A Boy Called Brook: Summer 4 by Clara Copyright© 2022, 2024 Clara Schuman   Brook wakes up in the hospital with lots of bruises and a lot of things to think about.

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Author's Note: Brook, confused and not wanting his dad arrested, has a lot on his plate this chapter. I think with Brooke's and her mothers help, this chapter maybe heads to a better place? We shall see.

Thank you to everyone who has commented so far! I wish to thank Sephrena for her assistance with the html and to all of my reviewers for their kind reviews and support of my work.
Please, I would love for you to let me know what you think about my story, leave a review, it can be good or bad (not too harsh please!)
I am always willing to learn! ~Clara.
 
 
Summer 4
 

"Well, welcome back," a nurse said. She was typing something into a computer near the left side of my bed and smiling at me when I stirred. "Don't try to move too much. You'll be pretty sore for a day or two. The good news is, you don't have any severe injuries. The bad news is, you're pretty badly bruised up and you're going to feel those bruises for a week or so. Nothing is permanent, though, so you'll be your old self in no time." She put an oxygen reading device on my finger and said. "You have a visitor." I figured it must be Brooke. "Your little sister has been here for hours, waiting for you to wake up." She smiled and motioned with her head to my right.

I turned and saw Elena standing by my bedside. "Hi, Brook. They didn't want to let me in, but I didn't want you to wake up alone." She smiled sweetly at me. "You really had me worried. You look like crap." She giggled a little, but her eyes watered, too.

"Hi, El," I whispered, my voice working less well than my very stiff jaw. "How long have you been here?"

"A couple of hours. I came with the Kerrs. They're out in the waiting room. They'd only let family in." She smiled an impish grin that told me to just go along with what she was saying.

I held up a weak hand and she took it in hers. "Are you ok?" She asked, suddenly sounding serious.

I shrugged a little. "I guess. Everything hurts and... I'm kind of scared."

"Don't be," she smiled. "Lots of people love you."

"I wish that was true," I sighed and I probably would have cried if I had any tears left.

Knowing better than argue, Elena looked at the nurse and asked, "When can he leave?"

"Oooooh..." the nurse said, looking at her paperwork, "in a few hours, I'd expect. A doctor will be in to talk to him soon and she'll make that determination. As long as there's someone to drive him home, though, he should be able to go home this afternoon some time."

The nurse smiled at both of us and then her smile faded a little. "I think a social worker is coming in, too. Usually in these cases of domestic violence... well... you understand." She looked from Elena to me. "It's nice to have a sister at a time like this, isn't it? It's a very special bond that sisters share. Something that you'll never share with anyone else." She patted my shoulder a bit. "Well, would you like me to bring in your other guests?" Now her smile was beaming, as if everything was alright.

I nodded. "Yes, please."

"Ok," she said. "Give me just a minute or two and they'll be right in."

When the nurse had left, I looked at Elena and asked, "Why did they think you were my sister?"

"Because I told them I was," she smiled. "I don't have an ID - no one my age does - so, a few tears, some begging and they believed me." She smiled at her deviousness. "Seriously, the idea of you being in here alone was making me sick. I wanted to come in and be with you. We all did, but I was the only one young enough to fib my way in. Well... 'fib' is such an ugly word."

That made me laugh, but laughing really hurt. As a matter of fact, I hurt in a lot more places than I had the night before. My face hurt, my stomach hurt, my arms hurt, my back hurt, my legs hurt... I guess everything hurt, pretty much.

"Oh, my God," Brooke said as she came into the room, "look what that son of a bitch did to you." She was crying as she ran to me and wrapped me in an incredibly painful hug.

"You're hurting him, Brooke," Mrs Kerr said, softly. When Brooke had let go, Mrs Kerr asked, "How are you, honey?"

"I'm ok, I guess..."

"Bullshit," Brooke said, but I kept going.

"... and I should be going home today."

"You're not going home. You're staying with us." Brooke proclaimed.

"Brooke," Mrs Kerr tried to strike a reasonable tone, "family dynamics are very difficult. We can't just jump into the middle of things we know nothing about. Yes, we'll be there as a safety net..."

"Mom!"

"... AS A SAFETY NET, but Brook and his father have a lot to work out together and whatever the courts recommend... well... that's what we are going to adhere to."

"Like fucking hell," Brooke said, shocking me by speaking to her mother that way, but no one else in the room even raised an eyebrow. "If you won't see reason, then I'm putting him into the Jeep and taking him up to dad's where he'll be safe."

"Now, calm down, Brooke. You promised to be levelheaded. This isn't doing him any good." Mrs Kerr was trying hard to keep a lid on things, but Brooke was really wound up.

"Mom... look at him. LOOK at him." She stamped her foot.

"In the hall now. We need to talk." Mrs Kerr pointed to the door.

Brooke crossed her arms and exhaled like she was about to attack.

"The hall. NOW." Mrs Kerr was exerting parental power in a way I'd never seen her do before.

And it worked!

Brooke exhaled in frustration and stormed out of my room. Mrs Kerr looked at me with sympathy. "Brook, honey... I'm so sorry. I'm just glad you're not too badly hurt. We'll be right back." She left and closed the door behind her.

That left me with Elena and Melissa. Now, Melissa is a bit different than her sisters. Kind of self involved. They're all a little spoilt, of course, well - maybe over privileged is a better term - but Melissa is kind of always about... Melissa. That day, though... she wasn't. She was just looking me, trying to come up with the right thing to say.

She looked very closely at my face, most of the rest of me was covered. She examined everything inch of damage and then made eye contact with me. "Does it hurt bad?"

I nodded a little. "Yeah."

"Why did he do it? Because of the girl stuff?"

"Yeah."

Her eyes watered a little. "So... it was our fault?"

"No. It was my fault."

"No, it wasn't," Elena said, but Melissa kept eye contact with me.

"Do you want to be a girl... like us, then?" Melissa ignored her sister.

I shook my head a very little bit. "No. I don’t. I just want to be me. And... and the hair and all... that’s part of me."

"Then why did he hurt you?" I know this might seem like an odd thing to ask someone laying in bed with a billion bruises, but she was being very sincere.

"I guess... I guess he just doesn’t like that part of me." I said.

She squinted and thought a bit. "The first time I saw you, before Brooke ever brushed your hair or anything, I could see that part of you. How come he couldn’t?"

That was a little too much for me and I started crying again. "I don’t know, Mel. I really don’t know."

"Let him, be," Elena said, awkwardly trying to offer comfort as only someone her age can.

"I’m sorry," Melissa said, taking my hand and kissing it. "I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry."

I shook my head a little and sniffled back my tears. "No, don’t be sorry. It’s not you. This is all just too much." I took three or four or ten or fifty steadying breaths and got control of myself again. "I’m telling you the truth, though, Mel... I just don’t know why he didn’t see that part of me when everyone seems to have. But he didn’t and he beat me up because of that. He’s just a very angry man and I never should have lied to him. I knew this would happen eventually."

Brooke and Mrs Kerr reentered the room at that point, but another person came in with them. An older woman with bright blue hair and glasses with frames that matched her hair color perfectly. She wore a kind of tunic length top with what looked like hand embroidered moons and moon flowers all over it. Her whole look was kid of hippy-ish. Like something out of a bad movie about a cool grandma in the 1960s or something.

"Hi, Brook," she said to me, "I’m Cathy Martin. I’m your social worker."

"My social worker?" I asked. I knew that the nurse had said one would come in, but I didn’t really understand why. "I’m not sure why I need a social worker, Ms Martin. I’m eighteen. That makes me an adult, legally, so..."

"Yes, it does, Brook, but you are also the victim of domestic violence AND you are still a high school student and your father is still, technically, your caretaker, and since he is responsible for your health and safety and and he violated that responsibility, we need to discuss your living arrangements... and since you are male, those are pretty tricky."

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs Kerr.

"Well, if Brook were a woman, there are many shelters for abused women. The same is not true for bused men. Especially, young men. Some do exist in more metropolitan areas, but not here. And since Brook is eighteen, that rules out youth housing. So, that brings us to our best option. There is a church operated homeless shelter in Gardner..."

"Gardner!?" Brooke interrupted. "Mom, Gardner that’s so far away."

"Shh," Mrs Kerr held up a finger to Brooke and looked at Ms Martin. "A homeless shelter, Ms Martin? Seriously?"

"I’m sorry. I know that isn’t perfect for someone as young and as small as Brook, but it is the best we have to offer at the moment."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was going to living in a homeless shelter?

"Mom," Brooke whispered, panicked.

"Umm," Mrs Kerr interrupted, "why can’t Brook go home?"

"Oh, I’m sorry," Ms Martin shook her head in a ‘how silly of me’ manner. "Brook’s father, Mr... Chapin, was arraigned this morning. He pleaded ‘not guilty’ and a trail date was set. I’m sure you’ll be receiving paperwork about that. Anyway, until that time, Mr Chapin is not allowed to be in contact with his son. So, since Mr Chapin owns the property, that means that Brook is not allowed on the property. Unless, of course, you hire a lawyer and fight that."

"A lawyer?" My head was floating two feet above my body. I couldn’t imaging how all of this was happening. None of it made any sense. "I don’t know any lawyers. I can’t afford a lawyer! I don’t even have a job!"

"Ok. Calm down. You don’t need to hire a lawyer," the social worker said. "An Assistant District Attorney will be representing you, as the victim, at the trial and we’ve found you a room at the shelter, so you have a place to stay until then."

"Yes, you do," Mrs Kerr said, very curtly. "You’ll stay with us."

"Oh?" Ms Martin seemed surprised. "And what is your address?"

Mrs Kerr told her the address and the social worker checked her notes. "Oh... I’m not sure if that is agreeable. See, having him right next..."

"You listen to me, Ms Martin," Mrs Kerr was suddenly a lion protecting me, her adopted cub, "that boy is staying in my home. He is NOT... not under any circumstances... staying in a homeless shelter, do you understand me? If that is not acceptable to the legal system of The Commonwealth of Massachusetts, then you have my address. Send the State Police if you want, but Brook Chapin will be warm and safe and well fed in my home until this matter is resolved. And that is the end of this discussion."

"Well, I will report this option to the court, of course," Cathy Martin said, "but... you may be hearing about alternate arrangements being made. I will be checking in from time to time." She turned and headed for the door.

"I look forward to hearing from you," Mrs Kerr said.

The door closed and Brooke said, "Mom! You’re a badass!" She hugged her and kissed her cheek. "Thank you."

"Damned right, I’m a bad ass," she smirked. "Come on, girls," she said to the younger girls. "Let’s give Brooke and Brook a few minutes."

When they’d left, Brooke came close to my bed and smiled down at me with glistening eyes. "You’re a mess."

"Everything’s a mess."

‘I know," Brooke’s smile faded, "but it’ll get better."

I shook my head a little. "I don’t think so. It’s all my fault."

"Now, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard," she said.

"Maybe we should have talked to my father sooner..."

"And maybe he would have beat the crap out of you sooner," she shook her head. "Brook... Maybe we should have done a lot of things, but maybe he shouldn’t have beaten you up. No decent person does that. That’s just the act of a goddamned mean person."

I thought for a moment. "How does that get fixed?"

She shrugged. "I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe your relationship with your father is over."

I shook my head that little bit again. "No. I have to fix it."

"Honey... he just beat the snot out of you. Why do you want to fix your relationship with him?"

"Because he’s my dad," I said, flatly. "Maybe I’m broken or something, but he’s my dad, Brooke. He raised me. My mom threw me away and just. left, but he stayed and took care of me. I love him and even though he messed up really bad last night, I’m pretty sure he still loves me. I mean, I messed up, too. We have to fix this."

She let put a long breath. "Wow, baby... wow. If my dad did to me what your dad did to you I’d just say ‘goodbye’ and send his ass off to jail. Wow." She looked at me for a long time then shrugged. "Ok... we’ll fix this. I don’t know how, but... we’ll fix this."

I was discharged around dinner time and I had a harder time getting dressed than I expected. Everything hurt. Brooke helped, but it wasn’t easy and it took a long time. I couldn’t tighten my belt and my jeans wouldn’t stay up. Since I was in a wheelchair to get from my room to the Kerr’s SUV, that was ok. The bigger problem was the handful of prescriptions in my hand. Yes, I had insurance, but each prescription had a hefty copay, so I had no idea how I was going to deal with them. When Mrs Kerr pulled into the drug store parking lot, I felt a rush of anxiety.

"Ummm... maybe I can pick up my prescriptions tomorrow," I said.

Mrs Kerr looked over her seat back at me. "Brook... you need them now. The anti inflammatory drugs will bring down the swelling, and the pain drugs will help you get comfortable so you can sleep."

I nodded and looked at her and then out the window. I thought for a moment. "I think I’ll be ok."

"It’s ok, Brook," Brooke said, understanding. "I’ll go in with you and take care of it."

I sighed. "I... I don’t think I can make it in. I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow will be better." I honestly felt like such a weakling. "Please... let’s come back."

"It’s ok, Brook," Elena said from the back seat. "Just wait here. I’ll go with you, Brooke."

They went in, leaving me with Melissa and Mrs Kerr and a lot of awkward silence. It took about ten minutes before they came out and they climbed back into the SUV.

"The pharmacist said to be sure to take the pills with food," Elena said as she climbed in.

"Let’s get some supper on the way home," Mrs Kerr said, "so you can start your medication when we get home."

We stopped at a deli and the Kerr’s all got sandwiches. They got me some potato and bacon soup so I could sip it without having to chew.

Back at their house, I struggled to get into the house without losing my pants, which was a chore. I ate maybe a cup and a half of the soup. It was delicious, but it was hard to eat because it hurt to open my mouth. I had some of it through a straw, but that hurt, too.

I took my meds and within a few minutes the pain killers started numbing the pain a bit and I started feeling better.

" think a nice, hot bath might be a good idea, Brook," Mrs Kerr suggested. "I have the large tub in my bathroom. You can step down into that. I’ll run a nice warm bath and put in some bath salts for you and it’ll make you feel better."

I looked at the stairs and I had some concerns. "I might need some help getting up the stairs," I said. "And... I can’t really tighten my belt, so... I know this sound weird, but... I don’t know if I can get up there with my pants on."

"I’ll help you get up the stairs," Brooke volunteered.

"I’ll get you a robe," Elena said.

"Get him a nightgown, too," Brooke called after her.

"A nightgown?" her mother asked, an eyebrow raised.

"He’ll need something to wear to bed, anyway, mom."

She shook her head and then called up the stairs, "Better get him a pair of panties, too. A new pair if you have any."

About ten minutes later, with my jeans on the back of a chair down stairs and a light weight, baby blue robe tied loosely around my waist, Brooke helped me up the stairs to Mrs Kerr’s oversized bath tub. Brooke helped me down into the tub. I was self conscious about her seeing me completely naked, but I needed help and I’d rather it be Brooke helping me than Mrs Kerr.

The hot water and the bath salts really did feel good on my wounded skin and I soaked for a good long time with Brooke adding new hot water from time to time.

Eventually, I sat up and she washed and conditioned my hair for me. Then she helped me up and I got out, but there was a problem. Mrs Kerr’s bathroom had a lot of mirrors and for the first time, I saw how bruised my body was. It was pretty bad. I mean, I didn’t look like I’d been in a car accident or anything, but I definitely looked like I’d gone a few rounds with a real tough fighter – which – I guess I had.

Brooke patted me dry as gently as she could, then helped me into the plain white panties and loose, white nightie. There was nothing sexy or playful about wearing a nightie this time, though. It was just a necessity.

I pulled the lightweight robe on and sat while Brooke gently brushed my hair and put it up in a bun.

"Do you feel better?" she asked me.

"A little," I said, "but l’m really tired."

She nodded. "You can sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch."

I would have argued, but the thought of going back downstairs seemed exhausting. "Thank you," I said, feeling very emotional.

Brooke led me into her room and pulled down her covers, laying me gently on my back, then covering me with a sheet. She kissed my cheek before leaving me to think about what had happened to me.

I wondered: Why had this happened? And of course I knew why. I had been expecting it to happen for weeks. Maybe not to this extreme, but I knew that it was going to happen.

So, then I starting thinking about why I had kept the dresses in the first place. And you know why I think I had? Because deep down, I really wanted my father to find them because I wanted him to know that what I really wanted... more than anything... was to express myself the way that Brooke had taught me to. By being pretty and feminine. But there was no way that I could ever tell him how I felt other than to let him find the dresses.

Well, he’d found the dresses and he knew what I was, so now what?

That’s what I needed to figure out.

At that point, between the drugs, the exertion of getting up the stairs and the drama of the day, I drifted off into a slightly drugged sleep that lasted until Brooke woke me the next morning.

"Hi,"she whispered in all her angelic beauty. "It’s nearly ten and mom thought you should have something to eat and get some medicine into you. I brought you some eggs and toast and orange juice. If you want something else, I can get that, too."

As I regained consciousness, I realized I was hungry and I sat up straighter so that Brooke could place a very fancy breakfast-in-bed tray over my hips. I ate a light breakfast and sipped the orange juice and began to feel a little better.

Brooke touched my arm. "The bruises are already fading."

"Are they?"

She touched my face. "Some of them are. I could cover some of them with some makeup if you want."

I shrugged. "We’ll see."

I heard a car door shut outside and knew it had to be from my driveway. "Is that my father?"

Brooke looked out the window. "Yeah."

"Why is he home on a weekday, I wonder?" I said.

Brooke shrugged. "Mom says he took some time off. She says he’s seeing someone... an anger management guy, or something."

"My dad!?" I half laughed. "A psychologist?"

"I guess." She looked kind of serious. "Mom says he’s really upset. She says he can’t believe he did what he did. I mean... I can’t believe he did what he did, either, so... at least we’re all on the same page," she smirked and shrugged a little. "Do you feel any better?"

I nodded. "I do, think."

"Good," she smiled. "After breakfast, why don’t you get dressed, I’ll brush your hair out and maybe you’ll feel better if you move around a bit. What do you think."

I nodded. "Ok."

I got up and Brooke brushed my hair. She even used her curling iron to create vertical curls that she then loosened and sprayed, so that my hair looked full and rich.

"Now, let me cover some of those bruises," she said, and she went to work on my face with some makeup. When she finished, I definitely looked better and that made me feel better.

Right about that time, there was a timid knock on the door. We turned and saw Elena coming in. "Hey," she smiled. "How are you feeling?"

I took a deep breath and exhaled it. "Better... I think."

"Here," she said, handing me a new pair of panties.

I thanked her. We were both just a little embarrassed by the exchange of the intimate piece of clothing in the stark light of day.

"Hang on," she said and ran out of the room, then came back a moment later carrying something very bright and very yellow. "Look... I know that all this girly stuff that we’ve introduced you to is what got you beaten up in the first place, and I’m the one who told you to accept the dress from Brooke in the first place, but... well, with your bruises and all, I thought that something loose would be comfortable and this color always makes me happy, so..." she held out the yellow dress in her hand, "... I thought this might make you feel better."

It was just a simple, very bright yellow dress. Very short sleeves, a crew neck and a mostly formless, yet pretty dress. It was a simple and thoughtful offer.

"Thank you, El. It’s very pretty." I took it and gave Elena a gentle hug, which was the best I could manage.

She smiled. "I’ll let you change and see you down stairs."

I’ve heard girls and women say that a nice dress makes them feel better before, but I always thought they were just being... I don’t know... hyperbolic, I guess... But you know what? I got cleaned up, got my hair done, had Brooke fuss over me a little and put on a pretty dress and a pair of nice sandals, also provided by Elena, and I really did feel a lot better.

An awful lot better.

"Well, look at you," Mrs Kerr said, looking at me with a curious smile. "You look very nice, Brook."

"Thank you, Mrs Kerr," I responded. "I feel a little better. Still sore, but better."

She nodded and looked at me very closely. "Umm... can we have a chat, honey. Just you and me? Out on the porch, maybe?"

"Mom," Brooke stepped in like a defensive mother, "Brook is just starting to feel better..."

Mrs Kerr held up both hands in a defensive manner. "I just want to have a conversation, Brooke. That’s all."

"It’s ok," I assured her. "I’ll be happy to talk to you, Mrs Kerr."

We went out onto their back porch, which was a lot different than our’s. Our’s was just a foot or two off the ground and had a few mismatched pieces of furniture on it. Theirs was high and roofed and partially screened in, with designer patio furniture and an exterior dinette set that probably cost three times what our dining room table cost.

I don’t want you to think that I’m overly impressed by money, but it’s just nice to see good looking things. I don’t NEED things like that. I just like looking at them.

We sat in two very comfortable lounge chairs and I waited for Mrs Kerr to start. Finally, she did.

"Brook... honey... I know that you’ve been through a lot... an awful lot... but... I’m looking at you right now and... I know that you don’t have access to your own clothes, honey, but Elena has plenty of clothes less feminine than these. And the way that Brooke has done your hair... and you’re wearing makeup..."

She just let that sit there.

I sat up a little straighter and looked out at the yard. "Mrs Kerr... am I making you uncomfortable? Do you want me to get changed?"

"I honestly don’t know what I want, Brook," she shook her head. "I do know that I am trying to help, honey, and I just don’t want to make matters worse between you and your dad."

I shrugged. "It’s your house, ma’m, and I’ll do whatever you want. If you want me to take all of this off, I will. I don’t want to upset you."

"You’re not upsetting me, honey," she said, "but you are confusing me."

"Why?"

She sighed and thought for a moment. "According to your father, until last month, you never once dressed like a girl until my Brooke got her hands on you. Is that true?"

I nodded.

"So... this is all her doing?"

I shook my head. "No, ma’m. This is all my doing. I never once dressed like a girl before I met Brooke because I never had anyone to help me, but I thought about it a lot. Yes, Brooke bought me those dresses, but I never wore them because I was too scared to because I knew my dad would beat me half to death if I did. Now that he has... what difference does it make? He’s done his worst. Now... I’m going to give living the way I’ve always wanted to live a try."

She let out a long breath. "Wow. That’s a lot to bite off, Brook." She shook her head for a moment. "You know that your father feels very bad about what he did, right?"

I nodded. "That’s what Brooke told me."

"I like your father, Brook. I think he’s a good man... for the most part. This... thing he did to you... it really surprised me. Not that I’ve known him long, but... I thought I knew him a bit better than that. Tell me... Do you think you can ever forgive him?"

I shrugged. "I think I already have, but... in order to move forward... there’s a lot to do and I need him to get used to me... THIS... me. I like THIS me. I like THIS me a lot better than the other me and I’m going to stick with THIS me."

Mrs Kerr leaned forward and put her cool hand on my bare knee. "Ok, honey. Thank you for being honest with me. If that’s how you feel, then I’m here to support you. You can go hang out with the girls if you want."

"Ok," I said. I stood up and started to go, but I stopped at the door. "Mrs Kerr?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you think my dad can accept me like this?"

She tried to smile. "Brook... your dad is not used to boys like you. He is from a different time and... this is a small town, Brook. He’s never really seen another boy like you before. He hangs around with tough guys and he’s not used to gentle boys..."

"Yes, he is," I interrupted. "Mrs Kerr, since my mom left, it’s just been me and dad and I’ve always been this close to being like I am today." I held a finger and thumb up to indicate a minuscule distance. "Dad used to hang out with tough guys in bars and places like that, but not any more. He just hangs out with me... and now you. He’s always known that I was a ‘gentle boy.’ I really need him to be ok with me."

She finally smiled, understanding what I was getting at. "Are you saying that you want me to talk to him for you?"

"Only if you feel comfortable doing it," I shrugged.

She thought for a moment and then nodded. "Alright, honey. I’ll do what I can. Ok?"

"Thank you, Mrs Kerr."

I resolved that I was going to try to get my butt in gear and feel better by making dinner, which is what I loved to do, anyway. So, I went to the refrigerator and looked at what I had to work with.

It wasn’t much.

Mostly prepackaged salads that were approaching or just past their expiration dates. None of them were interesting, either. Ice berg lettuce, or kale – I am not a big fan of kale, by the way. I find it bitter and earthy, by which I mean, it kind of tastes of dirt to me. Anyway, I put together a shopping list for what I’d need in order to make a nice dinner; nothing too fancy, just nice. I also planned a nice salad that might last a few days. Spinach with sliced radishes, shredded carrots, a few cherry tomatoes and a few other tasty things that the Kerr’s might enjoy more than the bland bags of salad in their fridge.

I gave the list to Brooke, who seemed a little surprised by its size, and she said, "Ok, let’s go get it," but I refused.

"I can’t go out like this."

"Why not?" She kind of laughed. "You look nice in that dress."

"Brooke," I couldn’t believe I had to explain this, "I want to make the change in my life and live this way, but I need to do it a little at a time. My first time out in a dress isn’t going to be to the market where I go shopping every week. Besides that, though... you did a really good job of covering up most of my bruises, but... look at me. My eye is still swollen and I can’t open my jaw all the way, yet... I don’t want people to see me this way. I don’t mean as my feminine self – I mean... like this... broken."

She kissed my cheek. "Ok. I get it." Then she called to her sisters, "I’m going to the grocery store. Who wants to come with?"

"Can we stop at Dunkin’s for iced coffee?" Melissa called back.

"Sure," Brooke laughed.

"I’ll go!" Mellissa said happily.

"I’ll hang with Brook," Elena said.

"Ok," Brooke said, grabbing her pocketbook. She gave me a quick kiss and headed out the door.

"So," Elena put her arm around me and gave me a gentle hug, "you look pretty. How do you feel?"

"I’m ok, I guess. A little achy, but ok."

She nodded. "Brooke says you’ve decided to live your life as a woman."

I laughed. "Not quite. Let’s say... as a gender-fluid person."

She smiled. "But leaning more towards the feminine than the masculine, right?"

That made me laugh again. "Definitely." Then I shook my head and looked at her more closely. "Seriously? You’re only twelve?"

"Are you tired or are you up for a little exploring?" Elena said to me, changing gears and catching me a little off guard.

I thought about that for a moment. "I’m not all that tired. What did you have in mind."

She ran out to the porch and asked her mother something, then came running back to me.

"Any trying on happens in private!" Mrs Kerr called in from the porch.

"I know, mom!" Elena called back then she grabbed my hand and pulled me to follow her.

"Come on," she said and led me, somewhat slowly, back up the stairs, this time to her room where she opened her rather large closet and said, "Ta da!"

"Ta da?" I asked.

"Yeah. Ta da! These are my clothes."

"I see that."

"That makes them your clothes, too. At least for the time being," she said somewhat proudly. "So, pick out what you like so I’m not just pulling out random clothes everyday."

I laughed a bit nervously. "Honestly, Elena, that’s very nice of you, but I’m not sure..."

"Oh, come on," she said, reaching in and grabbing a pretty, flowered dress. "It’s pretty, right? It’ll look nice on you, too. I’m sure of it. Try it on."

"Well... maybe in a bit..." I said, stalling.

"Good idea!" Elena said, thinking I had meant something else. "We’ll make a pile and you can try a bunch on all at once. I’ll have to step out while you try them on, anyway. That’s what my mom was talking about."

I shrugged. "Ok." See, putting on dresses, or more precisely, fantasizing about putting on dresses, was really only exciting when I imagined doing it with Brooke. The idea of looking at dresses seemed silly with Elena.

Having said that...

The more clothing I looked at, the more excited I got about wearing it. Not in any way sexually excited, just... excited. Excited about looking pretty. Excited about how the clothes would feel. Excited about looking like a normal person when wearing these dresses, these skirts, these blouses, these rompers.

Speaking of rompers – I looked at a romper that Elena pulled out and I was fascinated by it. It was pretty simple, just a white romper with cap sleeves, tap style shorts and a delicate floral print all over it. When I finally got to try it on, the first thing that occurred to me was, "How do you go to the bathroom in this?"

"You take it off," Elena smiled.

"What if you’re in a public bathroom?" I asked.

"You take it off," she laughed. "There’s no other way to go to the bathroom when you’re wearing a romper except to take it off."

"So... you’re sitting in a public restroom mostly naked while you’re peeing?"

"Yeah," she laughed.

"Don’t you feel... like... vulnerable?"

Still smiling, she shrugged. "I suppose so, but if you want to wear a cute romper and you have to go... there’s not much else to do. Right?"

"I guess."

"Try it on," she insisted. She left the s room and I took off the yellow dress and pulled the romper on, calling Elena back in when I was dressed again.

"Do you like it?" she asked as we both looked in the mirror.

"I do. It’s really comfortable."

"Then wear it when you want to," she smiled.

"Ooh, that’s very cute on you," Mrs Kerr said entering the room. She turned me in a very motherly way and looked at me from all angles, fingering the material here and there. "You’ve got a decent bottom on you for a boy, too. A shoe with a little heel would help emphasize that, too."

"Yeah, well, too bad I don’t have any heels to loan you," Elena said with some sarcasm. "Unfortunately, my mother won’t allow me to wear heels except for special occasions."

"You’re twelve," Mrs Kerr shook her head. "Brook is eighteen."

"I’ll be thirteen in a few days. Can I wear heels then?"

Mrs Kerr shifted her attention to Elena and heaved and exasperated sigh. "Ok. Two inch heels. Nothing too challenging. Either chunky or respectable pumps and only when appropriate."

"Yes!" Elena shouted, with an accompanying fist pump.

"You need to get your own bra and panties," Mrs Kerr said, returning her attention to me. "I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you and El to be sharing."

I nodded, but there was a problem. "I’m afraid I don’t have any money, Mrs Kerr. My dad sometimes gave me a monthly allowance for taking care of the house and cooking when he could afford it and I haven’t gotten that in a while, so..."

"That’s ok, dear," she said, stopping my flow of apologies. "I’ll take care of it for now." She moved my hair away from my cheek and looked at my ears. "You should get your ears pierced if this is going to be a full time thing, too. Maybe later in the week, when you feel more comfortable going out, we’ll deal with that, too. How does that sound?"

I think my smile may have given away my excitement. "That sounds good."

"Ok,"she smiled back. "You two pick out some nice things to share and I’ll see you downstairs later."

Later, after trying on about fifteen outfits, when Brooke came home with the groceries, I made the Kerr’s a nice dinner, which prompted a lot of compliments for my cooking, but also a lot of sarcastic remarks about the stove in their kitchen. "Hey, I didn’t know that that thing did anything but heat up old pizza!." "Hey, mom! Did you know that people can cook things in their own houses?" Things like that.

I slept in the same nightie I’d slept in the night before, but I insisted on sleeping on the couch, which turned out to have a comfortable pull-out bed.

And that’s how the next few days went. I was essentially the fourth Kerr sister. Brooke and I didn’t really have a lot of time alone and what time we did have together was spent with her grooming me, both grooming my hair and makeup and grooming me by correcting my behavior, to make me more comfortable with my new persona – and I loved my new persona. I felt so much more confident and comfortable as THIS Brook than I’d ever felt as the old Brook.

After a week, my ears were pierced, my legs were waxed, my eyebrows were trimmed and I was comfortable as my new self, most of my bruises were gone and I felt like I needed to do something about my relationship with my father. So, I picked up my phone and I sent a text. ‘HI, DAD. I’D REALLY LIKE TO TALK TO YOU IF YOU’RE WILLING.’

He responded after about ten minutes. ‘HI, CHEF. BOY, THERE IS A LOT I’D LIKE TO SAY TO YOU BUT THE COURTS SAY I CAN’T. IN FACT I COULD GET INTO BIG TROUBLE FOR JUST THIS TEXT CONVERSATION.’

‘SORRY,’ I wrote, but couldn’t stop. I really missed him. ‘IF I ASK MY SOCIAL WORKER TO WORK IT OUT FOR US, WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO MEET? OR MAYBE TALK ON ZOOM ON THE COMPUTER OF SOMETHING?’

‘CHEF, I’D DO ANYTHING TO MAKE THIS RIGHT. HONESTLY. BUDDY, I’M NOT DRINKING. I’M GOING TO AA MEETINGS EVERY NIGHT. I KNOW I HURT YOU REALLY BAD AND I WILL GO TO JAIL FOR THAT IF THAT’S WHAT HAS TO HAPPEN, BUT I NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT I KNOW WHAT AN ASSHOLE I WAS THAT NIGHT. I KNOW I NEVER SAY IT, BUT I LOVE YOU, PAL, AND THIS HAS BEEN THE WORST WEEK OF MY LIFE. YOU ARE MY WORLD, CHEF, AND I AM SCARED TO DEATH THAT I’VE LOST YOU BECAUSE I WAS A DRUNK IDIOT.’

I blinked back a few tears and sniffled a bit. ‘I LOVE YOU, TOO, DAD. I’LL ASK MY SOCIAL WORKER.’

It was a challenge. The social worker, Ms Martin, who was very nice, but overworked and overstressed was dubious. She had some obvious concerns and wasn’t at all sure that she had the time to do what I was asking. Finally, I convinced her to talk to the judge, who also had some reservations. Then, miraculously, on Friday of that week, my dad, the judge, Ms Martin, a police officer and Mrs Kerr were sitting quite a distance away from each other in the Kerr’s massive living room.

"Alright, Mr Chapin, I want to state, on behalf of all of us," the judge said as I listened from the kitchen, "that we are very happy that your son requested this meeting. However I must restate that there will be no arguments between you two. If there is, I will terminate this meeting. Further more, there will be no touching unless I approve it and no foul language. Is all of this understood?"

I heard my dad say, "Yes, sir, Your Honor. I understand."

"Alright, then." He cleared his throat. "Brook Chapin. You may come in."

I entered the room wearing the romper I’d described earlier with my hair brushed back, but curled nicely and then brushed through again so it was nice and full and wavy. I thought I looked really nice, and since my bruises had, for the most part, healed, and the makeup I wore covered what little discoloring I still had, I felt confident for the first time since the beating.

The thing is, though, it was the first time my dad had ever seen me this way. Mrs Kerr had prepared him for how I would look, but I’m sure it still must have been shocking for him.

Dad stood when I entered and I could tell by the look on his face that he was glad to see me, but I could also see that he was processing how I looked as well.

"Hi, Chef," he said, quietly.

"Hi, dad," I said, taking a seat beside Mrs Kerr. I kept my knees together as I sat and, once seated, I crossed my legs at my knees, a habit I had developed since my decision to live my life en femme, and nodded to everyone.

"Wow..." dad said, still standing. "Chef... you look... you look amazing."

I smiled a bit, but it was difficult not to remember what I’d gone through a week earlier. "Thanks, dad. You look good, too."

He shook his head and looked at me. "I... I honestly can’t believe that’s you, Chef. You look entirely different."

"Ok," the judge said, "let’s move this along." He motioned for my dad to sit, then he looked at me. "Tell me, Brook. Do I refer to you with male or female pronouns."

I shrugged. "Male, I guess."

He nodded, but he seemed a little surprised. "Alright. So, tell me, Brook... Why are we here?"

"I wanted to talk to my dad," I said.

The judge nodded. "Alright, Brook. Go ahead. The floor is yours."

It was really odd, talking to my dad about something so personal in front of all these strangers, but that was my only option. I took a deep breath and said, "Dad... I just wanted to say that... I’m sorry that I lied to you and hid all those clothes. I knew you didn’t want me to have that stuff and I shouldn’t have done that. I should have just spoken to you about how I felt. That I needed to... well... to look like this to be happy. To be me. I’m sorry."

My dad looked at me and chewed his lower lip. "I’m sorry, Chef, but I can’t accept that apology," he finally said, surprising me. It seemed as it the meeting was coming to an end if this was the stance he was going to take, but then he continued. "I can’t accept it, because you have nothing to apologize for. Yeah, I was surprised to find the dresses in your closet, but... Chef... I was drunk. That’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth and you know what I can be like when I’m drunk – well, when I WAS drunk, I hope, because I don’t plan to ever be drunk again."

I just looked at my dad in shock. He was admitting he was wrong. I’m not sure that had ever happened before.

He continued. "Look, Chef... you’re my son... or my daughter if that’s what you choose. I’ve known you your entire life. When you were a baby, I may have had a few fantasies that you’d follow in my footsteps and earn your football letter... or maybe be on the track team... be a ladies man like I was... that kind of thing... you know what I mean... but from the time you were maybe three or four... I knew you weren’t that kind of boy."

I nodded, not at all hurt by his words.

"I’d see you with other little boys at cookouts and parties and while they were running wild and pretending to shoot things with their fingers, you weren’t. You weren’t even talking to the little girls, Chef. You were talking to the teenaged girls who would play with your hair and hold you on their laps. You would talk to the women with babies and ask about how to care for them. Chef... you were always learning how to be a woman... or at least a very caring man. I saw it, but I just ignored it. Or... maybe I denied it... regardless... I knew it, but I never allowed you to be who you were born to be."

I just stared at him in silence. I didn’t know what to say.

"And I’m sorry," he said. "I’m sorry for ignoring what I knew. I’m sorry for the pressure I put on you to not be yourself. I’m sorry that I never talked to you about it all and..." he looked at me and I saw tears in his eyes. "... I hope... that someday... you might be able to forgive me for what I did last week, but... it really doesn’t matter... because... if I live to be a hundred... I will never... never... never forgive myself for that, Chef."

I took Mrs Kerr’s hand. I’m sure she could feel me shaking. My whole body was about to fail me and just let me burst into tears, and I didn’t want to do that.

"Chef..." dad continued, "... my marriage was a huge mistake. Your mom and I were way too young to have a kid and I had no prospects at all... we were doomed from the start... but the best part of my life came out of my marriage. That’s you, Chef. You are the most important thing in my world and I cannot believe that I hurt you like I did. I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, Chef, I am so, so, sorry and it’ll never happen again. Someday..." he rubbed his eyes and I saw some tears fall, "... I hope that we might be able to sit on our porch and talk, again... Just you and me, and..."

I stood and interrupted. "I’m sorry," I said, tears streaming down my face, "dad... I love you so much, but... I need a break..." I ran into the kitchen as fast as I could.

As I turned the corner into the other room, I heard Mrs Kerr say, "Excuse us for a moment. We’ll be back in a minute."

When she reached the kitchen, I was pacing back and forth, my hands shaking uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms around me and held tightly. "Calm down, honey. What’s the matter?"

"I don’t know, I don’t know..." I said, barely able to speak through my crying.

"Your dad seems to be so accepting of you," she said. "I thought you’d be happy."

"I am," I gasped, "but... I think I’m just... Mrs Kerr... he’s NEVER told me he loved me before and he just said it like three times. And he’s never apologized before and... oh, my God... it’s just a lot for me to take in."

She held me tighter and swayed me from side to side a bit. "Shh, Shh," she whispered. "I understand. Sometimes the most unexpected things can make us emotional."

I took a deep breath and got control of myself. "Mrs Kerr..."

"Yes, honey?"

"You don’t think..." I needed to get my head around what I wanted to ask. "... you don’t think that my dad... is saying all of those things... just to look good for those people... do you?"

She took a deep breath and thought for a moment. "Listen, Brook, honey," she said, holding me away from her a bit and looking me in the eye. "I’ve talked to your dad a few times this week and I have to tell you, everything he said in there is similar to what he’s been saying to me since the first time we talked."

I nodded. "He said he might go to jail."

"That’s right," Mrs Kerr said, a little surprised that this concept hadn’t occurred to me. "He assaulted you, honey. He could go to jail for that."

Suddenly, I was petrified. That was about the worst thing that I could think of. I mean, I was enjoying staying with the Kerr’s, but it wasn’t my home. How could I possibly live indefinitely like I was?

"Excuse me," Ms Martin, my social worker said, entering the kitchen, her blue hair and matching blue glass frames matching her blue tunic, "but his honor needs to leave soon and he would like to have Brook finish up whatever it is that Brook wants to say."

"Of course," Mrs Kerr said. "We’re coming."

She looked at me and gave me a stressed smile. "Can you do this?"

I nodded. "Yes."

We followed the social worker back into the living room and I sat back down on the couch.

"I’m sorry to rush you," his honor said, "but I do have to get going. I understand that you wanted to say a few things to your father, Brook. We’ve heard your apology, which I do feel is completely unnecessary, but is there anything else you wanted to say while we are all together?"

"Yes, Your Honor," I said. I looked at my dad and I had a really hard time speaking. "Dad... I... I just wanted you to know that I really love you and that I’m sorry that things got to this point. I... I just want... to go home and for things to go back to normal."

My dad rubbed his eyes. "Me too, Chef. Me too."

"To be clear," my social worker said, "back to normal would be you living in your father’s house... making his meals... doing his laundry... cooking his meals... etc.? Essentially being his housekeeper."

I nodded. "Yes, ma’m, but that’s not really a bad thing, is it? I mean... since my mom left us, my dad and I have had to share the responsibilities. He works hard outside of the house and I maintain everything in the house. That’s not a punishment. I love to cook – I do it here, too. It makes me happy. Laundry and cleaning has to be dealt with and I’m there, so... I do it. That’s all."

"And, if I may..." the Judge said. "When you say ‘back to normal,’ you are not talking about returning to a male persona, are you, Brook?"

"No, sir, I’m not," I said. "I intend to continue to dress in this manner."

He nodded, then looked at my dad. "Mr Chapin?"

"Yes, Your Honor?"

"Is that something you can live with?"

My father looked at me and smiled. "Your Honor... if I could hug my son and tell him how proud I am of him at this moment, I would. I don’t care how he dresses, but... look at how beautiful he looks, Your Honor. Of course I’d be fine with that."

The judge stood and took my hand, offering me assistance to stand, then he did the same for my dad. "I shouldn’t be doing this, Mr Chapin, but I think that right now, Brook really could use that hug."

"Thank you, sir," my dad said with great respect as he took me in his arms and I felt him shaking with emotion, nearly as hard as I was. He squeezed me really tightly and he said, very quietly, "I love you, Chef. I always have and I always will. I am so very proud of who you are and I am so ashamed of who I am and what I have done. Please forgive me."

"I love you, too, dad," I said back, but that’s about all I could muster.

After a few moments, the judge touched our shoulders. "Ok. I’m sorry, but we need to call an end to this meeting."

Dad let me go and made eye contact with me for just a moment, but I think he was embarrassed by his teary eyes and he looked away.

"I need to remind you, Mr Chapin, that the terms of your restrictions still are in affect. You will have no unsupervised contact with your son and that includes electronic communications," he looked at me, "is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor," both my father and I said.

‘Very good," the judge nodded. "I’ll see you both in court soon, then." He said with a nod. Then he held his hand in an ushering manner and my father was escorted out of the Kerr’s house by the police officer.

"Are you ok?" Mrs Kerr asked me.

"I guess," I said. "I just hope he doesn’t really go to jail."

She rubbed my back. "I hope so, too."
 
 
To Be Continued...