Page 49 of Organized Chaos
Let your conscience guide you.
Don’t do anything illegal.I didn’t, not unless it came to Brandon and my slight habit of stalking.
I knew Brandon thought of me as some naïve good girl. Partly true. I stuck to the path laid out for me and was much too trusting of people’s intentions. But contrary to his and my siblings’ beliefs, I did possess my own bit of street smarts. And I considered myself straitlaced rather than a good girl.
Clear-cut rules made my life considerably easy. I could blindly follow a set of morals without concerning myself with the profound meanings behind them.
But when Brandon asked me to tag along to Italy, it posed a moral dilemma—my guilty conscience over Milo’s reaction warred with leaving a man to mourn the death of his father by his lonesome.
Though I initially resisted the idea, Brandon’s grief tore at my soul. Milo had mentioned Brandon’s recent loss, my ears perking up to devour every detail he had to spare.
Surely, even Milo would agree that a guilty conscience paled in comparison to a man suffering from loss.
I threw caution to the wind, justifying my action as a one-time deal due to the unique circumstance.
Still, when Brandon made a move, I thwarted his advances, downright stunned by it. My doubts grew when he progressed further, and my suspicions were confirmed once Brandon moaned the nameMayaduring sex.
My heart cracked open.
It was the first time he had called me by the fictional character’s name, sparking a pain like I had never known before. It was humiliating, and I’d barely hung onto my dignity since.
When Brandon finally fell asleep, I stared at my reflection for hours.
The acne from my preteen years had cleared up.
My ugly braces were long gone. Along with it, so was my overbite, entirely altering my smile and facial structure.
My hair was now straight and tamed, courtesy of Raven.
Turning sideways, I also examined my breasts and ass.
I looked like an entirely different person. A grown woman.
Brandon hadn’t seen me since I hit puberty. He and Milo hated social media, so probably not even a photo. I couldn’t exactly blame Brandon for not recognizing me. It was just a huge fucking insult to be obsessed with someone my entire life who literally didn’t remember me, especially since Brandon was infamous for overlooking details about people he didn’t care about.
The last realization sucked the most.
Brandon didn’t care about Mia with her volatile tendencies, geeky self, and childlike optimism. Whereas he revered the posh Maya with her worldly outlooks and pristine dresses.
At least the dreary predicament led me to a sight I never imagined having the privilege.
Brandon was fast asleep and on full display. The birthday suit did nothing to soften him. Even in sleep, he appeared cruel and harsh... and an undeniable form of male beauty.
I intently studied the man stretched out next to me.
For so long, I had dreamt of having sex with Brandon. Of all the ways I imagined it, this missed the mark. In every one of my fantasies, at the very least, Brandon knew my name. In a freakish nightmare, I was stuck in a world playing the role of a fictional character Brandon was fucking.
Maya Mathews was a character Brandon made up on the worst night of my young life when my mother moved out of our house. The way he had weaved the character—drawing a parallel between me and a descriptive image of his ideal woman—inspired me into that fictional personality.
Whereas Brandon had no recollection of this character, nor did he recognize little Mia, who idolized him. I wasn’t even an afterthought to him—just the biggest loser on this planet, nothing more than a borrowed personality.
With a huff, I sat up and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. Allowing my heavy heart to drag, I rose from the soft king-sized bed and grabbed Brandon’s button-down shirt. I threw it on and tiptoed toward my oversized purse. Cautiously, I took out the story that started this disaster. This book had calmed me down in the past. Perhaps it’d have the same effect one more time.
I made my way back to the bed and opened the book to read under the dim light. By now, I had memorized every dialogue, every word. Reading it still brought me comfort.
When I felt Brandon shift, I quickly rewrapped the protective cloth over the book, slid it under the bed, and turned off the light. The guilt over betraying Milo—and inadvertently Brandon—was overbearing. I wasn’t ready to face him, knowing that come tomorrow, I’d have to confess the truth. I had to bear the torture until then.
I turned over, frantically dragging the comforter with me. Within moments of squeezing my eyes shut, I realized there’d be no sleep tonight.
