Chapter 12
My sophomore year, Carl violated probation.
He showed up drunk at Brandon’s game and screamed at him for losing.
Security removed him.
A video surfaced.
Carl looked pathetic.
Not powerful.
Not terrifying.
Just a man who had never learned the difference between love and ownership.
Brandon called me that night.
“I punched him.”
I sat up in bed.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. I hit him before he could.”
I knew that feeling.
The hot rush.
The aftertaste.
“Call your aunt,” I said. “Then call your lawyer.”
He laughed weakly.
“You sound like Coach.”
“Good. He’s usually right.”
Carl went back to jail for the violation.
Brandon entered therapy.
He told me later, “I hated you because it was safer than hating him.”
I understood.
It did not excuse him.
But I understood.
Mom began volunteering at a family support group for parents leaving abusive partners.
The first time she spoke publicly, she called me afterward crying.
“I told them I froze.”
“What did they say?”
“They understood.”
Her voice broke.
“I wish no one understood.”
May you like
That sentence was heavy.
But it was honest.
