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Later that night, I lay in bed, replaying the past few hours in my head. The only noise to comfort me are the sounds of honking cars and sirens from outside the city, alive as ever.
Did I really love Brandon?
I questioned myself every moment after our tryst in the dressing room.
Except that time didn’t feel like a tryst. It felt like Brandon and I made love for the first time. Our bodies were intrinsically tuned to the other person, and our simultaneous orgasm felt poetic.
No, the word tryst onlycheapeneda beautiful experience.
After shopping, we’d gone to eat at one of my favorite restaurants in the area, and the whole time I kept thinking that once I fell in love, something about me would feel different.
Like when you were a child and expected to feel older on your birthday, but you just felt the same.
Maybe this was all a lust-induced haze? What did I really know of love? A few boyfriends and more than a few hookups certainly didn’t make me an expert on the subject. What I did know is I felt different around Brandon.
Oh, who was I kidding? Trying to gaslight myself is not going to change the facts.
I love Brandon Rhys Eastwood, and I can only hope he feels the same way about me.
Movement past the curtains catches my attention, completely disrupting my reflection about Brandon and me.
Maybe it was just something that blew past the window. Earlier, the winds tossed my hair around and the biting cold caused Brandon and I to hurry home after our meal. Neither of us minded cuddling up together in my warm apartment.
There it was again. Except this time, I knew for sure it was a shadow.
Human.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, knowing what the consequences of screaming could cost both Brandon’s life and my own.
Still, I can’t stop from shifting in bed.
“Ava, what’s going on?” he asks in his sleep-roughened voice. Thank God Brandon is a light sleeper, and I wouldn’t have to make any noise to wake him up.
“Br-Brandon, there’s a shadow on the fire escape,” I say, trying to remain quiet and calm. No telling how paper-thin the window glass was or how much the person could hear.
The shadow starts pacing the short distance of the fire escape.
Brandon stands up and begins slipping his boxers back on, not taking his eyes from the window.
“Don’t make a sound,” he whispers to me.
The room is dark except for the lone window. The lights from Greene Street are obscured by the figure in front of the window.
I slip quietly from bed, putting on a shirt. I have a feeling I’m going to have to make a run for it.
My fingers shake from fear, though I know Brandon wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Still, I dislike the idea of him having to approach whoever awaited us outside.
“Slowly make your way to the door,” he whispers.
“I’m not leaving you!”
“Ava, just do it?—"
Brandon doesn’t get to finish what he was saying or reach the Glock on the side of the bed. The sound of glass breaking stops his words and movements.
I scream, planted with fear halfway between the bed and the doorway. My phone rings, and I see the contact is the security company. Brandon explained before that they call to verify a false alarm, but there’s no way I can reach my phone now.
The hooded stranger begins charging at me, a large knife in his hands. Midway to me, Brandon springs, circling his strong arms around them and grunting as he tries to wrestle the knife away.
