Wounded; A Brallie Fan Fiction *EDITING*

Chapter Two: Midnight Surprise

Brandon's POV
Once again, here I was, laying awake in the middle of the night, thinking about Callie. It was like when she first moved in, and nobody could know how I felt, not even she could. The concept of 'us' had been forbidden before it was even initiated. I thought I hated it then, but I hated it even more now.

I wondered what she was doing right now. She was probably sound asleep in her temporary home, dreaming about A.J., our estranged foster brother who kissed Callie on her 17th birthday. Or maybe even Wyatt. Anybody but me I bet.

Sometimes I consider the fact that maybe she lays awake at night thinking about me, too. Maybe she never really stopped loving me. Maybe she'll never want A.J. or Wyatt again, because maybe she wants me. Maybe she misses me exactly as much as I miss her.

But then again, maybe she doesn't, because I'm not nearly as special as her.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Outside my window I could see the black tree branches against the achingly blue sky. I tried to trace each branch with my eyes, but I got distracted by the stars.

And out of nowhere, my bedroom door opened. I jumped and sat up, to find a disheveled Callie in a denim jacket standing in my doorframe. I looked at her and she looked at me, speechless, motionless.

Right here, right now, she was perfect. The moon was glowing against her luminescent skin and it made her look immortal somehow. Her wavy hair hung loose and her eyes were sparkling at me. My heart jumped and my stomach began to feel warm at the sight of her. God, I wished she'd say something.

But instead she simply stepped into the room and slowly shut the door behind her. She looked at me, at the clock, and at me again.

"Do Moms know you're here?" I asked, gulping.

Callie shook her head and took a careful seat at the end of my bed, her hands rested flatly on her thighs. I didn't know what to do. For the first time, she was in my room and it wasn't in a sisterly way. I didn't know why she was here or how she got here, but I did know that it would kill me if she left.

Hesitantly, I tossed the covers off my body and crawled over to her. I sat beside her, perhaps a little bit to close under the circumstances, but she didn't tense her body or clench her jaw, so I didn't move an inch.

"I have to tell you something, Brandon," she whispered so quietly, it almost blended right in with the darkness. She turned her head and looked at me. I watched as her eyes studied my face, every part of it, and stopped when she found my eyes. She looked right into them, not through them. She looked so deeply into them I could have sworn she was searching for me in my own irises.

"Anything," I told her. My voice was detached, as though I was somewhere else, maybe because I was. I was in her eyes, and she was in mine.

She pulled herself out of it, and then looked at me like a person again, rather than some impeccable piece of artwork that she never wanted to stop looking at. She bit her lip and faked a smile.

"I think- I think I'm . . . I'm still in love with you." She said, looking at her knees.

I needed to hear her say that so terribly it hurt, and watching the words leave her lips, hearing them echo in my head and travel through my brain waves, it felt so good it made me ache; that's what loving her was like.

I was silent, but I drew in a short breath and she looked at me. This time her eyes lingered on my lips, and I didn't do anything to stop her. I did more than that.

I found my hand placing itself on top of  hers, and I leaned in closer to her. She smelt of vanilla and mint, as always. She then leaned in, and our lips were hovering before each other's. I don't know what I was waiting for, but I was waiting on purpose. I wanted to take it all in and remember every part of whatever this was.

And when I was done, that was when I finally did it. My lips hit hers, and I felt safe again. I felt renewed, for the first time since the fundraiser. Her lips moved in sync with mine, soft and pillowy, warm . . . . Just like I remembered.

Callie put her hand on my chest and pulled her lips away, but left her cool forehead pressed against mine.

"Stop," was all she said.

"Why?" I asked breathlessly, hoping my disappointment and desperation wasn't too vocal.

Callie bit her lip, almost shamefully, and looked down for a second. Her hand rested on the back of my neck, and her forehead was still touched to mine. Finally, she looked into my eyes.