I felt lost, unable to voice the turmoil inside me when he inquired. Shame and embarrassment consumed me, a strange knot tightening my throat. I couldn't show weakness, especially not to him.
Who would admit that their father slapped them for missing a call, especially to someone who seemed indifferent to their very existence?
he demanded, his tone laced with anger and a seriousness that momentarily fooled me into thinking he cared, although deep down, I knew the truth.
I checked my reflection in the mirror, finding no visible signs of the altercation on my face. How had he known?
As I descended the stairs, Bella was engrossed in her drawings, while Jordan sat nearby. "Did you two fight?" Kavin asked, eyes glued to his phone.
"No, why?" I replied.
Kavin glanced up, observing, "Your man looked like he's off to murder someone."
Surprised and confused, I dismissed it. Brandon wasn't a child; perhaps he was just irritated because I hadn't obeyed him as expected.
Shaking off these thoughts, I bid Sara and Bella farewell, heading home. While my father encouraged visits to Foster's, I enjoyed spending time with Bella and Sara, finding solace in their company.
Fortunately, Foster's residence was just a ten-minute walk away, ensuring I wouldn't miss my curfew, not again.
The shadows cast over the sky, accompanied by soft music humming in my ears, as I approached the mansion. A car was parked just outside the gate. At first, I frowned in confusion, thinking perhaps some guests were visiting my father. However, a sense of familiarity washed over me as I studied the vehicle.
My pace quickened. I entered, finding Joie by the staircase.
"What's going on?" I asked, breathless.
His response was crunt but I paid it no mind because what he said the next moment confirmed my doubt, "Young master Brandon is here."
What the hell?
Panic gripped me as I ran, each second feeling like an eternity.
Tick-tock.
The door of my father's study was shut, but tension emanated from within.
Tick-tock.
The rhythmic ticking of the clock echoed in my mind as I leaned closer to the door, trying to decipher what was happening inside.
Was he here to confront me?
This is where he ran off to after talking to me. I was so preoccupied with thoughts about what might be happening inside and calming myself that I didn't have a chance to move away from the door before it was thrown open. I stumbled a few steps inside, slamming into a wall.
Hard. Soft and warm wall.
I look up, His eyes blazed with anger, as his chest rises and falls furiously. the tension in his jaw didn't help either.
"How long do you intend to hug me?"
The rumbling vibrates from my cheek through his chest where I'm still stuck, I immediately pull back. "I'm not hugging."
"Yeah right, eavesdropping."
My cheek stung, and I hastily glance over his shoulder. "I wasn't." I defended, taking cautious steps back.
His gaze narrowed.
I glace behind him to where my father was standing before looking at his face again, "Why are you here?"
"Had some business to discuss." he accused, my gaze shifting to my father's trembling hand, the same hand that had left its mark on my face.
Thick rolls of saliva fill my mouth and I push in down my throat feeling the shiver raise from my toe to the tip of my fingers.
No. Way.
Fear gripped me as I wondered how he knew.
His eyes flicked to my cheek before his commanding voice reached my ears, "Pack your things."
"What?" I frowned, confused and shocked.
His jaw clenched. Stepping closer, he cupped my neck, His thumb grazed the swollen skin once before his hand dropped back to his side. " Hurry up and pack your bag. I'll be waiting in the car."
I understood without further explanation, avoiding my father's gaze I rushed to my room.
There's no good that would come from staying here any longer, especially not tonight. The murderous look on Brandon's face and the ominous silence from my father spoke volumes.
I don't trust my father enough to believe he won't do anything once Brandon leaves. But do I trust Brandon enough to simply walk out with him at his command?
I descended the stairs with my duffel bag. My father was nowhere in sight, likely still in his study. Staying here meant facing consequences I couldn't bear.
Brandon remained silent as I took a few deep breaths before stepping into his car, yet the weight of his unspoken words hung heavily in the air, palpable and thick with meaning.
"Is that all your stuff?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the small bag in my lap.
"It's enough for the weekend," I replied, trying to sound confident.
After a heavy sigh, he muttered, "Weekend? Do you really think you'll be coming back?"
His words hung in the air, sinking into my thoughts like a weight I couldn't shake off.
He couldn't have meant exactly what I understood, I thought, puzzled, as he drove off without further explanation. The silence that followed grew so thick it felt like it was pressing down on me, suffocating me slowly.
"How did you know?" I asked, trying to ease the discomfort creeping over my skin.
Because I never mentioned anything about my father to Brandon before, my mind racing. But before I could dwell on it further, Brandon's deep voice interrupted my thoughts.
"I didn't say anything. He blurted it out himself when I asked," Brandon explained.
"Oh," I replied, feeling a mix of surprise and confusion. "So his hand..."
"Not broken," Brandon replied matter-of-factly, his tone tinged with disappointment. It was as if he had expected a different outcome. I couldn't help but wonder, was he actually hoping for his hand to be broken? I pushed the unsettling thought aside, No need to dance it's not for you. I inform to my heart.
It's unsettling that I feel no remorse for my father, isn't it? After all, he's still my father.
"But why should you care? It's not your concern," I asked.
"I hate what's mine being touched by others. In any way." he declared with unwavering conviction.
And I felt a rush of defiance surge through me, the cheerleaders in my chest losing their usual control. "I'm not yours." Not yet.
"That, is where you are mistaken, babydoll."