Dear Sister, Never Again #ONC2022

Don't Need Anyone

Brett and I settle into a booth on opposite sides at a well-liked restaurant the police officers at the courthouse recommended.

The moment Emily was ushered out of the courtroom, I was worried about running into her again, so having Brett by my side is not only a pleasant distraction, he offers a feeling of security without even trying.

He sheds his suit jacket with his coat when we enter the restaurant, and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress-shirt, exposing muscular forearms with a tattoo I can't make out, so I stare at it for far too long. He must notice, because he turns his arm, allowing me to see the detailed panther with defined muscles, clawing its way toward his bicep.

"Impulsive decision when I turned nineteen."

I resist the temptation to trace it with my fingers, noting the claws of the panther digging into his perfect bronze skin. "Did it have a special meaning?"

"Nothing profound, no. I just like panthers. I guess, if anything, it was symbolic of clawing my way through life, not letting obstacles stop me."

That sounds profound to me. I wish I had that kind of resilience.

We order our food when the server comes by, each requesting a cup of coffee as well. Both of us work in jobs that require round-the-clock shifts and a constantly adjusting internal clock, making me curious if he's as dependent on caffeine as I am.

My phone rings in my purse, but I'm not ignorant enough to check it while I'm in someone else's company. That's one of my pet peeves.

I attempt to make small talk about caffeine consumption when it rings again. Brett's left brow raises before suggesting I at least see who is calling. Upon lifting my phone from my bag, it's a number I don't recognize. I slide the red circle across the screen. I've given my number to few people willingly, so I assume it's a scammer.

Before I can ease back into our conversation, it rings again. This time, Brett encourages me to answer it, otherwise they could just keep calling and interrupting our lunch... date... or whatever this is.

I apologize, then reluctantly swipe the green circle, lifting the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Layla."

My body goes stiff, but my eyes dart around the room, scanning my surroundings. I want to get up and take this call elsewhere, but I can't move. "Emily. Did you get a new number?"

Brett's eyes shoot open at the mention of my sister's name. He shakes his head. Whether that's indicating I should hang up or he's annoyed that Emily called, I'm not sure.

"Don't act like you care about me. I was calling to tell you how pathetic you are."

I've been on the receiving end of my sister's verbal abuse before, but it stings just as much each time. My shoulders slump, losing the tension and sinking under the crushing weight of disappointment. "Em, don't do this. Please," I whisper.

Brett slides out of his side of the booth and squeezes in beside me. I study him for a few seconds when he takes out a pen and notepad to write something. Who knew that was an off-duty habit?

"Don't do what? Have you locked up in jail for something that wasn't your fault? You didn't even try to listen to me, Layla. You just had me sent away and turned the police against me. What kind of sister does that?"

Brett writes: Not your fault.

He's listening? That makes this situation about 100 times worse. Now I can be disappointed and embarrassed.

"I get that you're upset, but I didn't have a choice."

"Don't give me that garbage. Miss I'm-so-perfect-I-never-make-a-mistake. Give me a break. I just wanted to call to tell you, you're going to regret this."