TWO
1202 Words
For his sister's arrival, he insisted on getting up and putting on normal clothes. He didn’t want her to see him lying in a hospital bed.
He was sure that she had already spent too much time worrying about him, and the last thing he wanted was to add to her anxiety.
One of the nurses gave him a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and he gratefully put them on. They fit him perfectly. Although the clothing wasn't the choice he would go for, it still served.
The thought of how far Wilson's father went to break them up reminded him of how he was equally unfortunate in terms of his parents.
More and more, he had a strong hatred for him and would pay anything to see him hurt. After all, the only thing he had was bid sister. If he could get her to safety, Wilson Snr could then kiss his ass.
Brandon didn't put on any shoes, though, since his feet still had to heal from the burns he got wandering through the remnants of the warehouse.
When his sister finally entered the room, he was sitting in a chair, waiting for her. She came in, her face crumpled as soon as she saw him. She dashed across the room, tears streaming down her face.
She began to lightly punch him on his left shoulder. “Why? I would've never made it if you didn't survive,” she muttered into his ears.
He smiled widely, hugged him in return, and did his best to reassure her that he was alright, that all of his injuries were minor and there was nothing to worry about.
He didn't cry, though he wanted to crash into her, sobbing like a kid. He held himself together.
Everything felt dull and distant, and even the presence of his sister seemed more like a beloved memory than a real person. He felt something had died in him.
Nonetheless, he tried to act normally; he already caused her far too much stress and anxiety.
After a little while, she calmed down enough to sit and talk.
“You shouldn't have bothered flying down here. I could've come to you. Are you alright, t?” he asked, trying to play the big brother role.
“Oh, please, Brandon. I would cross the end of the world to find my only brother. What matters is that we can go home now.”
Brandon nodded, his face drawn tight. “I would never leave your side. It seems bad things keep happening to me whenever I leave your side,” he jokes.
She snorted a laugh and leaned on his shoulder. “I'm sorry about Wilson,” she whispered, her tone sympathetic.
“It's okay. At least he can't break my heart anymore.”
Snorting another soft laugh, “quit joking, Brandon. I know what you're doing. No need to act tough with me. You can break down in front of me. I've got you.”
His mouth quivered a bit, but he held back his emotions. “I'm fine, baby. No need to worry about me. We've been through worse.”
“Indeed.” She swallowed visibly. “Who could've wanted to hurt Wilson so badly that they had to get you involved? The person must have known about you two.”
He stared at her in contemplation, then decided it was best not to get her involved. “It's a coincidence I got involved. They weren't targeting me. They just wanted anyone accessible to Wilson,” he lied.
“Then, why didn't they go for his family?”
“I don't know. Guess I was just unfortunate.” He smiled and began to twirl her hair with his fingers. “I'm fine now, kiddo. Don't sweat it.”
“I'm glad.” She rose and stared him in the eyes. “What do you want to do now? I heard you refused protection. Why? You need it, at least for now.”
He shrugged, not wanting to go into detailed explanations about Wilson Snr. “I'm a nobody and doubt that the culprit would want to waste resources now that Wilson was dead. Of what use would I be to them when their target is dead?”
“That's fair enough,” she said casually, her eyes filled with sympathy. “If I could, I'll find the people who did this to you and kill them myself," she spat.
“No,” he said softly. “Don't even have a thought like that. Focus on school. Karma and the proper authority will catch up with them.”
Brandon knew that he was just saying so to ease his sister's mind. He was the Karma that he was referring to. Of course, he wouldn't allow something that would take forever to intervene. He needed Wilson's father to burn to the ground as soon as possible.
* * *
Over the next three months, he attempted to pick up the pieces of his life.
After another day in the Romanian hospital, he was deemed healthy enough to travel, and he went home, back to the States with his sister. They had two FBI escorts on their trip home—
Agents Luke and Stan—used the twenty-hour flight to ask him even more questions. Both of them seemed frustrated because, according to their databases, it was just a mining accident.
“You never overheard a conversation?” Agent Stan asked him for the third time after their Interpol query came back without any results.
“No,” he said patiently. “I was blindfolded the entire time.”
“This just doesn’t make sense,” Agent Luke said, his round cheeks quivering with frustration. “This is beyond company rivalry. It is personal. And, whosoever did this know him very well and has enough resources to wipe out every trace.”
Brandon didn’t know what to tell him, so he just shrugged in response.
More than he wanted revenge, he was denying his anger toward Wilson. It would have been better to deal with that emotion if he was there.
Since he wasn't, he changed it to hatred for his father. He was also plotting to find Vivian. He needed answers. Maybe finding her would give him a clue about where to start.
By the time they got home, he was exhausted. He was tired of his sister hovering over him all the time, and he was sick of the FBI coming to him with a million questions that he couldn't answer.
Most of all, he was tired of being around so many people. After the near-death experience, he wanted to be left alone. He felt overwhelmed. Yes, they cared, but, it was driving him crazy.
He found his way to his room and saw that his sister had cleaned it up for him.
He smiled and hugged her before gently ushering her out of the room. More than anything, he needed to be alone right now—because he didn’t know how long he could keep up his ‘normal’ facade.
That night, as he took his shower, he finally gave in to his grief and cried.
- Writer
