Page 55 of The Russian's Forced Bride
“It’ll cheer you up,” he claimed, and then poked my belly. “And I’m sure Lily would want to see a movie too.”
“Lily?” I laughed. “What makes you think I’m going to name my child that?”
Brandon shrugged. “I just think it’ll suit her. And if it’s a boy, you can just call him Brandon 2.0.”
I scoffed. There was possibly no way I would ever name my childBrandon.
But my face genuinely lit up this time, and though I honestly wasn’t in the mood to leave the house, I figured just watching one movie with Brandon wouldn’t be too bad. It was already fast approaching evening, but it wasn’t like Rafael would be home anyway.
And even if he did get to find out I had left the house, he could blow his fucking head off in anger for all I cared.
So instead of moping around, I decided I’d rather spend the rest of my day having fun with my brother.
“Whatever you say.” I nodded giddily. “I’ll go shower, and then we’ll go see that movie.”
Brandon grinned almost too widely. “Perfect.”
***
The movie wasn’t anything over the top.
Brandon had chosen a psychological thriller centering around a woman who fell in love with her abuser, and at the end of the movie, the woman jumped off a cliff, ending her life. The movie had been graphic, yet compelling enough that I watched it till the end with my hands wrapped around Brandon’s.
And though I didn’t want to admit it, leaving the house actually worked its magic in lifting my mood. There were still times when I randomly thought of Rafael, but the image of him would quickly vanish because Brandon kept checking on me every now and then.
After the movie, Brandon and I had dinner at his usual favorite place. I didn’t eat much and only drank a can of soda Brandon had gotten me.
But then the clouds began to darken with each passing second, reminding me that I needed to head home.
As much as I wanted to rebel, if Rafael caught me out spending so much time with Brandon, I was sure he’d throw a fit, and I couldn’t stand Brandon being hurt because of me.
I had taken a liking to him, which was weird. I wasn’t one to easily like people, but I guess Brandon was just charming like that.
After our meal at theLa Cuisinerestaurant, we headed toward his truck parked at its usual spot in the parking lot. The night sky was overshadowed by the city lights flickering about, replacing the stars in the sky, and the moon remained blanketed in the dark clouds, hiding.
A gust of wind suddenly picked up as we approached Brandon’s truck, and I hugged myself tightly, trying to keep warm even with Brandon’s jacket, which he had lent to me.
Brandon’s voice filled the air in excitement as he gave his take on the movie we had watched earlier, but his words seemed to sound like an echo at the back of my mind.
“Did you see her face when he strangled her?” I heard him ask. “Fucking terrific,” he exclaimed, and I chuckled lightly.
My brother sure could be scary sometimes, but I figured everyone I knew had nuts loose in their heads.
Though as he kept talking, I couldn’t help but feel oddly lightheaded. It wasn’t the usual nausea feeling that crushed my entire system. This feeling was like being buzzed. It made me both hyperaware of the smallest details, yet oblivious to what was right in front of me. I even almost slipped, and I would’ve knocked my face against Brandon’s windshield.
I didn’t want to bother Brandon anymore, so I just kept humming in response to whatever he was saying as I successfully slipped into the passenger’s seat of his truck while he took his position in the driver’s seat.
During the drive, I noticed Brandon had fallen silent, though the silence between us was a comfortable one. I felt bad that I didn’t ask him any questions about his day, but I felt too tired to engage in a conversation as my eyes tiredly planted themselves on the road.
And then, after saying he needed to grab something from a nearby store, he drove right past the streets that led to my place.
I didn’t think much of it at first—until I noticed we had started to delve into a much darker part of the city. The streets Brandon rode past were eerily empty, the alleyways illuminated slightly by flickering streetlights. Loaded, overflowing bins of fermented trash lined the narrow walls, the cobbled walls smeared with a rusty red tint mixed with the oily sheen of wet asphalt in the form of grotesque graffiti paintings.
The sound of dripping water echoed in the distance, and I caught glimpses of hooded men in the alleyways, seemingly watching as wisps of the cigarettes they were smoking floated into the air—the acrid and rancid smell of garbage filling the truck. It almost made me throw up.
I turned to face Brandon, the weakness and sudden fear in my bones intensifying by the second.
“Don’t be scared,” he told me, not sparing me a glance. “I just need to get something. It’ll be quick.”
