Brandon was looking through his belongings, trying to decide what was worth packing. Most of the things he had, went straight to those big, black bags in the hallway. A fresh start always meant throwing everything away. And he has done a lot of "fresh" starts. They should make a contest of it, at least he'd be good in one goddamn thing in his life.
He thought that after the last one... Eh, it doesn't matter what he thought. Nothing really matters anymore, to be honest.
And with that thought on his mind, he found the photo. All his reasons to go back to normality, to try and reach for help, on one, old photography. It wasn't really that old, it was taken maybe half a year ago, maybe more... But it felt as if it was just a story he read a night ago. Incredibly vivid and detailed, but not real.
Before he knew, there was a single tear rolling down his cheek. He gritted his teeth and threw that stupid piece of paper right into the bin.
He was never sentimental. Even during his "new starts". Especially during those, he'd be more mad about old things, about the life they reminded him off. But that damned picture just kept creeping at the back of his head, tormenting him and making focusing on actual packing so hard.
Finally, after the seventh thing that had slipped from his hands, he decided it'd be better if he just takes a break.
A break which turned into a threesome... with vodka and a glass.
Five drinks later he was quite ready to take the picture out of that bin and get really sentimental.
He sat on the floor, the exact same floor they were all standing on when the previous owner of now his apartment took the photo and under the same wall even. Huh, the irony.
It was spring. A goddamn spring. "The season of lovers and fresh beginnings". Normally for Brandon spring meant "girls in more revealing clothes and even more eager to be taken to bed". But apparently not this one year.
The "Sissy incident" took place a few months before. When they took this picture his little sis was already a singer in a jazz club, with an actual band of musicians, earning money and with her own apartment.
Brandon smiled sadly at the fond memory of his sister so grown up and strong. To be honest he hasn't seen her since that spring day. Of course, he received a lot of angry phone calls. Or more likely angry messages on his voicemail. Some things never change, no matter how many times he starts anew.
On the picture, Sissy was standing to his right, all smiling and proud of her big brother. She was the one who pushed him so hard into this whole "buying a new apartment" thing. She used to sit in his previous place and complain for hours about the bad aura it had and his soul being "tormented by old memories". For the first few times, he laughed her off, but one day he went to the bathroom and saw it. The floor, walls, even towels were covered in red, fresh blood. He blinked and it was gone, but the panic still remained.
That night Brandon told him they have to move out.
Him. The person to his left on that goddamn, fucking...
He took few sips of another bottle of vodka, not bothering to even look for the glass.
Wesley fucking Gibson.
He remembered the night they met like it was yesterday. The red lights, the smell of male sweat and sperm, that loud music... And the feeling of complete numbness followed by disgust. He shivered at the thought of that awful place. But he wanted to remember.
Remember how those blue eyes were shining in dimmed, red light. How his cologne smelled when he hid his face in the crook of his neck. How his whispers and moans were louder than that music. And the feeling after, when instead of leaving Brandon there alone, he almost dragged him to some kind of apartment for more... He shivered at this thought too.
