Chapter 11
I stand in the kitchen, staring at the pot of soup simmering on the stove. The smell of chicken broth and herbs fills the air, but it doesn’t make me any less irritated.
Every moment in this house feels like a slow crawl through emotions I’d rather not deal with.
Why am I even doing this? Why did I agree to make soup for a man who shattered me in ways I didn’t think were possible?
I stir the pot absently, the wooden spoon clinking against the sides. Caroline left me in charge, and even though every fiber of my being screams for me to leave, I can’t bring myself to walk out on someone who’s supposedly sick. But I don’t have to like it.
“Aria?”
Brandon’s voice calls out weakly from the living room, and I roll my eyes before I can stop myself.
“I’m in the kitchen,” I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral.
A pause, then, “Can you come here for a second?”
I sigh loudly, wiping my hands on a dish towel. “The soup’s almost done. Just give me a minute.”
He doesn’t respond, so I assume he’s waiting. With one last stir, I turn the stove down and step into the living room.
He’s sitting up slightly in bed, the blanket pulled around him like he’s in some dramatic scene from a soap opera.
“Do you need something?” I ask, crossing my arms.
Brandon’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, he looks vulnerable, like the man I once thought I knew.
“I just… I wanted to talk to you.”
I raise an eyebrow, already regretting stepping out of the kitchen.
“About what?”
He hesitates, running a hand through his messy hair.
“I miss you, Aria. I miss having you by my side.”
His words hit me like a slap, but not in the way he probably intends. Instead of softening me, they ignite a spark of irritation deep in my chest.
Don’t tell me this was why he called me here!
“Really? You miss me? Now you miss me?” My words are flowing with sarcasm.
He winces, his gaze dropping to the blanket.
“I know I messed up. I know I don’t deserve-”
“You’re right,” I cut him off, my arms still crossed tightly. “You don’t deserve anything from me, Brandon. You don’t get to sit here and talk about how you miss me after everything you put me through.”
“I’m just trying to say I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft, almost pleading.
“Well, you’ve said it,” I snap. “Congratulations. You’ve apologized. What do you want, a medal?”
The air between us feels heavy, too heavy, and everything’s just so messed up right now.
Brandon looks away, his jaw tightening, but I don’t care. I’ve spent too much time bottling up my anger, and now it’s spilling out whether he likes it or not.
“I’ll bring you your soup,” I mutter, turning back toward the kitchen before he can say anything else.
When I return with the soup, the steam rising from the bowl, Brandon looks up at me with those same guilt–ridden eyes.
I set the tray down on the small table beside his bed, carefully arranging the bowl and spoon.
“Here,” I say shortly, stepping back as if putting distance between us will make this situation easier to handle.
“Thanks,” he tells me, his voice low. But instead of reaching for the soup, he looks at me, his gaze lingering in a way that makes me uncomfortable. What the hell is going on? Why is he staring at me like that?
“What?” I ask him sharply.
He hesitates, then leans forward slightly. “I just… I need to do this.”
Before I can process what’s happening, he leans closer, his intentions clear.
He’s going to kiss me.
What in the world!
I step back immediately, my hands going up in defense.
“What the hell, Brandon?”
His expression falls, but I’m too furious to care.
“You’re sick–literally–and you think now’s the time to try that?” I snap at him. “Are you kidding me?”
“I just…” He stammers, his face flushed, and for a second, I think it’s embarrassment.
But then I notice how easily he moves, how his hands don’t tremble anymore, how his breathing isn’t labored like it was earlier.
“You’re not sick, are you?” I ask, my voice low and cold.
He freezes, his eyes widening a little bit. “What? Of course I’m-”
“Don’t lie to me, Brandon!” I shout, my anger increasing.
“I’ve been here, taking care of you, feeling guilty for everything, and now I realize you’re not even sick? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He tries to speak, but I cut him off again, my words spilling out in a rush.
“Do you think this is some kind of game? That you can just fake being sick to get me to come back? Do you have any idea how messed up that is?”
“Aria, please, just let me explain,” he says, his voice desperate.
“No,” I snap, grabbing my bag from the chair. “I’m done. I’m so done, Brandon. You don’t get to manipulate me like this. Not anymore.”
He tries to reach for me, but I step back, shaking my head. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”
Without another word, I storm out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest,
The cool evening air hits me as I step outside, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging inside me.
What in the world was that all about?
I swear to myself…this is the last time Brandon will ever pull me into his mess. I’m done being his pawn. For good.
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