You Are the Key

Chapter Eight:

Junior year, Brandon pissed me off real bad once. I left his side for only a short amount of time. Benji and Heath Mistler, two people Brandon hated equally, befriended me for the two weeks I remained angry at Bran. They were the literal mother fucking type, who would shove a knife in your back after borrowing fifty bucks. You’d never get your money back.

Bran had been screwed over by them numerous times.

I knew then I was only doing it to be conniving. To socialize and make nice with them was just to piss him off as much as he’d pissed me off. I wanted him, the person who had no feelings whatsoever, to get angry for once. It worked, nicely, I might add. He came to me raving; I smiled to spite him and walked away. I was wrong for that. I know I was, because it hurt both me and him. I felt guilty for days.

Who cared that he’d been smoking pot, and lied when I asked him about it? Who cared? It was a petty argument, really. I never expected the outcome to be as severe as it was. How would I know that Mr. Big Tough Guy was going to get all upset over a few days of silent treatment?

Obviously, it was a pretty big thing for him.

I’d left his side when, for all these years I’d promised him I wouldn’t. Broken promises – lies – hurt like a son of a bitch. They sting in the chest, shrapnel of dishonesty and falsified feelings of safety. Think of a time you once felt so safe by someone’s side and then were completely blindsided by something small, yet stupid that they did.

Doesn’t it hurt?

Cocaine isn’t good for you, but I suppose it does make you feel a smidge better about shitty situations. The more I tried to fix things, the more he’d push me away. He didn’t feel safe with me around. It came to a point where he’d scream at me and shield his face as to not look at me.

I came to the conclusion that he was seeing his father in me.

“Brandon!” I screamed once. He kept up his struggle in the middle of Biology. I had him pinned against the back window and the heater forcefully, he whimpered, hiding his face. “Look at me, damn it!”

“Please, don’t… don’t, don’t.” His limbs thrashed in my hold and he buried his face in his shoulder. “No, don’t…” He muttered, scared – terrified.

The whole Bio class was wild, pointing, staring, jaws agape. They were shocked; the teacher was phoning the principle. “Open your eyes or so help me, Brandon…” I growled through clenched teeth.

“Don’t hit me.” He breathed out, voice tired.

“Now why the hell would I do that?” I asked, defeated. My shoulders slumped, eyes scanning over his pale, frightened face. His lips were chapped, eyes dull. “I’m sorry.” I arched my eyebrows, trying to convince him everything was okay. He still shook, Adams Apple bobbing up and down.

We were walked down to the principal’s office later on that period. There, I fought a police officer. Brandon struggled against the principal to aid me. I delivered a few punches to the officer, who, in turn forced me into his car with a pair of handcuffs latched tightly around my wrists. The pinching sensation nagged me the whole way to the station.

For that little stunt, I was suspended from school for three whole weeks with domestic abuse charges. Brandon tried hard to fight the acquisition. In the end, I ended up on PINS for assaulting said officer.

After that, though, Bran was convinced of my loyalty. I’d fought the police officer for myself, there’s no way in Hell I’d tell him that, though.

There are a few times when he brings up the whole “you fought a cop” thing. We laugh about it, but I know he still aches from the time I left him. All alone, he was unmanaged; nobody was there to tell him what to do. He had no clue how to continue his daily routine of nodding and smiling, since he had no one to nod and smile to.

It’s hard, pretending everything’s alright when you have no one to fool, I know that firsthand.