Starting Over

 

On a day near the end of December, all that’s left of my old life is in the rearview mirror.

I mean that quite literally, seeing as my brother, Graham, just moved me up from Phoenix.

A couple of days ago I was there.

And now I’m here in Las Vegas.

I chose this city because my brother lives here. Not to mention, he’s the one who talked me into this move. I was hesitant at first, but that all changed on Christmas Eve. Good thing Graham had already found me a place to live. He’d even paid the first two months’ rent.

He’s a good brother like that. That’s why I hope that someday he finds someone who truly appreciates him. He’s a prince, and he deserves a worthy princess.

But fairy tales will have to wait for now, and for the both of us.

All these thoughts of princes and princesses have me asking Graham, “Will I ever be happy again?”

He glances up from the laptop he’s been pecking away on. “Where’s this coming from, Chloe?”

We’re both seated on the floor in the living room of the apartment he secured for me. It’s not really an apartment, per se; it’s one half of an adobe-style duplex. I love it because there are no close neighbors. The tenants in the half connected to mine moved out right before I arrived, and the other units are a ways away from mine.

“I don’t know,” I say, getting back to his question. “I just hope I made the right decision.”

Graham shoots me an are-you-kidding-me look, and I feel compelled to clarify.

“Wait. I know I made the right decision in leaving. There’s no question about that. I’m just wondering if I should’ve stayed in Phoenix.”

My brother and I were born and raised there, so, in a way, it’ll always be home. He lived there for a long time too, back when he played professional football.

Smiling, he assures me, “Las Vegas will feel like home soon enough.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you’re right.”

Focusing back on whatever he’s doing on the laptop, he murmurs, “You need some furniture, Chlo. I think that’ll help transition you.”

Aha, that’s what he’s up to!

“Hmm, what exactly are you working on over there?”

We’ve been hanging out on the hardwood floor for over an hour. I’ve been reading—well, trying to—a romance novel on my Kindle. I think that’s why I’m stuck on fairy tales.

Graham turns the laptop so I can see the screen.

“I knew it!” I exclaim.

He’s up to exactly what I suspected—ordering me furniture.

I left Phoenix in a hurry, so I am rather light on worldly possessions. Still, I insist, “You don’t have to buy me anything. I applied for a job at that coffee shop down the street. So I’ll have income rolling in soon enough.”

“When did you have time to do that?” he asks. “You just got here two days ago.”

I shrug. “What can I say? I move fast. I walked down yesterday and filled out an application.”

“Good for you, Chloe. Good for you.”

I know he’s proud I’m moving on. Graham is all about forward progress, and not just on the football field.

I continue, “They’ll probably hire me since I’m twenty-six, not a teenager. I overheard the manager talking to an employee, and she was going on and on about how hard it is to find reliable help these days.”

“It sounds like you’re in,” he says with a nod.

“So, see.” I wave my hand around the empty room. “I’ll have this place furnished in no time.”

“Chloe…” He gives me a look. “Just let me do this for you.”

I give in because it makes sense, seeing as it would take a while to save enough to buy as much as I need. He knows this, and so do I.

“Buy away,” I say at last.

I confer with him on some things, but let him choose other stuff on his own. Truth is that I trust his judgment. He’s four years older than me, and it’s always been this way.

Graham is thirty but looks much younger, probably because he rocks surfer-dude good looks—messy blond hair, massive muscles, piercing blue eyes.

It’s then that I look up and notice those piercing blue eyes are fixed on me.

“What?” I say.

“I was just asking you a question.”

“What question?”

“What size TV would you like?”

“Oh… Wait. Skip the TV. You’ve done enough for me already.”

He has. So far, he’s ordered a sofa, two plushy chairs, a coffee table, a dinette set, and a bed.

But Graham insists, “You’re getting a TV, Chloe.”

He returns to the browser, scrolling away and making me mutter, “Oh, Lord, you’re impossible.”

“Hmm,” he muses, ignoring my commentary, “I think the 75” will look good on your wall.”

“And just why do you think I need such a huge TV?” I question.

“To watch porn, of course.”

I throw a pillow at him, one of the few things I grabbed from my Phoenix house. And then I politely inform him, “I am not discussing the pros and cons of big-screen porn with you, Graham.”

“Trust me, Chloe, there are only pros.”

“I am not watching porn on this television!” I yell.

He laughs. “Yeah, right.”

I wave the white flag on this battle, because truth is, I might. I also let him go ahead and order the latest model ultra-high-def flat-screen. If I’m going to be watching cocks, they may as well be huge.

After Graham hits the Buy button, he informs me, “On a more serious note, Chlo, you’ll definitely want to watch the playoffs on this thing.”

He means football. Having played in the pros, he’s passionate about the game. He was really good too, a star quarterback for the Cardinals till he blew out his knee. That was bad, really bad, but what was worse was when he ended up addicted to pain meds.

Graham is clean now, though, and has been for three years.

God, I’m so damn proud of him. But proud or not, I need to set him straight on one thing— “If I’m going to be watching any sport on TV, it’ll be hockey.”

“Ah, yes,” he says. “I forgot you’re a wannabe puck bunny.”

I’d throw another pillow at him, but I’m fresh out.

“You’re such an ass,” I snort. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I am your favorite brother, yeah?”

“You’re my only brother, goofball.”

“And you’re my only sister,” he says. “But you’re still my favorite.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

A moment passes with Graham making more purchases.

That prompts me to state, “Hey, I’m totally paying you back for everything you’re buying.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mutters distractedly.

Graham will never take a dime from me. He’s pretty well-off since he invested his football earnings wisely.

Me? My finances are in shambles. My asshole ex-husband, Sten, made sure of that. That’s the reason I called the prick on Christmas Eve and asked him to come over. I wanted to know where our shared savings had gone, all ten thousand of it.

Asking him over was a major mistake, though. When I showed him the statement, the one that proved he’d withdrawn all the money, he laughed in my face.

“What are you going to do about it, you lousy bitch? You try to come after me and I’ll make your life a living hell.”

He’s always threatening me, putting me down, calling me names.

That’s why I’d finally had enough. Not only we’re we divorced, but that night, I took the statement and threw it in his fucking face.

“Fuck you!” I screamed. “Just fuck you.”

I was on a roll, naming off every shitty thing he’d ever done to me, and how I was so happy I’d never have to deal with him ever again.

“Just keep the money!” I yelled. “Having you out of my life is worth every cent.”

Too bad I missed his fist coming at me then.

My eye felt like it was exploding, and I saw nothing but white.

When I returned to my senses, I realized Sten had taken off. My phone was on a stand by the door and I grabbed it, all set to call the police and have his ass arrested—finally.

But then I hesitated.

I knew if I pressed charges I’d have to return to Phoenix to testify against him. And by that point, I just wanted out of there. I wanted Sten gone from my life forever.

So I called Graham instead.

“I know it’s Christmas Eve,” I said, sniffling into the phone. “But can you come to Phoenix tonight and get me out of this goddamn town?”

He knew I was trying hard to hold back the tears, and without asking for any explanation, he said, “Hold tight. I’ll be there by midnight.”

My brother was perceptive then, and he is now as well.

Peering over at me thoughtfully, he says, “Hey, what’s up?”

Feeling suddenly self-conscience, I tug away the tie holding my hair up in a high ponytail and wavy blonde locks fall to frame my face.

But why am I hiding?

Graham has already seen my black eye. He saw it in full purple bloom the night Sten gave it to me.

When he presses again, I confess what’s weighing on me. “I feel so stupid about how I ended up. I always swore I’d never be one of those girls. Yet here I am, alone and a runaway from a bad life. I’m a damn cliché, Graham.”

I start sobbing, and my brother scoots his big body over and drapes a comforting arm around my shoulders.

“Chloe, you’re not a cliché. And you’re not alone. I’m here for you.”

I lean into him. “I know. And thank you.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? Bad relationships happen to the best of us. Sometimes you just end up in too deep before you finally see your way out of it.”

I laugh bitterly. “I was so stupid when it came to Sten.”

“Hey, at least you were married to him only for a short while. That phony prick could’ve fooled anyone. He’s a charmer when he wants to be and a master manipulator all the time.”

“I just really thought he loved me,” I sigh. “I never dreamed it’d come to this.”

Sten wined and dined me early on, sweeping me off my feet with flowers and presents. He even bought me the car I drive today, a white Ford Fusion. Sadly, there was nothing but emptiness behind all his hollow gestures. I saw that the first time he was mean to me.

“I should’ve left the first time he ever put me down, Graham.”

My brother doesn’t disagree, though he tries to put a positive spin on things. “You’re just a really sweet person, Chloe. You see the best in everyone, and you’re very forgiving.”

“Too forgiving,” I snort as I sit up straight. Pointing to the ugly bruising all around my eye, I add, “To my own detriment, clearly.”

Through clenched teeth, Graham says, “I swear I should’ve found that prick and kicked his ass before we left Phoenix.”

My brother is a better judge of character than me. He never liked Sten. He told me before I eloped, after a whirlwind courtship, that I should hold off.

I realized he’d been right when Sten first started with the insults…

“You’re not that smart, now are you, Chloe?” soon escalated to, “You’re a fucking worthless bitch, whore.”

His wicked words were a whirlwind, like our courtship, and soon I was numb to the jabs. Sten had worn me down. I believed what he drilled in my head—that his berating was somehow my fault. If I could just do better, be prettier, lose weight, I would be a better wife, and then I’d have the marriage I longed for.

I consoled myself with one thing at the time—at least he doesn’t hit me.

He didn’t, either…till he did.

That was finally the end for me.

I’d grown a backbone, and I vowed that weak woman would never be me again. I filed for divorce that day.

Christmas Eve was my only mistake. I never should’ve asked Sten to come over, not when I was alone.

I only wish now that I could have a little payback, even if it were just symbolically.

With that in mind, I say to Graham, “You know what? I’m not only mad, I’m like really freaking furious.”

“You should be, Chloe. You have every right to be pissed as hell.”

Riled up, I growl, “Damn it, I know it’s not right, but I’d love to punch Sten in his stupid face. Just once, for all the grief he’s given me.”

“You clearly need to let off some steam or find an outlet of some sort.”

“I should probably just focus on moving forward first.”

“That’s a process too,” Graham reminds me. And then he says, “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.”

Leaning forward, he reaches into his jeans pocket and fishes out what looks to be a small pamphlet. “I have something for you,” he says.

Taking the pamphlet from his outreached hand, I ask, “What is it?”

“It’s nothing big, but it might help you move on.”

I flip through the pages of what appears to be a self-help pamphlet. I’m not surprised Graham picked this up for me. Having gone through rehab, he’s all about the twelve steps. Or ten, as this one happens to be.

“I grabbed it at a meeting last week,” he explains. “There were bunches lying on a table, booklets on all sorts of subjects. But that one made me think of you.”

“Thank you,” I reply, feeling truly appreciative.

My brother stays sober by attending NA meetings regularly. His commitment to helping others keeps him on the straight and narrow. That’s why he’s a sponsor too.

His kindness clearly extends to me. This is Graham helping me. As if he hasn’t done enough.

“‘X Your Ex,’” I murmur, reading the title aloud. “This certainly is the perfect self-help guide for me.”

“I know, right? That’s what I thought too.”

“Well, hell, I think I’ll start it today,” I announce.

Graham looks pleased as he leans in. “So what’s step one? I didn’t check them out in advance.”

“Hmm, let’s see…” I flip to the beginning of the booklet. “Step one is, uh… Oh my God, Graham, you’re going to love this one. It’s ‘Stop Taking Shit.’”

We look at each other and burst out laughing.

This is so perfect.

Since I’m already toughening up mentally, I declare, “I know what I’m going to do to complete this one.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

“I’m going to work on getting stronger. That way I can stop taking shit like a mofo next time someone comes at me.”

“I love it,” Graham says. “A few self-defense lessons would do you a world of good.”

Thinking of how it would have surprised the shit out of Sten had I fought back, I agree and ask Graham, “Can you teach me?”

“You bet. We can even practice at my gym.”

Graham just happens to own a small, nondescript workout facility. It’s like a gritty gym straight out of Rocky.

“Hey, I’m ready to go a few rounds,” I say. “When can we start?”

“Anytime you want.”

I feel good. Graham’s gym is the perfect place to learn how to defend myself. The clientele are mostly friends and associates of his. My brother is super selective on whom he lets in, so I’ll surely feel at ease even when he’s not around.

Standing victoriously—I like this new me—I declare, “Okay, step one in the X Your Ex program is officially underway. You have heavy bags there, right?”

“Several.”

“Good because I plan to beat the hell out of each and every one. And the whole time I’m going to imagine Sten’s stupid face.”

Grinning up at me, Graham says, “I’ll do you one better, little sis.”

I’m curious as to what he has in mind, so I raise a brow and ask, “Yeah, how so?”

“I’m going to print out some head shots of that douchebag and paste them to all the bags.”

“I love it, Graham. That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. Sten is going down!”

I can’t wait. Even if this is only happening in the gym, I know punching the hell out of that bastard is going to feel amazing.