This is the third section on Brianna’s case. As always, the previous sections are below! And as it’s been with this case, beware NSFW language
My experience with Brianna was cyclic in nature. We’d work well together, helping her maintain day to day responsibilities and needs, and, when she’d try to misuse services or blur boundaries, she’d explode. I was learning her patterns, including her anger.
Her moods had been positive for a while, and our sessions were often productive.
On the first of the month, we always went to the grocery store- chaos was the word of the day. The store was always packed, and shopping was an ordeal. One month, we went to the store, like we always did. Fighting through the aisles, racing to get things, racing to check out. She had stopped trying to buy beer when I took her (Yay!). These were indeed good sessions. We paid, went outside. It was beginning to rain, so I told her to wait, and I’d drive up. As we finished loading the car, she spoke:
“Those motherfuckers better stop eating my shit!”
I didn’t know who she was talking about. I asked.
“Back at my efficiency. We all share the kitchen, and someone keeps eating my shit- even though I put my name on it.”
I understood, “Oh, I see. Have you tried to talk with the other people living there?”
“I did. But they think they’re slick. I’ll beat someone’s ass…”
This would be the point where I educate her on appropriate relationship skills and anger management. I didn’t get the opportunity because she took off, practically running down the sidewalk at the Walmart. She was peacocking; strutting her stuff, if you will. She hugged an old man. Like 70 years old, old. She whispered in his ear, his eyes were shining, she flirted a bit, he gave her some money. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Smiling, batting her eyes at him, she hugged him again, and came back to my car. She got in.
“Um, Brianna, who was that?”
She was running her hand through her hair, smiling, “He’s uh, one of my sugar daddies.” She was laughing.
“One of your sugar daddies? Did he just give you money?”
Laughing still, she responded, “Yeah, I told him I needed some. He’s into some freaky shit. He’s nasty.”
I was speechless. I started to drive.
“You gotta learn how to hustle, Vic.”
“Yeah, I guess I do…”