THREE
1202 Words
Two weeks after his arrival home, Brandon got a job. He needed a means of income to sustain his sister. That aside, he also wanted to use that medium to establish a network for his plan.,
Although he technically didn't need to work for a while. He resumed. Everyone was surprised at how fast he bounced back.
They kept insisting that he take a long vacation, but, Brandon refused. Being active was also a means of distracting himself.
There were nights when he couldn’t sleep and days when getting out of bed was torture. The emptiness inside him was crushing, the grief almost suffocating, and it took every bit of his strength to function at a semi-normal level.
Sometimes when he slept, he woke up from terrible nightmares. His experience kept replaying until he woke up drenched in a cold sweat.
After those dreams, he would lay awake, aching for Wilson, for the warmth and safety of his embrace.
Brandon felt lost without him, Wilson a rudderless ship at sea. His absence was a festering wound that refused to heal. He missed him so much.
With how it was going, taking that therapy was beginning to sound like a nice idea.
Before now, Brandon didn't know what real hatred was. He never knew what it was like to have the urge to want to hurt someone, to carve their death.
Now he did. If he could go back in time and kill Wilson's father, he would do it in a heartbeat. It was not enough for him that he died in that explosion. He wished he had been the one to end his life.
His sister kept insisting that he saw the therapist, but Brandon refused each time. Seeing and talking to another human being wouldn't help his pain.
Moreover, he was ready to bear out his heart and soul to a stranger. A session that would end up being a waste of time and money.
He wasn't in the right frame of mind to receive therapy—his loss was too fresh, his emotions too raw.
* * *
Apart from work, Brandon made out a list of tasks that he wanted to accomplish for each day and diligently adhered to it, no matter how much he may want to crawl under his bed covers and never come out.
Most of the time, his lists included mundane activities, such as eating, running, going to work, doing grocery shopping, and spending time with his sister.
Occasionally, he added more ambitious projects as well, such as finding out about more of Vivian, which he did. He also signed up for shooting lessons.
To his surprise, he turned out to be pretty good at handling a gun. His instructor said he was a natural.
He also took self-defense classes and start learning a few basic moves to protect himself. It was like he was requiring himself for war.
Besides, he felt that he was just a bit stronger, maybe he could have saved his man.
Between all those new activities and his work, he was too busy to socialize, which didn't bother him. He didn't want friends anyway.
Brandon kept working profusely, yet, he managed to stay away from his colleagues. Each time he got invited to an event, he turned them down.
There wasn't a day he passed Wilson's vacant office, that he didn't miss him so much. Often, he would rush to the convenience and throw up, remembering that his lover is no more.
Successfully, today, Brandon got dragged out for dinner by his colleagues at work. They wanted to do something nice for him.
The dinner went great with everyone trying so hard to make jokes.
Brandon listened and faked laughter. He didn't want to be rude after the hard work his colleagues had put into the entire arrangement.
He wasn't enjoying himself.
To worsen the moment, the night crawled at a snail’s pace. Brandon existed from moment to moment, taking deep breaths. He kept staring at his wristwatch, praying for the night to already end.
Finally, he gave in and excused himself.
That night, he dreamt of him. . . and woke up dripping and throbbing, his body empty and aching for his possession. Like an addict going through a withdrawal, he was desperate for a fix, for something to take the edge off his need.
He decided to give in.
Dressing up, he checked the time and saw that it was five minutes past midnight. He grabbed his keys and headed to a local bar.
* * *
The women swarm around him like flies. It was easy, so f*****g easy. A guy alone in a bar—that was all the encouragement they needed.
Like wolves scenting prey, they sensed his desperation, his desire for something more than a cold, lonely bed tonight.
Brandon had chosen a mixed bar, despite knowing his sexuality now. Doing this with a woman wouldn't be cheating on Wilson. No emotions. Just s*x. But doing it with a guy would be.
He allowed a female brunette to rub herself all over him. He bought her a drink. Brandon made sure to drink above his limit.
By the time she asked him if he wanted to leave, everything around him was fuzzy. Nodding, he let her lead him to his car, helping her with descriptions.
She was good-looking, curvy but fit. Tall and sexy enough.
She was a chef, she told him as she drove them to a nearby motel at Brandon's suggestion. He was too drunk to do the driving.
He didn't care who she was or what she did. He just wanted her to f**k him, to fill that gaping void inside, then get lost afterwards.
Brandon managed to get them a room at the front desk, and they went upstairs. When they got into the room, she took off his jacket and began to kiss her. He could taste cigarette on her tongue.
She pressed him to her, her hands hot and eager to explore his body.
Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore.
“Stop!” He shoved her away as gently as possible. Taken by surprise, she stumbles a couple of steps.
“What the f**k—” She gaped at him, mouth open in disbelief.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, grabbing his jacket. “It’s not you, I promise.”
“No, handsome.
You've to finish what you started. You can't leave me hot and bothered,” she whined.
Before Brandon could utter another word, “you heard the gentlemen stop.”
“Who the f**k are you?” she asked the man dressed in all black. “How did you get in here?”
“He's mine. And, I suggest you call it a night if you don't want to be found dead by the dumpster, whore.”
With the threat, she ran off.
The man caught Brandon just in time before he slumped. “You didn't even give me a proper burial, and you're f*****g a b***h. You know how I hate sharing, baby.”
“Wilson?” Brandon called out, running his hands along the sharp jaws of his handsome lover before passing out.
- Writer
