The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

Chapter Eleven: The Past And The Promise

A/N: Everyone, thanks again for reading! Just a quick clarification, the videos I feature on the side bar with each chapter is just a YouTube video of the song I chose as the chapter soundtrack. Kinda sets the mood of the scenes... Enjoy!

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I expected to have no shortage of nightmares after the crazy night Anna and I had been through but when I woke up the next day, the unfamiliar but incredibly luxurious room bathed with the soft glow of the warm, late day sun, I only recalled a deep, peaceful sleep, free of bad dreams.

I stretched in bed, the agony of my midsection registering without delay, and I groaned out loud and held my breath until the pain subsided, only letting my eyes move to take in what was around me. 

The minimalist furnishings, the gray, blue and white color scheme, and the brushed metal and wood accents definitely felt masculine and modern. On the other hand, the random, dog-eared books lying around, the dark green sweater draped over the couch, and the small, untidy stack of papers and folders perched on a side table, gave it a comfortable and lived-in feel that stopped the place from looking like it was staged to appear in an interior-design magazine.

Turning my head to the side, I glanced at the dark gray pillow next to me, the dent on its center reminding me exactly of whose bed it was I currently stretched out on.

Brandon.

Instead of jumping off the bed in panic, I did something very unexpected.

I snatched up the pillow and smothered my own face with it, breathing in the familiar scent of him like a drowning person whose head just bobbed out of the water.

Every memory from last night was vivid in my mind like a View-Master—each one flashing behind my closed eyes in perfect sequence with the rest. Strangely, the only ones that stood out were those of Brandon—his face dark with fury marching down the hospital hall, the anxiety in his eyes when he admitted to being scared, the tenderness of his smile when he dried my hair and dressed me after my shower, his grim frustration when he inspected my bruises and his look of apprehension as he tucked me in bed with the weak resolve to sleep himself on the couch.

I didn't recall all the words but I remembered every confusing emotion that rioted for the prime spot in my heart. 

How do you push away a man who just pulls you right back into his arms?

I decided that deep, philosophic contemplation wasn't an ideal activity after waking up late in the day  with a growling stomach and a body revolting against one's self in pain. It just didn't work out.

Carefully, I pushed myself up on my elbows and spied the digital alarm clock sitting on the night stand on Brandon's side of the bed.

1:46 PM.

No wonder my head felt fuzzy.

I grabbed the small bottle of painkillers sitting on my night stand and popped a couple of tablets, ignoring the warning label to eat before taking them.

Decided that Brandon had probably already gone to work sometime this morning, I didn't attempt to put any shorts on, or even look for any. I shuffled my feet to the bathroom wearing just his shirt that hung loose over my one shoulder and grazed the top of my thighs.

My hair was a wild tangle of honey blond waves and since I couldn't lift my arms up for too long, the most I managed was just getting it off my face. I brushed my teeth and splashed some water on my face, dabbing away at the leftover smudges of mascara just under my eyes. 

I was hungry and sorely tempted to raid the kitchen for food but I couldn't walk out of the room just yet without looking at everything that told me a little something about this complicated man I was marrying.