Some Comfort Here Ch. 02

Brandon woke up the next morning to his legs being pulled rather hard. He groaned, dug his face out of the pillow, and looked down at his feet to find Ben trying to drag him out of bed.

Benedict Malcolm Thomas Barrett. The prankster. One of his oldest friends.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," he said, wrapping his fists around his ankles and pulling. Brandon grabbed the mattress, stopping himself from being dragged down the bed.

"Where did you come from?" He groaned again, tried to kick him but missed. Ben left his legs and they landed on the mattress with a thud. Brandon winced, flinging a kick in the air again.

"I came in through that door," Ben pointed at the entrance to the room. Then he jumped onto the mattress, the whole bed bouncing. "Wake up. We'll go riding."

"It's our last weekend home," Brandon mumbled. "Let me sleep."

He kicked his leg. "You'll never stop being lazy, will ya?" Ben laughed, punching him in the arm. Unable to put up with the early morning assault anymore, he finally rolled over, opening his eyes.

"What's the time?" He grumbled.

"About ten-thirty."

"What?!" He sprang up, turning to look at the bedside clock. It was indeed ten-thirty.

"Holy shit! Why did no one wake me up?"

"Everyone's busy downstairs." Ben leaned back, put a foot up on a knee. "The cafe's teeming."

"Is Izzi here?" He asked. It was Saturday. She didn't have school. He half expected her to be around, helping his mother.

"Nope." Ben had picked up a keyring and was swinging it around on a finger. "She was having breakfast when I left. Seemed in a bad mood, so I didn't press." He looked at him, his eyes narrowing. "Is everything okay?"

Brandon sank back against the pillows, still wondering how one word had played in her mind yesterday. Deep inside he knew she blamed everyone for what happened with her. Her family, her friends, her school, the society, the State...everyone. She wasn't totally wrong. They really had done too little to keep her safe.

"Brandy?" A hand rested on his shoulder. He looked at Ben and tried to smile. Ben resembled his dad to the T. Tall, lanky, dark eyes, dimpled chin, longish black hair. He probably had the most beautiful face he'd ever seen on a man. Handsome in a classical kind of way. Like he'd popped out of a fairytale book. And then there was the deep, sensuous voice...

"Did anything happen?" He asked, suddenly concerned. Ben had taken time to recover from Isabel's suicide attempt. He was better now, but he always worried about his sister. Always. He had been protective earlier but now he was fierce. Like a lioness protecting her young ones.

"No. Not really." Brandon yawned, stretching. "We were talking yesterday, and then it went the wrong way... I think she misunderstood. Got pissed off, perhaps. I don't know. I can barely understand her reactions now."

"You aren't alone. Don't blame yourself." The hand on his shoulder squeezed and then went away. "I don't think I understand her, either. But we'd have to be in her shoes to really understand her feelings." He sighed, sitting up. "Which I never want to be, quite honestly."

Ben bent his knees, drawing his legs close to his body. Then he entwined his fingers on his knees. "Tell you what?" He said. "Whenever I knock on her door and don't get a response, I can't help but think that maybe she's again..."

He trailed off, his voice breaking. Brandon sat up, pulled him into a hug. They were acutely aware of that feeling. But Ben's trauma was far more intense than anybody else's. He was the one who'd found her in the bathroom, her wrist slit, blood surrounding her. For the rest of their time in hospital, he had only thrown up in the toilet.

His mom had counseled him for weeks, trying to get him to overcome the trauma. Ben was strong, though. Although he had remained disturbed and shaken for the first couple of weeks, he had come around slowly. He had said something about killing the ones who had driven her to that, but they had made him understand, drilled into his head that they were already serving a sentence.

His love for Isabel was so strong, so unconditional. And they weren't even biological siblings. They were cousins, really. First cousins. Ben's mother and Isabel's mother were sisters, although they had fallen out long ago. Emily had married Dr Thomas Barrett and moved to Ireland, while Isabel lived in London. Thomas and Emily had always loved Isabel, treated her with the same care and affection that they gave Ben. During holidays, Isabel came to visit them. Everything was seemingly okay....

Until that night when Isabel was found in the cold, dark basement of her house, tied and starving, her mouth gagged, deep, bloody marks all over her body. That night changed everything.

"I still cannot believe that any sane person would do something so horrific to anyone," Ben's voice trembled as he spoke against his shoulder. "They were her parents, for god's sake!"

"They were no parent of hers," Brandon responded, stroking his back. "And they weren't sane either."

"Ten years," Ben continued, his voice turning throaty. "For nearly ten years she went through the horror. Why did she never tell anyone? I mean, we were close, right? I used to think she shared everything with me." He pulled away, wiped the tears off his cheeks. "I hated myself for not being able to help her. If only I had known the reason behind the covered clothes..."

"You saved her." Brandon reminded him. She had battled exsanguination for close to two weeks. When they'd brought her in, doctors had said that everything would have ended had they found her a little later.

"Yeah. And she didn't speak to me for...three weeks?" Ben sniffed, running his fingers through his lustrous mane. "She made me feel like I had done something really wrong by saving her."

"She wasn't okay. She isn't okay. But someday, she will appreciate life again. And then she'll realise what you had done for her."

"You believe that?" He looked at him, frowning. "You believe she'll appreciate life again?"

"She will. I know it." Brandon put an arm around his shoulders. "Give her time. She needs to heal."

"I doubt if she'll ever heal completely. My parents are trying really hard to get her back to normal. We know it'll take time..." He laughed a dry laugh. "Know what's funny? My parents are mental health professionals. And we're dealing with suicide, depression, trauma right at home. We feel so helpless sometimes. Only Izzi knows the scars she bears. We'll never be able to put ourselves in her place and feel things the way she does."

"Your parents love her. That's what she needs. Love. Safety. A home." He sighed. "Time heals, Ben. We can only hope for the best."

Ben's parents had adopted Isabel but let her keep her existing surname because she was too old for an identity crisis. They loved her, cared for her unconditionally. But Isabel's wounds were her own. No one got through to her.

"Do you...do you think she does okay at school?" Brandon asked quietly, not sure if they should be having that conversation anymore. "I mean, she doesn't say anything, so..."

Ben shrugged. "She doesn't tell us anything, either. But it'll be a little too much to expect her to be okay in the middle of hundreds of strangers." He put his head down where his knees were connected and sighed. "We just want her to get through Leaving Cert, that's all. Her grades are okay, nothing wrong there. After what happened in London, we couldn't possibly keep her there anymore. I know Irish education is different from what she had in London, but...we had no other choice."

Brandon nodded, his hand coming up to stroke his friend's hair. From a prestigious private academy in London to a small town school in an Irish county, the move was definitely extreme. They couldn't say if Isabel found it difficult at all. She was numb. Life was only a routine to her now.

"You know what?" he smiled. "I never told you, but you're really strong. Just like Izzi. If I were in your place, I wouldn't have been able to go through this whole boyband thing while my sister battled for life in a glass cabin." He shook his head. "I don't know how you did it, but it was very brave of you. Taking her to hospital in time, calling everybody, just taking care of everything without breaking down..."

"I did break down," he sighed. "When Elsa and I managed to break open the door, I couldn't move for a whole minute. Elsa called the ambulance, not I. And then you guys came and took over everything. I...just managed to throw up every meal since last year."

Despite himself, Brandon laughed. It had been incredibly difficult for them to learn to be a boyband during this tough time. It was the hardest for Ben, who didn't even want to be the second lead when his name came up. He pushed Mark's name forward, even Kyle's. But management thought Ben's voice was the best in the band, after Brandon's.

But they'd got through. Come Monday and they'd be on TV again, talking about themselves, their childhoods, their country, and their upcoming album. And then they'd be off to Mexico to shoot a music video. Sometimes he felt a tad guilt having so much fun when Isabel's life was so hard. Not that they could do anything about it, though.

"When did you return?" Brandon asked, changing the conversation.

"Last night," he answered. "Nathan wanted to drive me home but I caught a flight."

"So you met him?"

Ben lifted his head and smiled.

"Yes. Spent two days with him and his family in Malahide." He leaned back in bed, putting his hands behind his head. "He's a million times funnier than what we know. And his dad is such a sport. Nathan looks exactly like him. Only he's bald."

Nathan was their fifth bandmate. He was from Dublin, had been selected through the audition. The five of them had got along like a house on fire from the first day, like a close-knit family on the road. They ate, slept, and hung out together, talking girls, shopping, football, and music. And drinking Red Bull.

"Good for you." Brandon smiled. "He called me the other day. Asked why the rest of us weren't coming down too."

"It would have been fun. But then, everyone wants to be home the few days off we get." He looked into his eyes, his smile disappearing. "You love her, don't you?" he asked, his face serious.

Brandon nodded. He didn't know when it had happened, but it had. He couldn't imagine life without Isabel, just like he couldn't without his family or music.

"You doubt it?" He asked. Ben shrugged.

"You're the popular guy," he said. "You chase girls. Girls chase you. If I'm not very mistaken, you've gone out with most of those girls who threw themselves at you after we did Grease." He looked at him again, his eyes turning a shade darker. "My sister is fragile. She isn't like the other girls here."

"I know. And I love her because of that. Because she's different."

"Yeah? And what happens when you feel that you're better off with somebody normal, not someone so different?"

"That'll never happen. Ever." He inhaled, gathering his thoughts. And then he reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "You can trust me," he nodded. "I'll keep her safe."

Ben gazed at him for a while, before nodding. "I trust you," his put his hand over his. Brandon smiled, giving him a quick hug.

"Want to go riding?" He said. Ben nodded. "Great. I'll freshen up. And then we'll go."

He jumped out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

*

They were late for lunch. They'd gone riding through Hazelwood, raced for a little bit, then Ben had got a little too adventurous and taken a lesser known track, and they'd eventually got lost. They'd got down from their horses, argued for a while over who was supposed to know the place better, and then began riding again, until they were back on familiar track.

They'd returned to Ben's house and crashed on their sofa, until Elsa had barked at them for being late again. Emily was kinder, though. She asked them to wash up and then come for lunch, which they obeyed, famished as they were.

It was a few minutes after lunch that Brandon had realised he hadn't seen Isabel the whole day. Ben had urged him to go to her room and check, and Emily had backed him up. He'd left the front of the TV and quietly made his way towards her room, wondering if she was still annoyed about the other day.

He hadn't dated anyone else after Isabel came. He still chased girls and flirted with them but never went out with anybody other than Isabel. She was his girlfriend. Everyone knew that. Isabel knew that too, since she gave him weird looks if she found him hanging out with any other girl. She was shy, but at moments like that, he felt her love for him.

"Hey." Isabel was in front of the computer, noting something down from the screen onto her diary. Her hair was tied high up in a ponytail, her legs neatly folded on the chair, the glove of her right hand off as she wrote. On the bed was the newspaper, a couple of books, and her school bag.

She looked up, stared for a while, then allowed him in with a nod. She looked tired, her eyelids droopy.

"I can leave if you're busy," he said, not wanting to annoy her again. She shook her head.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm just seeing something here."

"Are you alright?" he asked, coming in and shutting the door behind him. "You look...tired."

"I'm fine. I...I couldn't sleep last night," she admitted reluctantly. "So..."

"Nightmares?" He pulled a chair and sat next to her. She had difficulty sleeping sometimes, despite the sleeping pills. Even though she never said, he could tell when she'd slept well and when she hadn't. That afternoon she looked like she hadn't.

"No. Just thoughts." She copied something in the diary from the screen, then put the lid back on the pen. "Where's Ben?"

"In front of the TV. What's this?" He perused the contents on the screen. Something about a writing contest for high schoolers. Isabel was a gifted writer, with a love for storytelling. He could totally see her nailing it. "You're participating?" he asked. She nodded.

"I want to." She closed her notebook, turned her attention back to the computer. "The winner gets his piece printed in The Guardian."

"Wow! That's crazy. I'm sure you can do it."

"That isn't even the best part." She moved the cursor over a certain line on the page. "See that? £900."

"The prize money?

"Hmm. It's a lot of money."

"You're doing it for the money?" he frowned.

"Partly. I love to write. But the money's great too." She looked at him, her upper teeth biting into her lower lip. "I need the money. Want to move out of here as soon as I can."

She closed the page, proceeding to shut the device. Then she stretched her legs, leaned back in the chair, and looked at him. "What?"

"You don't want to be here?" he asked. He didn't know she was unhappy here. Granted, nothing made her happy anymore, but at least she was safe and loved here.

"I want to be on my own," she hung her head low. "I feel like I'm being a burden. Ben's parents—"

"They're your parents as well."

"That's because it was better than being sent to a shelter or something. I'm not Ben. Not their own."

"You're their niece. And their adopted daughter." Brandon shook his head, sighing. "Izzi, these people love you. They've gone all out trying to give you a better life."

"I feel like they're taking pity on me. They're nice....but they're just doing me a favour." She looked at him, her eyes sad. "I can't be here forever."

"No one lives with their parents forever, Izzi," he smiled, lightly touched her soft cheek. "You will eventually move out. But there's no hurry, okay? You'll go to college, get a career, do something big in life."

"Something big. Right." She sighed, the sound heavy and tired. She reached for the glove, slipping it on. "When're you leaving?"

"Monday morning. We'll probably go straight to the BBC studio for an interview." He leaned closer to her. "Didn't Ben tell you?"

"Didn't ask. He only returned last night. We haven't spoken much since." He folded her hands on the desk. "When will you be back again?"

"Not sure. Louis had said we'd get a couple of days before the album releases and then it'll get busy again."

"Oh." Outside, Emily was scolding Ben for leaving his shoes in front of the door again and he was saying something in his defense. "You'll be having fun, then," she said. "Do you like London?"

"Oh yes. It's big and glitzy and totally different from what I'd known so far," he smiled. "We love it there. It's like a whole world opening in front of us."

"I know. You'll be big. You deserve it." She glanced at the bed. "Can you help me with my Irish homework?" she asked. "I have to complete an assignment."

"Sure." Brandon was only too willing. Isabel left the chair, shuffled over to the bed, and took out an exercise book from her bag. She did well at studies. Despite a new education system, she showed no significant difficulty.

Isabel was an intelligent girl, aware, knowledgeable, well-read. She was unlike the girls in the town, who were interested in makeup and clothes and parties and cute boys. At the same time, for a city girl she was too sweet and simple, without any airs around her. Had it not been for her accent or her hair, no one could tell she wasn't Irish.

"Do the lads hit on you?" He suddenly asked, the words out before he could help it. She looked at him, her face blank.

"Which lads?"

"In school. Do they?"

She returned to the chair, opened the book on the desk. "Would you be jealous if they did?"

Yes, he would. "No..." he lied. "I mean, are they decent with you? Do they misbehave?"

"No. They think I'm mental and might bite or scratch if they push the wrong buttons. They do try to talk to me sometimes, though."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"One of them asked me yesterday why we have different surnames if I'm Ben's sister."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. They should know about me by now." She opened the exercise book, turning pages. "Don't worry," she said. "No one hits on me. You're the only lad who's after me."

"I am. And for good reason." His hand came up to her face, cupped it lovingly. "I love you. Want to be with you," he whispered, bringing his face close to hers. "You're the love of my life."

Isabel's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" Her eyes widened. "I thought that's music."

Brandon laughed softly. "You're the music of my heart. You're as important to me as my family or music."

"You say that to comfort me."

"Izzi, why do you think that you only deserve pity? You are a lovable person. People love you because they feel love for you, not because of pity or sympathy." He held her tighter, pulled her closer. "I cannot explain how much you mean to me. I miss you every moment I spend away from home. Your scars don't bother me. Your past, your present, nothing bothers me, Izzi. What bothers me is that I had to see you fighting for life and couldn't do anything to help..."

"You did." Isabel reached out and wiped a stray tear that had surreptitiously escaped from the corner of his eye. "You were there beside me. When I came to, you're the one I saw. Not that I wanted anyone around...but you did your bit. Everyone did."

"You tried to wrench away the saline drip. And almost kicked the doctor." Brandon barked out a laugh at the memory. She hadn't been happy at all to realise she was alive. The police had harassed her a lot after her rescue, the court had asked her probing questions, until the child protection committee stepped in and reminded them that they couldn't ask such questions to a girl above 15.

It had all been too much for her to cope with. Ashamed, humiliated, and helplessly depressed, she found saviour in a kitchen knife.

"I hated everyone," she said quietly.

"And now?" He asked, tracing the curve of her neck. She shrugged.