My Bully's Brother

CHAPTER 2 Before the Storm.

You've got to be quicker than that, Bri," she teased, rolling dough on the countertop. The kitchen was a canvas of warmth, flour dusting the air like soft memories. Mom chatted happily about the time when she met dad. He was "beautiful" she said. Smart, full of life and totally knew how to make me laugh. "I think I said yes because he knows his way around the kitchen," mom said amid bursts of laughter that filled our small space.

The smell of vanilla and melted chocolate filled the small kitchen, wrapping it in a warmth filled with happiness. Mom's laugh rang out as I wiped a streak of flour from my cheek, glaring at her mockingly. Our movements were a dance, comfortable and familiar, each gesture telling a story of countless moments we'd shared together.

"Why don't we surprise him?" I suggested, reaching for a towel to wipe my hands. The idea sparked something in both of us a shared moment of excitement, of love.

She glanced at me, her eyes brightening with that special light I knew so well. "You think so? He might be busy."

I could see the hesitation in her eyes, but also the hope. "All the more reason. We can drop these off and cheer him up."

The kitchen became a whirlwind of activity. By the time the cookies were cool enough to pack, we'd filled two small tins. Mom hummed as she tied ribbons around the lids, a tune I hadn't heard in a long time. It was like she was weaving memories into those ribbons soft, delicate, full of love.

Our small family of 3 felt happy and that was all that mattered. In that moment, everything seemed perfect.

The drive to the restaurant wasn't long and we sat in a comfortable silence. Mom tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, and we hummed to our favourite Michael Jackson's “we’re the world”.

"Do you think he'll like it?" Mom asked, her voice soft. She clutched the tins like they were some kind of peace offering, delicate and hopeful.

I nodded, "Of course. It's Dad. He loves cookies."

We stepped inside, the scent of grilled meat and warm spices hitting us immediately. It was the usual buzz of customers and clinking cutlery, but something felt off. The space felt... different. Then I saw him.

Dad was standing near the back, leaning against the counter. At first, it looked normal just him talking to someone. But as we moved closer, the scene shifted, and my stomach dropped.

Her hand was on his arm, fingers curling slightly. Her laugh was soft, her lips too close to his. And then, as if in slow motion, Dad leaned in. My breath caught. My mom froze beside me, the tins trembling in her hands. Everything seemed to stop the noise, the movement, time itself.

"John?" Her voice cracked, the single word slicing through the air like a knife. It was a question and an accusation, hope and heartbreak wrapped into one syllable.

Dad's head snapped up, I looked at his face, guiltless but also guilty as he stepped back from the woman. She turned too, her smile fading as she took in the scene. The perfect moment we'd crafted just moments ago shattered like glass.

"Michelle," he started, but Mom was already stepping back.

"Bri, let's go," she said sharply, her voice tight as she grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the door. Her grip was desperate, protective, holding onto the only thing that still made sense.

We didn't speak on the drive home. Mom's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, her jaw clenched like she was physically holding back words. I sat stiffly in the passenger seat, the tins of cookies on my lap feeling heavier than they should.

I wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but every word I thought of caught in my throat. My mind replayed the scene over and over, Dad leaning in, the other woman's hand on his arm, the way Mom's voice had cracked when she said his name.

When we finally pulled into the driveway, Mom turned off the car but didn't move. She stared straight ahead, her eyes unfocused. The world seemed to hold its breath.

"Mom" I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Go inside, Brianne."

"But" ------

"Just go."

I swallowed hard and climbed out of the car, clutching the tins like they were some sort of shield. Once inside, I set them on the kitchen counter and stood there, unsure of what to do. The house felt too quiet, too still, like it was holding its breath.

A few minutes later, the front door opened, and Mom walked in. Her face was composed now, the storm brewing beneath her surface hidden away. She didn't look at me as she crossed the room, heading straight for the kitchen sink.

"Mom, are you okay?"

She turned on the tap, letting the water run over her hands. "I'm fine, Brianne," she said, her voice clipped. "You're not fine. I saw"

"Don't," she interrupted, her voice sharp enough to make me flinch. "Don't say it. Don't talk about it."

"What happens now?" I asked, my voice small.

She finally looked at me, her eyes tired and red-rimmed. "We keep moving forward," she said simply.

Her words felt hollow, like she was trying to convince herself more than me.

"Does this mean" I trailed off, unable to finish the question.

Mom sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It means your father made his choice a long time ago," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "And so have I."

The morning air was crisp as I walked toward school, clutching my books tightly against my chest. I tried to focus on the path ahead, but the thoughts swirled in my head like an unstoppable storm. My dad's betrayal, my mom's silent strength, the weight of their crumbling marriage it all hung heavy on me.

I remembered the first time I'd walked into Riverdale High, so full of hope. Back then, I thought it might be different from middle school, that maybe I could blend in and just... exist. But Mackenzie Rodriguez had spotted me on my first day, and that dream evaporated faster than I could blink.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice Mackenzie in front of me, her signature smirk plastered on her face. Behind her, her friends were giggling, their laughter sharp and cruel.

"I…. I'm sorry," I stammered, trying to sidestep her.

But Mackenzie wasn't about to let me off that easy. She stepped into my path, blocking me. "Sorry?" she repeated, mocking my tone. "Did you hear that, girls? She's sorry."

The group burst into laughter again, their voices echoing in the hallway. My grip tightened on my books, my knuckles turning white. I willed myself not to look up, not to engage.

"What's the rush, Brianne?" Mackenzie said, leaning in close. "Got somewhere important to be? Oh, wait you don't."

Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. Before I could respond, she reached out and knocked the books out of my hands. They hit the ground with a loud thud, papers scattering everywhere. My face burned as I bent down to pick up my things, doing my best to ignore the snickers around me.

"Oops," Mackenzie said, feigning surprise. "Clumsy much?"

Tears threatened to blur my vision, but I blinked them away. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. As I gathered the last of my papers, I felt someone crouch down beside me. For a brief moment, I thought it was someone coming to help but when I looked up, it was Mackenzie. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned in close, her voice low enough that only I could hear.

"You don't belong here," she whispered. "You never have. Why don't you do us all a favor and just disappear?"

My throat tightened, but I forced myself to stand, clutching my books to my chest like a shield. Without saying a word, I pushed past her, my steps quick and unsteady.

Behind me, I could hear her laughter, the sound chasing me down the hallway. It echoed in my ears long after I'd reached the safety of the bathroom, where I locked myself in a stall and let the tears fall.