Page 12 of Discord
Milo and Raven had been dating for weeks, but I knew something was off about their relationship. Raven hadn’t been looking well, and when I noticed bruises, I could no longer brush off the signs of abuse.
Yesterday, I went to Milo’s room to express my concerns. I never made it past his door, stumped by the vocal fighting from the other side. To my horror, their argument escalated into awful word exchanges. I stayed up all night, Raven’s pain-filled voice haunting me until I could no longer take it. And today, I confronted Milo in an epic meltdown.
“Mia, why are you sitting here by yourself?” I looked up from the kitchen table to find Milo walking through the screen door.
“What did you do to Raven?” I blurted, jumping out of my chair.
Milo appeared shocked by my sudden attack. I should have stuck to the rehearsed spiel and spoken lovingly about getting help. Instead, my emotions deconstructed my thoughts and left me rambling with impulsive words. “Raven’s not doing well, and you are the reason why. Stay the hell away from her.”
Milo narrowed his eyes, his confusion turning into anger as I made my terrible accusations. Our argument only escalated when he didn’t deny the crimes. “What’s between us is none of your goddamn business.”
The rest of the fight was a blur. We exchanged agitated words, saying things neither of us meant. He threatened to kick me out of the house in response to my vile accusations. I challenged him to disown me.
Sinclairs were infamous for their blind rage. Without Raven to play the role of our perpetual peacemaker, there was no one to diffuse the rage. Milo usually masked his anger but not when the emotion was coupled with the fear of losing Raven.
Meanwhile, I acted no better. I knew Milo wasn’t in the right mindset—stunned by my allegations—yet I goaded him on. I reminded him how much Raven loved me and would do anything for me.
“Trust me. Raven will break things off with you if I ask her to.”
Milo’s head whipped in my direction. “What did you just say?” he bellowed.
Milo had always been a disciplinary parental figure; never cruel. However, I felt his oncoming wrath because he knew Raven would choose me if it came down to it. Instead of backing away, I doubled down. “I’d do anything to protect her, even if it’s from you. Stay away from her, or you’ll never see her again.”
The air around us turned into ice. That was the moment I knew something awful was about to happen, and it did. Milo lost it.
One moment, he was standing next to the kitchen door. The next, he was in front of me, grabbing my throat.
At first, I was shell-shocked, followed by feeling lightheaded. Realizing I couldn’t breathe, I scratched Milo’s hand to pry it off my neck. Milo snapped out of the blackout and let go; horrification painted on his mien.
We had stared at one another in utter bewilderment before Milo started apologizing profusely, claiming he had no idea what had just happened. “Oh my God, Mia! Fuck! I am sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
It was too late for apologies. Heavy disappointment had already engulfed my chest, along with fear. Had Milo been hurting Raven as well? Is that why she looked awful? Panicked, I ran to Raven’s room.
Understandably, Raven was confused by my tears and insistence to break things off with Milo. I couldn’t leave her in an inconspicuous situation with my mentally unstable brother. However, I also couldn’t disclose what happened in the kitchen. Raven would lose it if she found out Milo put his hands on me. My hysterics sounded insane without context, further upsetting Raven. She ran out of the house, leaving me sobbing on the floor.
For years, I had revered my brother as a man who could do no wrong. Watching him under this new light snuffed the optimism out of me, opening my eyes to the harsh realities of life. The world was an awful place. Reid had a drinking problem and had been away for weeks on yet another bender. Milo snapped and probably needed to be institutionalized. Raven was in denial of Milo’s psyche and needed equal help.
By the time I found myself in Brandon’s warm hold, I felt hopeless.
“Mia, what happened to your neck?” Brandon’s eyes flashed with anger.
“Nothing.”
“Mia—”
“Brandon, it’s okay,” I cut him off. “Don’t worry about me.”
Brandon’s hold on me tightened. Something inside me broke at his determined face, resolute to make it all better.
My world stopped when he looked down. He was mere inches away, looking at me like no man before. We stared at one another, a hair’s breadth apart. The hunger was palpable in his heavy-lidded eyes, and his dilated pupils were fixed on my mouth. His body matched the carnal desire in his orbs. Heavier exhalations. Erratic breathing. The rhythmic movement of his chest.
Before Brandon could open his mouth, I collided my lips against his. Brandon stiffened in shock. We moaned at the same time as he swung me to the ground, and I practically ripped his shirt off.
I broke the kiss and shoved his chest to roll him over. Straddling him, I aligned my knees parallel to his hips. There was no more guilt creeping up my spine because the invisible chains of my moral dilemma had broken. Why should I stay away from Brandon under disillusioned loyalty toward Milo?
The blinds were partially open, casting horizontal rays of dusk light on Brandon’s face. My eyes zeroed in on his lips while his were lit like unholy fire, ready to set everything ablaze. Shivering, I ran my hands down his torso and to his massive bulge. The tempting sight had my fingers twisting into his shirt to regain a semblance of self-control.
Brandon could obliterate my body and wipe my mind clean. He had given me a real-life demo of it, and I wanted a repeat, just this once. It’d be excruciatingly painful if he denied me, and though Brandon found our age difference repugnant, I was in desperate need of comfort.
