Page 21 of Brando

“You were gone,” she whispers, unable to keep the quiver out of her lips. “You were there but mentally, you were gone. You checked out long before you left me, Brando.”

I don’t tell her that she destroyed me the moment she hooked up with Falcone. I can’t. It’s not her fault that I never told herjust how much she meant to me. Instead, I’m angry. I’m angry at her. I’m angry at myself. And I’m angry at the world.

“You let him stomp all over our memories. My history.”

Her face flushes with anger as she bridges up to me. “This isn’t justyourhistory! It’s mine, too! You think you’re the only one who gets to claim this place?”

“Falcone is everything that’s wrong with our history.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “You’ve been so obsessed with hating him that you can’t see anything else, Brando. I’m trying to find some common ground here, but you won’t let me!”

“Common ground? With him?” I shake my head, disbelief etched on my face. “You want to stand on the same ground as the guy who erased us?”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “You know what? Maybe I don’t want to be stuck in the past anymore! Maybe I want to be able to construct my future without looking back at all the mistakes I made!”

I step back, the air between us charged with an intensity that feels suffocating. “You think we were a mistake.”

I can’t ignore the hurt lancing through my soul as I look at her in defeat. She is the single most unresolved facet of my past life, and I hadn’t known it until she stepped back into my life. It was so long ago, yet there was still so much that was left unsaid, so much that was unfinished between us.

“Youleftme!” She yells, her voice trembling. “You left without a word, and now you expect me to sit here and explain to you the things I did and the reasons behind them?”

“I didn’t leave by choice,” I tell her. “You think it was easy for me? Youknewme. I thought about this place, about us.Every day. But you… you just moved on.”

“I didn’t move on, Brando!” She cries, her voice softer now, filled with desperation. “I tried to hold on to you, to thememories. But it was hopeless. You were gone, and I…I justwas. I just existed.”

Her shrug is one of defeat. My expression softens briefly, a flicker of understanding breaking through my anger. Our breaths are heavy in the still air. I run a hand through my messy hair, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We can’t change the past, Brando. But we can try not to ruin what little there is left of our history.”

11

MIA

Brando’s knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel, every muscle in his forearms taut with contained fury. The car's interior is charged with his brooding silence, an unspoken storm brewing beneath his hard-set jaw.

I watch him from the passenger seat, my body rigid with anticipation. His dark hair is a dishevelled mess after hours of fluffing his hands through it. Exhaustion dots the contours of his face, his blue eyes electric in the space between us. The air around us feels suffocating, all consuming, and each breath I take is laced with tension. His rage builds slowly, like the calm before the storm, as we continue to drive through the city streets in silence. I’ve tried several times to break into his rigid control; sometimes he lets go and shows me a little of the Brando he used to be. But just as easily, he pulls back and shuts down, as though lost in a distant memory that holds him ransom.

“Brando,” my voice breaks the stillness, grasping at anything that could extinguish the tension in the car.

His gaze remains fixed on the road ahead, but I see the subtle clench of his jaw relax ever so slightly when I say his name. It is the only acknowledgment I need, the only sign that he islistening, despite the turmoil that seems to consume him from within.

I exhale quietly, the sound almost lost amidst the hum of the engine and the faint whisper of tires on asphalt. My heart clenches for my sisters, the fear for their safety a constant weight on my chest. They’ve been gone for days, and we’ve gone to their usual haunt’s multiple times daily, but still, there’s no sign of them. None of their friends have heard from them, and even checking on them at university reveals that they haven’t been in attendance.

“Brando,” I begin again, my voice trailing off into the void between us.

“Speak, Mia.” His words are soft, but the undercurrent of steel is unmistakable.

I glance at my phone again, as though expecting it to blink with an incoming message. But there’s no message, no hope for salvation as we continue to circle through the city.

“Nothing. Never mind,” I murmur, tucking the phone away, out of sight but not out of my mind.

“Tell me,” he insists, his calm demeanor fraying at the edges.

I meet his gaze, searching for the right lie. But in those denim blue eyes that refuse to hold my gaze for any reasonable amount of time, I find an ocean deep with concern and danger.

“How long are you going to stay angry at me?” I hesitate; it’s been a very long time since I allowed myself to show any vulnerability in front of anyone. “Whyare you so angry at me?”

He tsks and shakes his head, as though I wouldn’t understand. The silence that lingers between us speaks volumes as the car slices through the city's underbelly, a sleek shadow flitting between pools of electric light. My gaze is drawn to the window, where the glare of neon signs and streetlamps streak and smudge into abstract patterns against the glass. The city's pulse thrums in my ears, a dissonant symphony that mirrorsthe chaos within me. “We should...” I begin, but the words cling painfully to my throat.

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