Someone has been constantly pounding on the door and they're seconds from bursting my eardrums. Even on a Saturday afternoon, people expect me to go out of my way to socialize. They come to me on the day of my wedding to this plush California king bed only to disturb our peace. If they think I'm going to move away from this memory foam, they're going to be knocking for a long time. As a matter of fact, I wonder if they can knock to the beat of my favorite song.
"Slow down the bass and start harmonizing," I yell, burrowing deeper into the comforter.
I hear the door swing open, causing me to roll my eyes to infinity. "I was going to be civilized and wait for you to open the door. But since that's too challenging, how about I give you a hand." Brandon smirks, peaking underneath the covers to make direct eye contact.
"Touch me, and I'll scream." I sneer.
I don't know if he just accepted the challenge, but that unsettling grin is starting to freak me out. From personal experience it's entirely too early in the day to be dealing with clowns. I politely shove his face out of my space. Then, I wrap myself further between the covers, wearing a dreary smile. Sadly, I can't fall asleep and I've practically made a cocoon on this mattress. I don't understand if it's my depression kicking in like an Ibuprofen or the fact that there's a boy in the room.
As I think about everything that happened last night, Brandon snatches the comforter off the mattress. I give him the deadliest glare anyone can form without their eyeballs melting. I throw a pillow at his head, but the All-Star asshole expertly catches it.
I wonder if Brandon wants to catch these hands, too, because ever since he came in, all I've seen is nothing but fighting gestures.
"You're so dead," I yell. "I hope your parents picked out your tombstone because I'm about to send you to your final resting place."
"You know, Ebony, you don't always have to choose violence," Brandon says calmly, shaking his head in disappointment.
My jaw unhinges and drops on the mattress in complete astonishment. There's no way in hell this is the same guy that punched Luke in the throat. He flipped out and beat up the bathroom for no logical reason. It's not like the walls can hit him back, so not only is he guilty of violence but assault, too. As this room is my witness, I will testify against this monster and bring him down. No one wakes me up and plays innocent.
"Well, I can honestly say I've never had to break down a door to meet one of your girlfriends before." A low and resonant voice announces from the door.
"I'm more interested in the halo over our son's head." Brandon's mother, Evelyn, says, pointing at him. "You better grab it before it sets the building on fire."
"Meet my parents," Brandon hides a smile. "William and Evelyn Lockwood. You already met my mom."
Thanks to their handsome son, I'm officially the lunatic directly down the hall. A quick sprint to the kitchen, where all the sharp utensils and knives are located, so that must be comforting for them. To make matters even worse the only buffer between us is leaning against the wall, laughing at my expense.
I throw my hands in the air, wondering why it's been one embarrassment after the other. I wish I could ask about Brandon's conversation with Donovan, but I wasn't even supposed to be there.
I force myself to smile. "I'm sorry, I wasn't told you'd be stopping by."
"If you would have opened the door hours ago instead of barricading yourself in my loft you would have known." William criticizes, walking to the center of the room.
My eyes widen in shock, appalled by his father's abrasive behavior. Although, it makes sense he's one of Tracy's friends, but even he has a slight sense of humor. At this point, I don't know how much longer I can allow everyone to walk over me. They act like I'm a welcome mat that deserves to be stepped on.
"Young lady, you don't lock yourself in someone else's house the entire day without speaking to them. You're a girl. For God's sake, comb your hair and get dressed. You can't stay in here the entire day." William announces, gesturing with his hands.
"Dad," Brandon calls out. "She gets it. You don't have to keep talking to her like she's a child. She overslept."
"You brought her here, so I hope for your sake she learns basic decorum because no one is going to lay on their ass in this house." The older man steps in his face, scolding him for my behavior.
I crawl out of bed, barely letting my feet hit the floor before I scramble to the bathroom. As I close the door, Mrs Lockwood separates the two before anyone can say anything else. I adjust the knob on the shower until it's somewhere between boiling hot and warm.
As I remove my clothes, my phone chimes inside the duffel bag I shoved my purse into last night. A sigh falls from my lips as I slip into the shower. The water rushes down my body while my tears march down the drain. After several minutes pass, someone knocks softly on the bathroom door.
I turn off the water and mentally prepare myself to smile at another pointless conversation. According to the clock above the sink, five minutes fly by until I'm ready to face another day. My teeth are brushed, my hair is styled, my phone is out, and I'm fully dressed. I decided to wear the first outfit I saw that the tag team duo of mother and daughter decided to buy for me.
I'm wearing a white turtleneck sweater that's so tight it's strangling my armpits, and there's the skirt. Scratch that a plaid skirt. They did it to me again, and that's why I always check the white plastic bags. I wouldn't be in this predicament if I did my own shopping.
Taking a deep breath, I unlock my phone only to find thirty unread messages. I plan to check my messages at least twice a day and delete them as much as I can. Before I open the door, I click on the first message from another unknown number. My mouth flies open, with my heart crashing inside my chest. Apparently, it's not only another brainless attempt at sex; it's an actual transaction.
I swipe up on my screen, sliding my thumb across an old picture of my mother until I see Cash App. I click on the dollar sign and check my recent activity. The room starts to move as if a quiet earthquake shook the building's foundation. Pressing my back against the wall, I try to ease this situation away from my thoughts.
I'm in the process of erasing all of my emotions until I feel nothing. At least I know it's true; someone must've leaked my cash app last night. No surprise, once my phone number was exposed, then anyone could find me. Given the circumstances, I'll never make fifty dollars this easy again. Since I'm clearly not whoring myself out for some unknown cyber pimp. After calming down, I turn off my cell phone and open the bathroom door.
Brandon stands up, dropping his phone on the mattress. "I was this close to coming inside and carrying you out of there myself."
"Let's pretend it's implied that I'm fully dressed in that scenario," I say, biting my bottom lip.
"Whatever you say." Brandon smirks, "But I got something for you."
I give him a look as he hands me a black T-shirt. It doesn't seem like much. Still, I walk before him, turning counterclockwise to face the vanity mirror. I unfold the shirt, holding it over my chest. My mouth opens in shock. I can't believe he picked this out.
"How did you even know?" I question, looking at one of my favorite bands photographed on the shirt.
"The first time I took you home, Imagine Dragons was playing on the radio. I figured they already brought me enough luck, so I thought I'd give some to you." Brandon hesitates, looking at the floor as he speaks.
"You're the first person to get it right."
I touch the fabric as a genuine smile forms. If that jerk hadn't leaked my number and my cash app, then I'd be doing mental jumping jacks right now. Also, Brandon's gift doesn't feel the same, knowing it came from him. Once my mother bought me a T-shirt like this one. It wasn't the exact design, but I lost it in the fire along with everything else. The gesture is beautiful, I just wish she gave it to me. I hug the shirt, thinking of how she made me feel better.
"I'm sorry about my dad," Brandon sighs. "He can be an asshole, but he usually means well."
"Can we just get out of here?" I whisper, folding the t-shirt and placing it on the dresser.
"I have the perfect spot," Brandon touches the end of my skirt. "but you have to change first."
I glance at my outfit and then back at the mischievous glint igniting in his cerulean blue eyes. Suddenly, I don't feel so safe turning over all my cares in the world to a crooked soldier. I mean, who knows what sort of twisted ideas are turning inside that wild child's mind?
"Just promise me we're not breaking any laws," I say, picking up my cell phone.
"Will you stop being so uptight?" Brandon laughs, rushing me out of the bedroom, holding the shirt.
I hold on to the doorway with the jaws of life. "Wait, you said I had to change!"
"You'll change on the way." He dismisses me, unlatching my hands from the doorframe.
"I'm not stripping in your car. It's not that sexy of a Mustang." I rebuttal before he whisks me through the pristine marbled floors.
As Brandon carries me through the loft, I observe the elegant decor. The beige sofa and the accent chair bring the living room to life. The two gray indoor lounge chairs are facing the opposite side of the room. Their loft is even more beautiful in the daytime not that I have time to enjoy the ambiance. But I notice William listening attentively to his wife as they're tucked away in a corner. He nods in response, but the closer we get, the more his attention focuses on us.
I wait for him to lock the apartment. "I'm tired of you rushing me out of the apartment like a cheap hooker."
He pushes the button to send the elevator to the first floor. "Exactly, what are you selling besides an attitude?"
"You'd be surprised." My grip tightens around my cell phone as I step on the elevator.
Brandon looks intensely at me before he presses the floor to the lobby. I lean against the rail, watching the sliding steel door close from the corner of my sight.
On the other hand, I'm still trying to find the courage to block more random numbers. I always find myself staring at the words, trying to decipher the type of person that sends these kinds of messages.
Brandon clears his throat. "What are you hiding?"
I glance at him for a second then my attention returns to the screen. "A cell phone addiction like every teenager our age," I mutter, trying to find the strength not to crumble in this stupid elevator.
"We're alone; you can let down your guard." He says, staring at me with a soft gaze.
"I already told you everything." I exhale.
The elevator opens but he looks at me one last time before he walks away. I follow behind him, clenching my cell phone in my left hand. It's not like I don't want to tell him everything, but he would only think less of me. He already thinks I'm some fragile flower, but if he knew the whole truth, he would never see me the same way again. Everyone always expects me to be okay.
I don't blame them because the second I'm not, I just keep free-falling until there's nothing left. My soulful thoughts filter through my mind as Brandon storms through the lobby. When he reaches the entrance, he opens the door for an elderly woman on the other side.
She sweetly smiles at him, causing him to return her welcoming gesture until she's gone. He stands there, waiting for me. I look at the ground as I walk past him to the crowded streets of Los Angeles. I feel like a total stranger. Despite everything, Brandon rests his hand on my waist, guiding me across the street to his car.