Public Relations

Chapter 24: Brett

The next clip has a vaguely familiar man in it. He's got a round jaw and a pinched face, very rat-like, but also young. His backwards hat and pink collared shirt reek of new money, but something he was raised in. There's something about his off-putting demeanor that my soul recognizes before my consciousness does. I instantly hate him.

"I'm Jason Bells, and I'm the victim of Brett Archer's violent outburst from a few months ago."

I groan for so long I have to pause the video and rewind it once I'm done. I leave it paused for several minutes, my hands on my head while I pace back and forth, feeling nausea rise hot and angry in the swells of my stomach. The room spins for a moment and I worry I'm about to pass out.

When, much to my dismay, I remain alert, I resume the video.

They are mostly bullshitting back and forth for a few more minutes, explaining who he is and how they met. I can't bring myself to skip a single second - I take it in with the morbid curiosity of someone watching their own autopsy. 

Finally, they get to the meat of it. 

"I was enjoying an evening out with a few friends when we decided to call it a night and head home" Jason says. "Brett and his friend were leaving, too, just a few feet ahead of us. There was a bit of tension between my group and his because we were getting some attention from women that, I presume, he'd been hoping for."

I roll my eyes again and say a silent prayer that this stinks to everyone else as much as it does to me.

"Without warning, he takes several steps at me and punches me in the face. Completely unprompted."

As he's saying this, the surveillance video from the bar plays overtop. He's clipped it wisely, leaving out the part where he clocked his own girl beside him. She's still clutching the side of her head where he'd shoved her as the clip plays, but no one would notice if they didn't know what to look out for - which, sadly, they won't.

I can admit it: it looks bad. Really, really bad. There's no catalyst, no apparent reason. I just reach back and wallop the guy. Then the security guard is grabbing me by the shoulders and hoisting me out of the building.

They play it several more times, once slowed down and circled in red pen to highlight where my fist made contact with his stupid, shitfaced jaw.

I've seen all I need to see. I pick up the phone between my jittery, horrified hands and navigate to the comments. It's only been up for about an hour, but the response is overwhelmingly not in my favor.

I was on the fence before bc I love Brett so much but that's truly inexcusable. Blocking and unfollowing him now.

girl!!! you are so brave for sharing this! don't let his lawyers intimidate you - speak up for all the women who can't!

omg i hope jason pressed charges

I check my TikTok - my follower count is down ten thousand. Not a ton, but a terrible sign.

The world lurches to the right. Everything is just barely off kilter, nothing quite right. I have a feeling in my throat like food that won't go down. I realize it's tears.

I think of Mia.

Of course I do. Even in this moment, with my name and image being completely slandered on the internet by a goth drama story-time influencer and a kid who looks like he paid for someone else to take his SATs, I'm worried about Mia and how this will affect her. She'd been so distraught when I sat with her at her house, unsure if she even wanted to keep her job. And now, as I do, I'm making it even worse.

I almost call her, but I'm sure she'll call me when she's ready. There's no way she hasn't seen this already. It's everywhere - trending on every major platform.

I think about crawling into a hole and never coming out.

Then, I close the YouTube app and open Google Chrome. I search for flights from LA to Wisconsin and book one for a few hours from now without giving it a second thought. It's a one-way ticket but I still pack light, tossing my most-worn clothes into a carryon like a mechanical shell of a man. 

I call my mom just as I zip up the suitcase.

"Honeybuns," she sing-songs as she answers. "I've missed you!"

My heart unclenches a fraction. "I've missed you, too. I don't know if you've seen the news."

"Not if I can help it. Is something wrong, lovebug?"

I hoist the carryon upright and pull my backpack down from the top of my closet. I mindlessly start packing chargers and devices into it. "Nothing major, but you might want to search my name before I come over."

"Come over?"

"I've got a flight booked for one o'clock today. I'm heading to the airport now. I'll see you this evening. Or tonight, I guess."

I can hear the breath catch in her lungs, a mother stuck between celebrating the homecoming of her child and the fear of what has driven me to do so in the first place. I can't bring myself to explain it now, so I selfishly let her juggle these emotions for a minute or so.

"You're always welcome, Brett. I can't wait to squeeze you." On her end, the TV shuts off, as does the standing mixer. I can hear a door open, then close - the backdoor, I realize - and it's all replaced by the distant chirping of birds. "Should I be worried?"

"I'll be okay," I say.

"It's okay if you won't be," she says back, and I almost breakdown right there.

After some well wishes and mutual comforting, I throw on my most discreet outfit and call for an Uber.

* * *

Miraculously, I slip through the airport unnoticed. I tuck myself into a corner by the window, facing out at the airplanes taking off the runway. I make up stories for where they're going, what the people on the planes do for work, how normal and unproblematic their lives must be. My phone vibrates incessantly in my lap, but I refuse to check it.

Until a call comes through from Mia.

"Hello?"

"Good god, Brett, I was worried you were dead."

This thaws me a bit, the familiarity of her bite. "Not dead," I reassure her. "Wish I was."

"Don't say shit like that. Where are you? I'm coming over."

I watch a plane taxi up to the runway. Inbound for Orlando, I think. A bunch of Disney-goers making one last trip before school starts.

"Save your gas. I'm at the airport."

"THE AIRPORT?!"

I start. "Yes?"

There's clicking on her end - a pen being viciously attacked by her thumb. "Are you stupid or just dumb? Actually, don't answer that. I need you here, Brett. For damage control."

"I need to be home," I tell her, my voice meek. I've felt like a walking raincloud all day, and now I'm embarrassed to sound like a dripping faucet instead. "I'm going to spend some time with my family in Wisconsin."

She pauses. The clicking does too. "I'm sorry," she says. I can hear her brain recalibrating. "I'll do what I can. I've been meeting with the lawyers all day. I might need you to jump on some Zoom calls."

"I'll do that."

The plane races down the runway and lifts off so gently. I give it a small wave as it goes by.

"Brett?" Mia says. "Put your phone on Do Not Disturb and set it so only my notifications go through. And your family's, of course. I won't send you anything that isn't important. Take a few days to yourself, but we're going to sort this out. I swear."

"I trust you, Mia bella."

She laughs, and the sound nearly saves me.

* * *

thank you for your patience when I missed wednesday's upload - got a lot of things going on! now i'm hosting some friends this weekend so just trying to find normal next week

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