Hell

four

It was 11:30 and I finished getting ready to go out with Branson. And by 'ready' I mean my hair thrown up lazily and put on a pair of shorts with a short sleeve soccer shirt I had slept in the night before. And by 'go out with Branson' I mean going to eat food with someone who saved my life. Not a big deal. I didn't see a reason to get all dolled up and fancy, my mother was certainly not happy with my attire though.

She nagged at me relentlessly up until Branson rung the doorbell. "Ah! Someone who actually comes to the door!" She swooned as she carefully shoved me closer to it. "I like him much more than those others who just honk their horns at you. So disrespectful."

I roll my eyes as I swing the door open. Branson stood politely with a smile, wearing khaki shorts, boat shoes, and a preppy button up shirt. I raised an eyebrow at him and he simply nodded at me as if my outfit was perfectly fine. "Hello ladies."

"Branson! So lovely to see you again. How are you?" My mom asked like she was meeting her idol for the first time.

"I'm superb, and you?" He in turn asked her.

"Wonderful, thanks for asking."

"Lovely to hear. Are you ready, Charlie?" Branson asked, turning his attention back on me.

"Such a cute nickname," I heard my mother whisper from behind me as I nodded at him.

"Bye, mom."

"Bye Mrs. Hale!"

.

.

"Why do you do that?" I ask him, slightly infuriated as he opened the passenger side door for me.

"What, open the door? It's common courtesy, Charlie." He replied with a smile.

"No, Branson. Act like that with my mother. It's kind of weird."

He let out a hearty laugh as he opened his own door and sat in the driver's seat, buckling his seat belt. "I was raised to be respectful to adults. It's the only way to act. Now buckle up."

"I don't wear my seat belt." I told him, shifting in my seat so my bandages weren't bothering me.

"Says the girl who got shot." Branson replied lightheartedly, leaning over and grabbing the seatbelt, buckling it for me. He turned his car on and pulled out of my driveway, proceeding on his way to our mystery destination.

I was secretly hoping Branson wouldn't choose somewhere fancy or pricey to go, and I grew relieved as he pulled into a little mall where the only food option was Panera.

"Does it hurt to eat?" Branson asked, pulling into an available parking spot.

I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to see if I felt any pain. I wasn't thinking about it previously. "Surprisingly, not really." I answered him when I was sure I honestly wasn't in pain. I don't know how or why, but I didn't question it.

Branson did, though. "That's so weird, are you sure you're okay?"

I nodded. "Fine. Can we please eat? I'm starved."

"Of course, Charlie."

I ended up ordering a broccoli and cheddar soup, Branson going for a tomato mozzarella panini. I tried to pay, but he refused to let me. The girl working the register swooned like my mom would've as we fought over who was paying the ten dollar Panera bill. He won, of course.

.

.

I spent the next week hanging out with Branson, becoming increasingly fonder of his presence. He was such a positive, beautiful soul that even I, the sarcastic, bitchy queen bee was subconsciously striving to be a better person. He was so nice and genuine, I found myself wanting to bring that much happiness to the people I came across, as he did.

Nothing that went wrong ever bothered him, he handled every situation with dignity and grace. Even when a little boy slipped and spilt his orange juice all over Branson's pants when we went out to Subway a few days after Panera. The mother profusely apologized, but Branson just laughed it off and shook his head, swearing it was alright. He even ruffled the boys hair and bought him a new orange juice. I could never have so much patience and compassion for life as he did. Every situation I found myself watching his every move, and hanging on every word. It astounded me how someone could be so perfect. If there was a living, breathing version of enlightenment, it would be Branson.

One day I finally decided to stop observing.

His car had just been rear-ended by an elderly woman who wasn't paying attention to what she was doing. He was calm and collected, even apologizing to the woman when everyone around knew it was her fault. Her car was more damaged than his, which could be fixed by a quick punch from the inside of the trunk. Guess what Branson did? Offer to pay for the damage.

"How do you do it?" I finally snapped as the cops walked away to talk to the elderly woman.

"Do what, Charlie?" He asked me, closing his trunk with a quick movement.

"Act so nice! Like nothing ever bothers you!" I everything but screamed at him.

Branson shrugged, completely unphased by my outburst. "Once you truly realize we're all going through the same struggle- life -and grasp how short it really is, you begin to question everything you've ever done. And then you either let the guilt eat you alive, or you spend the rest of your life making up for it. And with compassion and care for others, comes true happiness to yourself. It's time to wake up, Charlie." He said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing me in a side hug.

authors note- okay so maybe i lied.... i think the next chapter will be the final one. i don't want this to drag on, but instead of be more a thriller kind of quick moral-of-the-story novella. as always thanks for reading!