Vivian's List (Vol. 1) (4 page)

Vivian was staring at me, an expectant look on her face,
patiently awaiting my answer to her question:
Why do you want to go back?

I didn’t want to come across sounding like some self-righteous prick. So I said, “Because
the ladies dig the uniform.”

Viv
produced her watted smile, easy and bright, and it softened me. “That’s right,” she said, gathering her hair in a thick coil and shaking it out behind her. “The chicks
do
dig the uniform.”

“See.” I smiled
, drinking in the lovely sight of her. “I
knew
it.”

Vivian’s
started to leave again, but then she stopped and turned around. “Is Julian all right? He never writes, never emails, never Skypes—nothing.”

I met her gaze for a moment, weighing the risks of telling her the truth. “
He’s on a mission at the moment,” I explained, “which means he can’t contact home with any regularity.”

“I see.”
Vivian hedged and seemed on the verge of saying more, but she didn’t. She simply stared at me for a long, hard second.

I looked down
and studied my hands. I had no defenses against Vivian’s inquisitive eyes. In truth, Julian wasn’t on a mission, at least not at the moment. He, like the rest of the men at base camp, had access to the Internet, yet I’d never seen him on the laptop. He could call home, yet I’d never seen him pick up the phone.

Vivian
and Julian, their bond, it used to be so tight. Then after the tragic car accident that claimed the lives of their parents, they seemed to me like two strangers at a wedding. They never talked about the incident. They hardly ever talked to each other.

The stuff that went unsaid was deafening.

I risked a glance up at her. “He cares about you, you know.” I found myself trying to convince her of this. “He does. He wanted me to stay here so he could check up on you.”

“So you’re Julian’s spy,
” she stated.

“
Something like that,” I admitted. “But I’m also here to help out around the house. You can’t take care of this huge place all by yourself, Viv. I’m here to help you open up the pool, mow the yard, fix anything around the house that needs fixing. Anything you need me to do.” I dipped my head and executed a gallant bow. “I’m at your service.”

“
Thank you,” she said with a tiny quirk of her lips. “I do appreciate the help. That and the company. Sometimes it can get lonely and depressingly empty in this big house.” She stretched her arms, stifling back a yawn. “I’m gonna hit the sack. Don’t stay up too late, soldier.”

“I won’t
,” I assured her.

Vivian
took one long last look at me before she turned and walked back into the house, sliding the patio door shut behind her.

Her
presence gone, I was shrouded in darkness once more.

But I liked it that way.

My thoughts fit better in the privacy of darkness.

Why did I want to go back?

Once again,
I found myself asking the very same question.

Because I could help.

And in so doing, I hoped to be helped myself.

Chapter Three

Vivian

I stood on the edge of the plank, looking down at the crashing seas. And for some inexplicable reason, Brody was a sword-wielding pirate.

As I stood there on the plank, looking back and forth between
Brody and the vast and open ocean, a wry, deliberating smile touched my lips.

I knew this: I could either jump or I’d be standing on the plank forever.

So I jumped. I was falling. Falling
. Falling ...

I awoke with a start, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Oh, thank God. I buried my head in the pillow and let out a muffled sigh of relief. It was all just a bad dream.

S
till, my mind wouldn’t stop racing.

In daylight, there was no hiding from Liam’s harsh words:
Brody’s verbally abusive.

Now I found myself asking,
“
Is it true?”

Was I so used to hearing what I was always hearing from
Brody that after a while I stopped hearing what I was always hearing?

I tried to stop the inevitable momentum of these thoughts
, that same old loop that was circling like vultures inside my head. Shutting my eyes in despair, I pulled the covers over my head.

Sunshine and showers
. That’s what Liam had called me.

His words pricked at something achingly tender, something I had not wished to acknowledge.

Some days, I’m bright, cheerful, on top of the world. And other days, dark clouds come storming in against the prevailing winds. The sky descends upon me, the heavens open up and rain pours with no meaning or intent.

Some people walk in the rain … I get wet.

Soaked to the skin. The water, the dirt, the mud … it weighs down on me, like a water buffalo sitting on my chest.

Today, I
was having one of those days.

With a deep sigh, I burrowed
deeper into the covers. I just wanted to hide.

Oh, how tired I was.
I felt so exhausted, like it was overwhelming to be my own person. 

For a long
while all I did was toss and turn, listening to my own rhythmic breathing. What seemed like hours later, I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for my iPhone.

I had thirty-five missed calls, ten voice mails, and fifteen texts.

All from Brody.

I dialed
in to check my voicemails. Brody had left message after message—each progressively more belligerent, and drunk.

Voicemail #1

Why aren’t you answering your phone? Pick up, pick up,
pick up!

Voicemail #2

You better pick up your phone now! Or you’re
gonna fuckin’ regret it.

Voicemail #3

You better be dead.

Voicemail #4

I hooked up with Jenna. You know why? Because you’re fucking frigid in bed.

Voicemail #5

Why aren’t you picking up? I told you you’d regret it.

Voicemail #6

Not only are you frigid, you’re boring ol’ vanilla!

Voicemail #7

I’m
sorry babes. I love you. You know I didn’t mean what I said.

By the
eighth voicemail, I had been reduced to tears. I pressed my palms to my ears to drown out his voice. I could no longer listen to the rest of his messages.

It was when
I started deleting all his voicemails and texts that I realized that not all the texts were from Brody. One of the texts was actually from Liam.

Blinking back the tears, I read his text:

Respect exists only on the basis of freedom, for l
ove is the child of freedom, never that of domination.

p/s that was one of my mom’s favorite quotes from some
dude named Fromm
.

That quote in itself shifted everything so sharply.
Slowly, I set my phone down on the bed and made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. The hiss of the water was a welcome distraction from the incessant ringing of my phone.

It was probably
Brody again but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. I wasn’t ready. Not yet.

Liam was right, I thought. No
one—
no one
—should be saying such hurtful things to me.

And who was it that was
saying these hurtful things? It was the man who said he loved me. And why did I feel so bereft, so alone, even in the midst of his love?

S
quaring my shoulder blades, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Is
this who I am now?

Though I stood
staring at my reflection, it was almost as if I could no longer see myself.

I felt so unsure of myself, t
he doubts inside me splintering me into a hundred broken pieces. Just like my reflection in the mirror in front of me. It looked cracked. Fragmented.

Like a
desolate mosaic.

Narrowing
my gaze at the shattered reflection, I searched for a name for that feeling I felt deep inside me.

I felt … disintegrated.

Slowly, as if in a sepia-toned dream, the fragmented pieces, the arguments, the fights, the accusatory words, the criticisms, the hurtful remarks, the humiliation, it all became part of one proper, cohesive, imposing, ugly whole.

A crippling knot twisted in my chest as
the truth hit me.

I turned off the faucet.
I knew what I had to do.

Ex
pelling a long and cleansing breath, I strode purposefully out of the bathroom in search of my phone. When I picked it up off my bed, I paused just long enough to compose myself.

Then I started texting.
Despite the fact that my hands were shaking uncontrollably, I somehow managed to get my thumbs to work in tandem.

It’s over, Brody. Please don’t call me. I don’t ever want to see you again.

After I clicked
Send
I flopped onto my bed and curled up into a tight ball, asking myself how my own moral compass could be so broken. So dismantled.

The compass that
had once told me what was right for me, and what was wrong for me, the compass that had always worked with such Germanic precision, it seemed to have stopped working at some point. It had failed me.

I turned on my side, staring at the wall
where Dad had penciled in the date every year on my birthday to chart my growth.

What would Dad think of me now?
I wondered.

I smiled to myself. A
smile with little humor in it.

Dad probably woul
dn’t even recognize me. He wouldn’t recognize this girl who had no spine. This girl who was so
stunted
.

How?
I asked again, feeling so ashamed of myself. I used to be so intuitive.
How could I let this happen to me?

My heart thudded painfully in my chest
. The answer didn’t come to me in a rush.

It came to me, bit by bit,
as I curled up in bed, hugging my knees to my chest, staring at my fading growth chart on the wall.

The answer was this:
a little piece at a time
. 

Brody
had taken bits and pieces of me: my self-confidence, my free spirit, my passion, my fierce independence, and my trust.

Bit
by bit, he’d taken them away from me, and with each passing day, the memory of who I had once been became more and more distant.

All the constant criticizing, the blaming, the cruel remarks … over time, it broke the needle on my compass.
I lost track of who I was, what I wanted, how I felt.

If
Brody had hit me, if he had physically hurt me, I’m a hundred percent sure I would have left him. But instead I allowed myself to be berated, I allowed my self-esteem to be shot down, I allowed my spirit to become paralyzed, I allowed him to build a fortress around my mind.

Or as Liam had so eloquently put it—I allowed Brody to fuck with my mind.

And he did. He fucked with my mind so much that I undermined what I thought about myself.

For that I took
full responsibility, but never again I told myself.

Never again.

Like water through a dam that has broken, I started crying. And I let myself cry, no longer hiding the pain as though it were something shameful.

Chapter Four

Vivian

Chelsea raised her glass in the air. “Tonight is just what you need to take your mind off everything.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I took another swig. Just in case I wasn’t drunk enough
.

As the night wore on
, we had drunk three bottles of sangria. Chelsea had mixed in vodka to add some kick to the sangria, and between the alcohol and the sugar content, all three of us were very drunk and very silly.

Not a good combination.

Katie clapped her hands and announced cheerily, “Let’s play truth or dare.”

“Ah.
Yes!” Chelsea turned to me, slurring her words. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I
said, staring absently into my glass. The sangria was so sweet, and so delectably fruity that I hadn’t even realized I was drinking until it snuck up on me, and clobbered me with little to no warning.

We were sitting on the patio deck, and u
nder the twinkling stars Chelsea’s eyes were glinting with mischief. “I dare you to walk into Liam’s room and hit on him.”

“Hit on Liam?” It came out like a frog’s croak. “But he’s Julian’s best friend.”

“So what?” Chelsea countered. “Your brother’s not even here. For all we know, he could be embedded in the Tora Bora cave as we speak.”

“The
Tora Bora cave is in Afghanistan.” I leaned forward in my chair, slurring my words. “Julian is in Iraq!”

“
Iraq!” Chelsea amended. “Julian is
far, far
away in Iraq … which means the mice can come out and play.”

“
Ohhhhh weeeeeee,” Katie started squealing like an overwrought mouse. “Play with Liam. I
like
the sound of that. Let’s face it, he’s not just hot. He’s
crazy-bangable-hot
.”

Chelsea
was just as smitten. “Liam is
muy, muy, muy caliente
.”

Goodne
ss. Liam was still wreaking havoc amongst my friends. Earlier tonight when he’d stepped out onto the patio deck to say hi, Chelsea and Katie suddenly stopped what they were doing and stared at him with open mouths, putting on a full display of unbridled lust.

I
swear I’d even heard their panties hitting the deck.

Nothing had
changed much since high school. Liam had pretty much the same effect on every girl I knew. And he still had.

But I
got
their obsession.
I got it.

My heart, too, had leapt at the sight of him.

He was extremely easy on the eyes. Tall and broad shouldered, with sandy brown hair, hazel eyes and a rugged tan that only deepened with the hot and dry California winds.

Wh
ile my brother had always been outgoing and perhaps a bit too impulsive, Liam was quieter, more reflective.

And although
Liam had the surfer good looks, washboard abs that looked as if they had been carved from marble, and cheekbones so prominent they could likely cut glass, he seemed entirely unaware of the affect he had on women.

He
never came off as self-absorbed, smug or arrogant. He had an open, honest face and a carefree, laid-back charm about him.

Now,
after serving three tours in Iraq, he looked a little different.

I couldn’t quite place my finger on what it was, but he looked
like he had lived a little, seen too much, was perhaps battle hardened by the war.

“Not to mention,” Katie continued in a dreamy voice, “have you
actually seen the size of Liam’s hands? He looks like he can fix things.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. “And Lord knows, Viv, after what Brody has put you through, you can surely use some fixing!”

“
Oh!” Katie started finger jabbing my chest.
Jab. Jab. Jab
. “Now that we’re sharing, I’ve never liked Brody.”

“
Me neither,” Chelsea added with distaste. “That slithering snake in the grass! That lying, cheating, controlling bastard!”

I stared into my glass, surprised at the magical way it seemed to have emptied itself. “He wasn’t always like that, though.
Brody was a good person.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “He was good to me.”

Perhaps I should have kept that to myself
because Chelsea and Katie were now looking and me with that strange combination of pity and panic.

When
they exchanged a glance, I was almost certain an unspoken message passed between them.

“Here!” Katie
said too cheerfully as she picked up the pitcher and refilled my glass. “You could use another drink.”

Chelsea dragged her chair
across the patio deck and came to sit closer to me. “There, there,” she soothed, rubbing my back. “I know you still love him but he’s not worth it. You can do
soooooooooo
much better.”

“Yeah.
” Katie nodded her assent. “Look at you now! You look
fine
,
gurrrrl!
You’re dressed to kill. To slay. And you’ve even got on some lipstick.”

“Bright red lipstick,”
Chelsea pointed out. “That used to be your trademark. I was so convinced you came out of the womb wearing red lipstick. Then after you started dating Brody—WHAMO! No more red lipstick. It’s like you had morphed into a Stepford Wife.”

“Really?” I had
something else I wanted to say, but I was so drunk I lost my train of thought.

“
Reaaaaallllllly
,” both Chelsea and Katie slurred in unison.

“W
hat you had with Brody was a sham,” Chelsea proffered in a relaxed and fluid voice, clearly buzzed from the sangria.

“A trave
sty of a mockery of a sham,” Katie added. “A
traveshamockery
.”

“A facsi
mile of a sham of a fax machine.” Chelsea nodded sagely. “A
faxshamachinery
.”

Discombobulated, I blinked, trying
hard to follow the thread of their conversation.

Chelsea drained her glass in one gulp. “Me and Katie had a nickname for him, too. We used to call him The Angry Rooster.”
Then she began crowing like a rooster at the break of dawn.

Katie gave a short hiccupping laugh.
“You know, you hardly ever hung out with us when you dated that
angry, angry
rooster.”

“I know.” I
pursed my lips and sent her a rueful look. “I’m sorry, guys. Trust me, I’m so mad at myself for neglecting you.”

“
Tsk-tsk.” Chelsea made a clucking noise. “Don’t be mad at yourself! Be mad at Brody!”

“
Nooooo
.” Katie shook her head fiercely. “Don’t get mad at him. Just get even.”

“Yeah!”
Chelsea punched her fist in the air. “Get even with that bastard! Even Steven! That’s what I always say! That bastard!”

“Yeah!” Katie spat. “
Bastard!” A beat passed, then another. Katie frowned. “Who’s Steven? I thought we were talking about Brody.”

“So
…” My blurry gaze went from Chelsea to Katie. “How do you propose I get even?”

“D’oh!”
Chelsea’s eyes practically rolled off her head. “We just told you. Hit on Liam!”

“Hit on Liam,” I repeated in a
drunken stupor.

All I could hear was
Chelsea and Katie clapping, quickly followed along with their steady chanting of: “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

Reveling in the excitement I
heard in their voices, I caved in. “All right, all right. I’ll do it.”

“
Yessssss!
” Chelsea whooped.

“I’ve got an idea.” Katie
began waving her hand in my face to get my attention. “You should surprise Liam by walking into his room …” She paused dramatically for effect. “Wearing nothing but a towel.”

I started to protest, but then I steeled myself to it.

This was the new me. The new Vivian was bold and impulsive.

The new
Vivian never backed down from a dare.

I’d
show Brody that I’m no boring ol’ Vanilla Vivian.

I’m Spicy Cinnamon
Vivian.

Yeah! That’s who I am.
 

Right. Taking a long, deep
, alcohol-infused breath, I staggered back into the house. After locking myself in the bathroom, I stripped down naked and wrapped myself in a fluffy white towel. With a final, silent prayer for courage, I pushed open the door and shuffled into Liam’s room.

The second I stepped in
to his room, his bathroom door swung open and he stepped out wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Now
the both of us were wrapped in towels.

Awkward
sauce.

I opened my mouth, but whatever I’d been planning to say seemed to die on my lips.
His hair was wet and shower water beaded on his muscled chest. My gaze traveled over the thick cords of sinew on his forearms, the hard planes of his torso, and the narrow arrow of dark hair that trailed all the way down to a sizeable bulge. I swallowed. He was all hard angles and edges, and the sight of him half-naked was truly arresting.

Liam’s
deep voice snapped me out of my trance. “What are you doing here, Viv?”

“
Whooopsie!” I exclaimed with attempted bravado. “Wrong room!”

Good job,
Viv. That’s the best you can come up with?

Just kill yourself now and get it over with
.

Liam started to speak when
Katie appeared out of nowhere. With a swift tug, she robbed me of the towel, leaving me stark naked in front of Liam.

Then
I heard Katie and Chelsea’s heavy footsteps as they took off running at a fast clip. “Bye, Vivian! Bye, Liam!” they hollered, shrieking with laughter. The sound of the front door slamming shut followed soon after.

I, too, could have laughed it of
f and bolted for cover. Instead I stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed with shock. I bit down on my lower lip as my whole body filled with a sick, numbing dread. And for some inexplicable reason, my eyes went to Liam.

He didn’t move. H
e simply stood there, his searing gaze raking over my body like a heated caress.

A
n eternity seemed to have revolved between us before he blinked. Then he strode over to the computer desk and grabbed a button-down plaid shirt that was haphazardly draped over the swivel chair.

I
found myself watching Liam as he walked toward me, a leisurely, almost predatory quality to his movements.

He caught
and held my gaze as he wrapped the shirt around my shoulders.

“This is so-so humiliating,” I said almost inaudibly, feeling perilously close to tears. I was so embarrassed that I didn’t know where to look
, didn’t know what to say. Eventually, I settled for, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,”
was all he said.

I
shrugged my arms into the sleeves and hugged the shirt tightly around my chest.

Liam
was silent again and I dropped my eyes to the ground, all hunched over, trying to make myself appear as small and as insignificant as I felt.

There was no sound a
side from the low humming noise coming from the computer.

I
tried to blink away a silly tear. I didn’t want Liam to see me crying. Every time Brody caught me crying, his inevitable response was: “What the fuck are you crying about now?”

“Hey.
” Liam’s voice was as soft and tender as a caress. He closed the small gap between us, and brushed away the lone tear. “It’s okay.”

At his gentle words, more tears streamed
down my face. I did not understand where they were coming from. I just knew I couldn’t stop them. And much to my horror, my nose was running like a leaky faucet.

Joy.

“Talk abou
t a hot mess.” I gave my nose a vicious swipe with my sleeve.

“Hey.”
His hand moved up to cup my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re not a hot mess. You’re beautiful, Viv.” Then more hoarsely, “So damned beautiful.”

I ignored the small flush
of pleasure I felt at his words. Sniffling loudly, I said, “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

Slowly h
e traced a path along my cheekbone, regarding me with such tenderness that my heart skipped a beat. “I’m not lying.”