New Title 7 (15 page)

My chin quivered as tears escaped. I covered my mouth to stifle sobs, shoulders heaving, vision blurring. 

Why the hell am I crying?

I hunkered down in the middle of the hallway and silently bawled. Voices spoke.

Stop crying.
But I couldn't. Somewhere within me a dam had broken to release an emotional torrent.

Someone's fingers grazed my shoulder. Eyes shot open and my cloudy vision registered Brandon's socks as streaky globs.

"Mia, why are you crying?"

Your guess is as good as mine.

"Come on. Get up," he urged trying to lift me by the arm. "Mia, say something." He slipped his palms beneath my armpits and hoisted. I wasn't sure what was happening and my head swooned as Brandon's arms enfolded me.

He stroked my back while I had my cheek nestled to his chest.

"
Shh
," he soothed, pressed his lips to my head. "Everything will be fine, angel. Just tell me what's wrong."

"I don't know," I said. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
I don't know
.
I don't fucking know
!"

"Shh, Mia. It's okay. For Christ's sake please stop. Seriously." His arms tightened, constricted, smothered.

I struggled a moment before breaking free.

"What's wrong, Brandon?" I choked on sobs as I glowered at him. "You're not afraid of me, are you? I mean—shouldn't it be the
other
way around?"

My laughter sounded insane. Hysterical. 

"Mia, that's enough." He gave me a forceful embrace and worked against my struggles, his arms a solid lock.

Full panic took hold.

"Calm down, baby. Calm down."

Oh my god! What's happening to me?

His family appeared and Doris asked if everything was alright.

"Just leave," Brandon told them. "I got this under control."

"Doesn't look like it," Tyler said.

"Fuck off, Tyler."

"Brandon,
please
," Doris interjected.

"No, I don't need to hear Tyler's shit while I'm trying to calm
her
down."

Doris shot me a look as she nudged her son and niece into the next room.

"
Answer me.
" He grabbed my shoulders and violently shook me. "
Goddamn it—are you alright
?"

"No. No. Stop. I—think I'm having a panic attack."

"I'm sorry," he said releasing me a bit. "I shouldn't shake you knowing you're pregnant. I wasn't thinking. But you're having a
panic
attack?" Brandon cinched my upper arms, supporting me so I wouldn't fall on my face. 

"Yeah." I inhaled but nothing filled my lungs. "Please let me go. I can't breathe.
I can't breathe
." I was drowning, going to die.
I'm fuckin' dying!
Awful panic drew to a crescendo... and ebbed.

I sucked in air to my starving lungs. Brandon braced a hand on my shoulder and held me at arm's length, leaning to peer at me.

"Are you okay now?" His eyes glinted with concern.

"I think." I palmed my forehead.

"Christ. What the hell just happened?"

"A panic attack."

"When did you start having those?"

"A while back. Not long after I got out of the hospital."

"Oh." Brandon put his arms around me, standing far enough away to gaze in my eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

"I think so. Just had a bad moment. It started while I was looking at the pictures in the family room."

"Oh? I wonder why that triggered it."

"I don't know. Can—can we get something to eat?" I looked up at him. "I'm suddenly hungry."

"Sure. Where would you like to go?"

"Burger King."

"Burger King? Got a craving for flame-broiled, heart attack-inducing garbage?"

"Exactly."

This would be our first official date and it'd be strange eating Whoppers with someone who once terrified me.

And held me in his basement.

One couldn't make this shit up.

Nevertheless, history was obsolete, the future more significant. Brandon's subsequent behavior would define our future.

And in my heart of hearts, I knew damn well what was causing my panic attacks.

I
'd debated on whether to mention Tyler's sexual relationship with Alicia. It was none of my business even though Alicia was a minor.

When I remembered she was only a year younger than I, the realization was staggering.

Why was a twenty-seven-year-old successful attorney interested in a teenager? What's more—a teen who was his own
cousin
?

Brandon had an odd family. But I still liked Doris. She and I were getting closer.

Today marked the ninth day since I'd moved in. I enjoyed being here with Brandon and hanging around his sweet mother. The only time Doris wasn't jolly was at nighttime when she took her tranquilizers (tranqs). Then she got sleepy and apathetic.

Doris told me I needed to be on tranqs for my panic disorder. I told her what my shrink had said, and how I hated to get on medication anyway. Hopefully using a different means would help with my disorder.

This evening Brandon and I lounged on the bed. He propped his head up by his hand. His other hand explored the curve of my stomach, fingers raising my shirt to press here and there.

Certain spots sprang to life as our baby kicked. Brandon snickered whenever his son moved and he looked absolutely enthralled as the boy manipulated my tummy. A lump slithered to and fro and we shook our heads in amazement.

"Damn. It's so bizarre knowing a little baby's in here, inside your belly," Brandon said.

"Tell me about it." My stomach jumped non-stop.

"I've been to med school so I know all about this shit, but to actually
see
it... it's weird how he moves so much, how you can see it under your skin." He poked, laughing as another outward jab ensued.

"He also likes to stab my bladder with his feet. I almost piss myself every morning because of it."

"Haha," Brandon said. "That would be something for a fetus to make you incontinent. Though it's not out of the realm of possibility, of course." He winked and I smacked his shoulder.

"What were you going to name him?" he asked as if he wouldn't have a say in the matter.

"Not sure. Maybe something like—Zachary or Zach? What do you think?"

"That's a good one. Zachary Levine. Sounds perfect, Mia." Grinning, he caressed the bump, fingered my navel.

"Only three-and-a-half more months to go."

"Hard to believe how time flies," he said. "Seems like I just met you."

"I know."

"We were at the coffee shop." Brandon's eyes clouded as his grin dissolved. "Yes. We were at the coffee shop where you used to work. I'll never forget—as I'm sure you'll never forget. Your car wouldn't start and I offered you a ride."

"And you promised that you weren't a psychopath," I blurted. "Months later it turned out you were diagnosed as such."

Uh oh. Did I cross an imaginary line?

Brandon's eyes shifted to me and he stared a long, long time. I had to look away. He returned his attention to my stomach and traced invisible streaks on it.

"That was almost six months ago," he said in a faraway voice. "I'm glad I met you, Mia." He regarded me, face solemn, eyes wide as he quit tracing.

"I—I'm glad I met you too."

"You don't have to say that."

Silence. And I was getting
very
uncomfortable with this conversation.

His fingertips traveled beneath my shirt to fondle a breast. He toyed with my nipple as he gazed at me with hungry eyes.

Senses sharpened while my body responded to his touching. Troubled thoughts flew out the window.

"I love you... my angel," he mumbled.

"Love you too."

"Can you do me a big favor?"

"What?"

"Can you—will you let me bind your wrists with string? Just this one time? I want to make love to you."

My heart sank, yet I wanted to please him. It would only be
one
time. So I gave him the answer he longed for.

Brandon yanked a long string from a pair of pajama bottoms. He sat by and slowly wrapped my wrists as I lay here. Muted light shone through the ceiling sconce; this is what I focused on so I could avoid watching
him
.

He extended my secured arms past my head, then slid off to get undressed.

Ceiling light blurred.

He pulled down my pants, raised my shirt until my breasts popped out.

"Are you alright?" he asked, settling between my thighs.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."
Just do it.

He jabbed me with his huge erection. It'd hardened as soon as he began wrapping my wrists—as if the idea turned him on. 

"Before I stick it in all the way, will you do me
one
more favor?" he asked.

I closed, opened my eyes. "What now, Brandon?"

"Will you tell me 'no?' Say it over and over. Act like you don't want me to fuck you."

Oh Christ.
"I'll do it. But only this one time."

"Yes, baby. Only this one time."

I wedged my eyelids shut as he entered. Sure enough, he fucked me with zealousness, rabid and relishing every second of my false protesting. He crushed my stomach but I endured, figuring he'd come shortly.

Distinct pulses spurted inside me as he came, sighing as he fought not to shout. He kept the tip jammed deep.

Orgasm completed, he pulled out while breathing laboriously. He climbed over me and untied the string.

He slumped with his arm across his stomach. "
Ah, yes
. Thank you baby."

Quietly I dressed, sprawled on the mattress and tucked an arm under my head.

Brandon snored.

He hadn't been taking his pills again. I wasn't
that
stupid. To top it off he wasn't keeping up with therapy and this meant Mr. Hyde wouldn't stay hidden.

Little pieces of him were already showing.

It was the best part of living here and safely within Doris's sight. Brandon wouldn't dare try anything with his mother around.

However—hours later he got me to talk about our meeting at the café.
Again
. He behaved strangely, wanting me to tell him how I felt when he trapped me in the woods.

I didn't want to talk about it. He was
forcing
me to.

He perched in a chair and watched as I fidgeted near the bed.

"Were you really scared? Tell me. I want to know how you were feeling."

"What do you
think
, Brandon?"

"I don't know. Tell me." His rounded eyes conveyed a twisted kind of sexual hunger.

"I felt—scared and nervous."

"How bad were you scared? Tell me what went through your mind while I held your wrists and unzipped."

"Terrified, I think."

"You didn't want me to fuck you?"

"I was too scared at the time. I didn't know you and I didn't want to have sex."
But I did start to enjoy it.

"What did it feel like when I thrust my cock inside you? What were you thinking?" His erection strained the crotch of his jeans.

It horrified me. I couldn't speak and my eyes riveted to his.

"What's the matter?" he questioned.

"Brandon..."

"Yes?" He glanced down. "Oh, that. I admit our little talk is turning me on. It doesn't mean anything."

Sure it doesn't. It simply means the idea of sexual violence makes you horny. Right?

"Come on, Mia. Tell me more."

As I continued playing this insane game, Brandon unzipped and freed his hard-on. Enclosing it with his fist, he jerked his hand up and down while staring, lips gapped.

His eyelids drooped with mounting rapture. On and on I went describing the horrors of that night. I distanced myself as though recalling someone else's memories.

In the midst of describing how I'd told him to 'fuck me good,' Brandon halted. Crumpling his face to a look of intense concentration, his fist tightened on his cock as tiny streams of white spewed. He grunted, writhed, arched his back.

"
Oh, ah, oh
."

Repulsed and intrigued at the same time, I watched as Brandon lunged upright to work his cock until it declared ceasefire.

He zipped, wearily slouched in the chair, long legs wide apart.

I slipped in bed and brought the covers to my chin.

Sleep wouldn't come easy.

Would it ever?

I
broke my number one rule:
Don't dwell on Brandon's disturbing behavior.

I went to Doris behind Brandon's back after he left for a doctor's appointment. He was gone to see his cardiologist. Thank god he at least tended to his
physical
health.

At nearly one o' clock in the afternoon, fighting to remain calm, I approached Doris. I plopped beside her on the sofa and focused on the burning hearth.

Doris glanced at me. "Something bothering you?" she softly asked.

I could trust her, though I proceeded with caution. "It's about me and Brandon."

"Are y'all having problems?"

"Not necessarily." Brief pause. "Sometimes—sometimes Brandon likes to do weird things."

"Hm? Weird things?"

"Weird things in bed."

"
Oh
." Doris's eyes widened. "What sort of weird things? If you're comfortable enough to say."

"Sometimes he likes to do s and m type stuff, you know."

"S and m? Oh. Sadomasochism." She nodded knowingly.

"Uh yeah. It worries me that he likes it." I rotated my fingers and cracked my knuckles from one hand to the other. Doris reached out to stop me from breaking my fingers.

"Don't do that, hon. It's not good for your hands." She withdrew.

"Okay." I resisted the compulsion to resume my abusive habit. It wasn't easy. Therefore I gnawed my lips.

Doris deeply sighed, fixing her attention to the crackling fire. "I'm gonna tell you something about Brandon's father."

I braced myself, grateful for her openness. It was wonderful having someone else to discuss this with.