Page 65 of Organized Chaos
“Well, it wasn’t,” I seethed, unthinking. “Nothing about a fictional character or their actions are real. I’m nother.Shedoesn’t exist. It might as well have been a hallucination that you conjured inside your head.”
It was an impulsive response. Like a compulsion, my words had toppled out because I hadn’t been able to help myself.
Still, it seemed harsh.
Something resembling a wounded expression crossed Brandon’s face. Only for a nanosecond, though. After that, hard lines set in its place. Jaw ticking, Brandon glared at the fireplace heating the room.
I considered retracting my words when he spoke. “If I hadn’t taken pity and helped you, you could have never used this against me. But you’re right about one thing that I had refused to admit until now.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “It wasn’t real.”
Shards of tiny ice made irreparable cracks in my heart. Something awful was about to happen. I could feel the premonition written in his fierce scowl. I took a step forward to mollify him, but it was too late.
Brandon lowered his eyebrows—and perhaps there was a flicker of hesitation—before he raised his hand over the fireplace opening and threw my book into the fire.
***
“NO.” I PROPELLED FORWARD, but it was too late.
The parchment papers burnt to a crisp, taking with it the soul I had poured into them. The flames ate the pages that had saved me on countless nights. When the loneliness became unbearable, I’d take this book out and read it to myself, envisioning the way Brandon had once read it.
It was my only solace in a house that was otherwise pin-drop silent.
“Why?” I asked stoically.
“Because you need to grow the fuck up and stop believing in fairytales.”
My brothers weren’t big on displaying emotions, nor were my parents. I was no stranger to cold dismissal, but Brandon took the cake for not having a care in the world. He felt no sympathy for my heartbreak, his rage suffocatingly overpowering.
I always assumed Brandon was misunderstood, so I would perpetually give him the benefit of the doubt. I shouldn’t have.
Brandon was evil.
I stood motionless, watching my very essence go up in flames. It was so quiet in the room that I could hear how in every last way the pages burned, each sound descriptive of the gashes left behind on my heart.
Once the horrific task was over, so were my emotions.
I had the tendency to act brashly. However, I was determined against it. Instead of reacting, I calmly walked to the door and held it open.
“Get out,” I ordered.
A couple in the hallway passed the open door and turned their heads to make direct eye contact with us.
“Get out before I start screaming and someone calls security.” I nodded toward the lost souls roaming the hallways.
He fisted his hands until his knuckles whitened and walked past me to cross the threshold. It appeared that he wasn’t done with this discussion, but I was.
I slammed the door in his face.
I should have felt empowered for throwing Brandon out, but it only left me with a dull, numbing ache. I marched into the shower in the bathroom and climbed in, turning the water to the highest possible setting.
Whatever closure I had sought, Brandon had given it to me. All remnants of hope that had accidentally lingered were gone. I was numb from both the scalding water and from being railroaded by Brandon over and over.
I hopped out of the shower and threw on a pair of black shorts and a tank top with a built-in bra. The door made a beeping noise, forcing my glance away from the full-length mirror, fingers frozen mid-task of wringing out the tangles from my damp hair.
“Mia,” Milo called out, swiping his key card to enter my room. In true older brother fashion, his eyes were downcast in case something unsavory was on display.
I shook my head at his modesty. “Yes, darling brother?”
“Where have you been? You didn’t respond to any of my texts.”
