Page 29 of Discord
I cleared my throat. “What did you tell my parents?”
“That my apartment’s going through renovations. And being generous, loving folks, they invited me to stay here for as long as I needed.”
Of course, they did. Why wouldn’t they invite Brandon to stay here? He had been a trusted family friend for years. What reason could there be to kick him out?
“Good for you,” I spat ruefully.
“Did you sleep well last night?” he asked smugly. “Because it sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or perhaps the lack of a bed companion got you in a bad mood. Want me to meet you upstairs tonight and fix the problem?”
My jaw nearly dropped open. Brandon had never flirted with me, and now he was doing it out in the open at my parents’ home. They were oblivious, but notthatoblivious.
“No, thank you,” I managed flippantly. “At this point, I’d rather go on Craigslist to find a bed companion—”
He grabbed my cheeks to cut me off, no longer playful. The air around us pulsated with thick tension. He ignored my attempts to break free. “Have you learned nothing, little Bunny?” he spoke in a voice cool as a cucumber, though his eyes seethed. “Do not bring up other men around me, even as a joke. Consider yourself lucky that no one else touched you. You’ve no idea what I would have done otherwise.”
I shoved him away, only because he allowed it. I was too pissed off. “So, you get to discard me five minutes after sleeping with me, and I can’t even move on with imaginary men?”
The muscles on his face relaxed. “That’s what got you so twisted this morning? You thought I discarded you?”
“What else? You made your feelings perfectly clear. Fucking me disgusts you.”
“No,” he snapped. “Being my father disgusts me.”
“Wha—I don’t understand you. What’s the difference? What are you trying to accomplish here?”
“Right now, I’m trying to accomplish drinking my coffee. You should do the same.”
I opened my mouth, only to shut it. In the end, I settled for a disgruntled noise. It was impossible to argue with this man. Instead, I drank my coffee and mulled over his words.Being my father disgusts me.
Perhaps I couldn’t find a difference between the scenarios, but Brandon seemed to draw a distinction. I tried to channel his feelings by putting myself in his shoes. My simmering anger lulled with each sip of coffee, though I didn’t speak to him again.
Over the next few days, it was the same order of events. A breakfast thick with sexual tension and innuendoes as Brandon shamelessly flirted with me. I rebuffed his advances, not wanting a repeat of last time. Even for just sex, it wasn’t worth sacrificing my remaining shred of dignity.
Every day, the coffee machine would be calibrated differently. No matter how much I paid attention, the machine would only operate for him. Brandon manipulated me into spending the mornings with him, though I stopped complaining. After the third day, I threw away the manual I had purchased online.
Every morning, he’d try to draw more out of me by asking me questions I couldn’t answer.
“Why did you fight with Milo and Raven?”
“How did you get that bruise on your neck?”
Every day, I made up something new.
“I ran into a door.”
“Trampoline accident.”
“I tried rough sex with the mailman.”
The last answer earned me a solid smack on the ass. His patience was flailing with the suggestion of returning to his apartment increasing. Brandon cornered me at every turn, fondled me under the table, and kissed me when no one was looking.
My resistance was breaking under his deliberate attempts. Perhaps I had been hasty. It was the first time Brandon knowingly had sex with someone underaged. It was bound to stir a negative response, and after the shock subsided, his intentions had since steadied.
I walked into the kitchen on the fifth morning to tell him as much, only to find it empty. Confused, I marched to the split-level apartment and right into Brandon’s room without knocking. My heart stopped when I found him in the throes of packing.
Brandon’s gaze fell on me, halting the process of folding a shirt in perfect dimensions. He continued folding, this time without looking at the shirt.
“Going somewhere?” I asked nervously, fiddling with the hem of my blouse.
