New Title 7 (17 page)

Brandon's father turned to Doris. "What the hell did he do?"

"He started to hit Mia. She's at least five months pregnant carrying his baby. I think he even threatened her life." The mobile phone rattled in her hand. Robert grunted, flicked me a glance. No sign of warmth or interest eluded him.

He regarded Brandon. "Should I congratulate you for bringing a child into this mess? How responsible of you to impregnate a teenaged girl. You're truly,
truly
a despicable idiot."

No reaction.

I still cared for Brandon, so Robert's cruel remarks bitterly stung.

"Call the police. I'm finished with this bullshit." Robert brushed past and left, not saying one word to acknowledge my existence. Doris elevated the phone to her ear.

Brandon lurked in perpetual quiet as his mother spoke with law enforcement. She rattled her complaints—including Brandon's death threat.

There was no turning back. The deed was done.

Three young policemen arrived and slapped handcuffs to my boyfriend's wrists, hauling him off to their cruiser.

He didn't fight.

For the first time
he
knew. He knew what it felt like to be bound.

B
randon was charged with committing terroristic threats, a class A misdemeanor in Texas if household members are involved.

He spent two days in jail. He
could've
spent a year there but during a short hearing, the judge granted deferred adjudication on the condition that Brandon voluntarily enter an in-patient psychiatric program and continued therapy afterward. He'd remain hospitalized for a period of ninety days.

By the time he got out I'd be close to my due date.

Later on he could have the criminal charges cleared from his record.

Needless to say, the judge advised Brandon not to see me. He also advised me to move out of the Levine home, perhaps get a restraining order.

I didn't know
what
to think. It was too much to deal with in too short a time. First Brandon's outburst and threats, his arrest, then his entry into the psych ward in lieu of jail time.

Brandon standing there in the middle of the courtroom as he listened to the judge, was a scene so unfathomable I could've sworn I'd dreamed the whole thing. He didn't look at me any time during the hearing as if he'd forgotten I ever existed.

What hurt me deeply inside the most? His cruelty, knowing I carried his son but didn't let that stop him from wanting to hurt me. It didn't stop him from trying to hit me. It didn't stop him from unleashing an endless trail of nasty, soul-crushing remarks.

For as long as I lived, I'd
never
get those horrid threats out of my head. The man who was
supposed
to love me had spouted these very threats. It was disappointing considering his prior improvement.

Now we had to start all over.

In a way I'd expected it. He was like a bomb ticking away. This ticking had begun whenever he ceased taking the medication.
Why
he stopped taking it, I'll never know. Apparently he just didn't love me enough. Or his baby.

Robert returned to Dallas that morning. He planned to stay another week while a new assistant surgeon ran his Houston clinic. I sensed that Robert was avoiding his family and their ongoing issues.

Doris would be leaving in seven days to visit her sister in San Antonio. Since she wouldn't be back for two weeks, she asked if I wanted anyone to stay with me. That way I wouldn't be trapped in the big empty house by myself.

Doris and I discussed this in the kitchen. She rested her folded arms on the table surface, her face wan with exhaustion and small pouches under her eyes.

I didn't look as tired but certainly felt like I was. I hadn't slept well since Brandon's episode and arrest.

"Sure you don't want Tyler to come sit with you, hon?" she asked. "He'll do it if I ask. Tyler won't think anything of it."

"I guess not. I do appreciate the offer though."

"Well, I don't like the thought of you being here all alone. What if something happens? What if you go into early labor? You shouldn't be alone at this time."

"I'll be okay, really."
I don't need a babysitter. But the offer's nice.

"If this hadn't happened with Brandon, I wouldn't be running off to see my sister." She guiltily dropped her gaze. "I gotta do it. I think if I stay here much longer I'll go as crazy as Brandon."

"It's okay, Doris. I totally understand."

Doris's concerned gaze met mine. "You're not thinking Tyler would hurt you, are you? That's not why you said no?" 

"Oh, of course not. Tyler doesn't scare me or anything."
Though he's weird
. "No. Tyler doesn't make me nervous." Beyond the window, I glimpsed the pool where late morning sunlight beamed down, giving everything a bright tint.

"Alright then. I hate for you to be by yourself, but that's the way it's gonna be. I suppose two weeks isn't that long."

"It's not. Don't worry about me, you have enough to worry about."

"Isn't that the truth. And you, my dear,
also
have plenty to worry about." She frowned a little, brought her hand to mine and patted it. Our hands lingered and at this moment I considered Doris my substitute mother, the next best thing to a real mom.

Both of us stared out the window. Heavy, darkened clouds gathered and chased away sunlight. Gloominess swallowed the landscape as thunder rumbled.

These storm clouds hovered like a bad omen of things to come.

D
oris left for San Antonio six days earlier.

Being alone wasn't bad. I enjoyed the privacy and solitude. It was nice having this gigantic house all to myself. Besides I wasn't truly alone, I had my unborn son to keep me company. His cute kicks reminded me of his presence and made me giggle. It was nice to experience a few laughs in spite of everything.

As I sat reading a book in the family room, an abandoned mobile phone vibrated along the fireplace mantel, pushing framed portraits out of its way.

I grabbed it and answered.

"Is Tyler there?" a girl asked. Sounded like Alicia.

"No, who's this? I can give him a message."

"This is Alicia. Tell him to call me as soon as he can. It's
really
important."

"Okay. Wait—can I ask you something, Alicia?"

"Yeah."

"What made you think Tyler would be here?"

"I dunno. Maybe something he said the other day. Look, I gotta go. Bye." She hung up.

Shrugging off Alicia's peculiar call, I replaced the phone and straightened the photos.

I spent the following four hours on the internet, reading up on sociopathic tendencies to find answers regarding Brandon's personality.

Most of it I identified with. A lot of articles perfectly described Brandon's personality... it was uncanny.

Sociopaths
did
experience feelings and emotion, but on a shallow scale in comparison to those with normal personalities. Sociopaths have been known to possess
some
semblance of a conscience, which meant they knew right from wrong—but this didn't mean they gave a shit.

Sociopaths typically used people, even those they supposedly loved. Once they find someone who cannot fulfill their needs, the sociopath promptly discards her.

Some sociopaths seemed to have the ability to give and receive a shallow level of 'love'.

This information was discouraging, disheartening. It sounded like Brandon would never have the ability to feel or express actual love. On the other hand, I'd felt his love deeply in my bones whenever he had his good days. Never seemed shallow to me at all. I saw genuine tenderness in his eyes.

He was capable of feeling and expressing loving emotions. Nothing could tell me otherwise.

I couldn't give up on him no matter how much my practical side
screamed
at me to stop trying.
Screamed
at me about Brandon's dangerous side. Warning that Brandon would someday hurt me so badly I'd never recover.

My intuition also convinced me to google Stockholm syndrome. A teensy voice from within hinted that I might be suffering from this.

I read the symptoms and a sickening understanding came over me.

No wonder I refused to leave him.

I put the Stockholm syndrome scenario out of my mind, sweeping it under an imaginary rug like so much dust and dirt.

Jesus, Brandon
had
to get better and stay better. He had to! I hated the idea of our son growing up without his father. Every child had the right to both parents even if one was mentally unstable.

Then again—every child had the right to grow up in a stable household without fearing one of his parents.

Fuck it all to hell.

I give up on this senseless argument. My logical side can't reason with my emotional side.

Logic can't compete with matters of the heart.

* * *

A
rapping came at the door, waking me from a nap.

Bleary-eyed, I peeked between the interior window shutters. Tyler Levine lurked outside, shrouded by late evening mist. His similarity to Brandon was unmistakable and I'd recognize
either
of them anywhere.

I started to unlatch the deadbolt but changed my mind. Why was Tyler here? I asked him through the door.

"Mom wanted me check up on you," he explained, running a hand in his hair to smooth it back.

"Doris called you and told you to check up on me?"

"Yes. She said you've been here by yourself for a week and she was worried. Uh, do you have some sort of problem with me being here?"

"No." Still I paused, leery of opening the door. Leery of
him
.

"Will you let me in or not? I don't have time to dick around. I gotta get back to the office in an hour." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Hold on." I unlocked the door.

Tyler strolled in wearing a dark grey dress shirt with open collar, widely revealing his chest. His black slacks fitted snugly on his lean hips. He carried a thin onyx briefcase.

I moved to the side, self-conscious with him standing nearby and surveying me.

"Here I am." I flashed a smile, sarcastically holding out my arms. "I'm okay and everything's fine."

He gave a nod. "I see that."

He didn't start to leave.

"So it's all good."
You can leave now.

He peered at me without moving.

"That was nice of Doris to send you here in case I needed anything." I fidgeted with my hands and chewed my lip.

"Mom's a terrific woman. What else can I say? She cares a lot for people." Tyler set his briefcase in the corner.

"Yes she's great. I consider her like my own mother. Almost."

"Really?" He straightened, folding his arms over his chest. "You and Mom must be getting along pretty well, eh?"

"We are." I nodded.
Okay asshole, leave now! LEAVE!

"That's great. Terrific." Slight hesitation. "You know what, Mia? While I'm already here, can you give me just a
teeny
second to sign some papers in the den? Then I'll get out of your hair."

Before I could answer, he scooped up his briefcase and hurried down the hallway. I huffed, shaking my head and reluctantly followed.

He propped his briefcase on the desk and snapped it open. Neatly arranged papers were stacked within and he sifted through them.

He brought out a novel of documents. This would take a while.

Tyler glanced in my direction and smirked. "Sorry, I know this looks like a lot of shit to sign but it's really not. There's only a few that need my signature. The rest have to be signed by clients." He turned to the documents, plucked a pen from the desk.

It was getting darker outside the window.

"Just one more second," he mumbled as he scrawled on the second document.

"Okay."

"And that's it." He shut the briefcase.

Tyler abruptly turned and stared, making me squirm. His palm rested on the briefcase as it remained on the desk.

He didn't act like someone who was in any rush to leave. He didn't act like he
wanted
to leave.

"Why don't you fix us a drink?" he flatly asked. "Maybe a beer?"

"I'll get you one, but obviously I can't drink." Impatient and greatly annoyed, I headed for the kitchen.

Minutes passed as we made small talk in the kitchen. He relaxed in his mother's chair while I slouched in mine and wished to god he'd leave already.

I got him a beer and had a cherry soda for myself, which I sipped every so often. On occasion my gaze met his and my discomfort grew.

And wasn't I forgetting something?

Regardless, the soda gave me an urgent need to pee. I excused myself and retreated to the bathroom.

Upon returning, I continued to drink my soda and almost emptied it.

Tyler finished his beer.
Soon. Soon he'd be leaving.

I crossed my legs and my foot tapped the table leg as I crumpled the soda can. He nudged his empty beer bottle to the center of the table, then took a cigarette and lit it.

The cigarette dangled from his lips while he straightened to cram the flattened pack in his hip pocket.

He used the beer bottle as an ash tray, representing a nauseating display of bad habits.

Sighing, I glanced at the clock and no longer bothered to hide my impatience. He didn't notice or care.

Oh! Now I remember what I was supposed to do.

"Your cousin Alicia called and wanted to talk to you. She said it was important."

"Hm. Alright, thanks for letting me know." Another drag, another tap of ashes. He wasn't in a rush to call Alicia either.

"Everything seems important to Alicia," he said. "Probably pointless to call her. She has an anxiety attack every time her DVR doesn't record Jersey Shore." Brief chortle. I followed it with my own, though mine sounded fake—which it
was
. 

Quick look at the clock. Thirty minutes had passed since Tyler's arrival.