spend as much time with the group. He didn't like that, and he got every connection he had in that school to box me out so I would come crying back to him. After that, I just stayed. I got drunk with them, I got high with them, and I didn't care. A year of this went by, and that's when Cam started taking me for granted," the taxi pulled up to the hospital and she waited for Deen to get out before she did so herself, but now that she was already almost halfway done with her story, she didn't know how she could stop. So, she kept going and sat down on the curb, not really caring what Deen thought about her. He had asked what happened, and this was it. "He started forcing me to do things, stealing, hitting, all sorts of things. One night, after he was done using me, he took a broken vodka bottle and hit me as hard as he could across my face with it. He said it was because I wasn't good enough that night, and that was my punishment. He did that a few more times, but he didn't like just seducing me anymore no, he wanted more control than that." She rolled up her dirty jacket sleeves to show faint abrasion marks on her wrists that looked like they had been put there by ropes cutting into her skin. "He would leave me on his bed, tied up and naked, for hours after he was done, and wouldn't untie me until he saw fit, which sometimes wasn't for a whole day. After a while, my foster family got tired of me and shipped me off to the States to finish my last two years of high school. I went to college out there, and then I moved back here to start my career. It was all going just peachy until that day in the park, when Cam called me out of the blue. I ignored him, and all of his phone calls after that. But, of course, he decides he wants to show up, that he wants to relive the past. I tried to get away at first after he...after he came in," she stumbled a bit, not really wanting to share with a new acquaintance how he had assaulted her chest and mouth and pinned her to wall. Good choice, Brea. She swallowed and touched her fingers lightly to her forehead, "He grabbed my ankle and made me fall, which is how I got this, but I kicked him in the face and ran. He wasn't expecting me to fight back this time but I wasn't going to let him use me like that again. Not after all these years."
She looked up at him, her face flushed with embarrassment, "I'm...I'm sorry. I definitely didn't mean to dump my entire life story on you like that."
Brea sat down next to Deen at the bar and watched as his surprised gaze fell on her. She knew what he must be thinking: Why is this woman just showing up here after not even responding to my text, and she would have answered but at the moment all she wanted was strong liquor and no feelings attached. "Sure. What do you want? It's my treat." She smiled her thanks and looked up at the bartender, not even wanting to try and decipher what that smirk was. Tonight just wasn't an analyzing night for Brea. The first in a really long time.
"Vodka. Please," she said and the bartender nodded, pouring her a quarter of a glass and then filling it to half with a surprised look after she took it quickly. She didn't really care what anyone thought of her tonight. Cam had shaken her up and most likely ruined the rest of her week, that was, if he didn't show up again. Deen asked for another martini and a first aid kit and that's when Brea looked up at him. "You don't need to do that," she said tiredly. He didn't respond, just looked at her as the bartender handed him the kit. Brea thought she saw something...something odd...in his eyes as he stared at her wound but again, she wasn't really in the mood for analyzing anything.
"...what happened?" He asked and Brea looked away, biting her lip and taking another long sip of her vodka. The strong alcohol was doing a good job of numbing everything, but she wasn't nearly as intoxicated as she wanted to be. She knew she had gotten buzzed from the wine earlier, but that left the minute Cam walked in the door. Deen touched her forehead lightly, and she winced, but still said nothing. "Brea, this is bad. We need to go to a hospital, right now," he said, pulling her from the bar stool. She groaned in distaste and finished off her glass before Deen dragged her away.
"Was that really necessary?" Brea asked as she stood outside waiting for a taxi, and aggravated Deen by her side.
"Brea who did this to you? It wasn't because of an accident right?" Deen asked her and she pursed her lips. "You can't even tell me a lie. I won't buy it. Tell me. I am not such an incapable guy who'd let a woman in trouble alone." Brea sighed and turned away from him, sucking in a shaky breath and running her fingers through her hair. Turning back around, she bit her lip and looked up at him.
"When I was in high school, I had this boyfriend. Let's call him Cam, for namesake," she said. She thought that maybe if she said it like that, Deen might not think it was his real name and do anything about it, because Brea definitely thought he seemed like the type who would do something about it. The taxi arrived and Brea got in, waiting for Deen to get situated before continuing. "I wasn't the greatest kid in high school. I didn't care about my grades, and I certainly didn't care where I was considering how many times I bounced around from foster family to foster family," she took a deep breath and accepted that she was finally going to tell her story, even if she didn't really want to. "I got in with the wrong crowd, but I liked it. We partied every night, we drank, we smoked, and it was fun. That is, till Cam came into the picture. He was the leader of the bunch and they treated him like God, and he even considered himself God of all the misfits, which is what we called ourselves. And when he saw me," she laughed a little bit, remembering before it got bad, "when he saw me he knew what he wanted, and nobody stood in his way. I thought I was special, getting chosen by the "pack leader". But all he wanted was a sex toy who stayed on his arm all night long, and after a while that got tiring for me. So I ventured off, joined a club or two, and didn't spend as much time with the group. He didn't like that, and he got every connection he had in that school to box me out so I would come crying back to him. After that, I just stayed. I got drunk with them, I got high with them, and I didn't care. A year of this went by, and that's when Cam started taking me for granted," the taxi pulled up to the hospital and she waited for Deen to get out before she did so herself, but now that she was already almost halfway done with her story, she didn't know how she could stop. So, she kept going and sat down on the curb, not really caring what Deen thought about her. He had asked what happened, and this was it. "He started forcing me to do things, stealing, hitting, all sorts of things. One night, after he was done using me, he took a broken vodka bottle and hit me as hard as he could across my face with it. He said it was because I wasn't good enough that night, and that was my punishment. He did that a few more times, but he didn't like just seducing me anymore no, he wanted more control than that." She rolled up her dirty jacket sleeves to show faint abrasion marks on her wrists that looked like they had been put there by ropes cutting into her skin. "He would leave me on his bed, tied up and naked, for hours after he was done, and wouldn't untie me until he saw fit, which sometimes wasn't for a whole day. After a while, my foster family got tired of me and shipped me off to the States to finish my last two years of high school. I went to college out there, and then I moved back here to start my career. It was all going just peachy until that day in the park, when Cam called me out of the blue. I ignored him, and all of his phone calls after that. But, of course, he decides he wants to show up, that he wants to relive the past. I tried to get away at first after he...after he came in," she stumbled a bit, not really wanting to share with a new acquaintance how he had assaulted her chest and mouth and pinned her to wall. Good choice, Brea. She swallowed and touched her fingers lightly to her forehead, "He grabbed my ankle and made me fall, which is how I got this, but I kicked him in the face and ran. He wasn't expecting me to fight back this time but I wasn't going to let him use me like that again. Not after all these years."
She looked up at him, her face flushed with embarrassment, "I'm...I'm sorry. I definitely didn't mean to dump my entire life story on you like that."