Chapter Twenty Eight
flashback
"I told you he was better off without you," Brett hears as Wyatt places his left hand on Brett's shoulder and his right hand on Brett's waist.
"Shut up, Wyatt," is all Brett can say and he can't take his eyes off the staircase.
Wyatt only throws his head back, his laugh nearly drowned out by the noises of the other party-goers, and Brett grits his teeth. "Is that all you can say?"
Brett can only stare, and, no, those aren't his watery eyes. He bites his inner cheek and thinks he can faintly taste metal.
Wyatt smiles.
"Just face it, love," he says in that calm, infuriatingly neutral voice that's, this time, only a little smug. "He found her two minutes after he left you."
Brett swallows the lump in his throat and prepares to speak only to find...he can't. Doesn't know how.
His hands are in her hair, his neck is in her arms, his forehead touching hers, his smile shining in her eyes, and they're both cooing so sweetly that it's sickening; one of those moments that would cause that painful ache in any person's stomach to mysteriously travel up toward the chest and a little to the left.
Brett winces and Wyatt wraps an arm around his waist.
By the time Chris finishes pulling her into his lap Brett is already slamming the front door.
Brett watches the swinging door close and follows her into the kitchen. He looks at the reflection of his image in the glass window and, somehow, there's already and knife to his throat.
"You've got some nerve," she hisses.
Brett sees his image disappear into thin air and she stumbles back, only slightly surprised when he started speaking.
"I know."
He uncloaks himself from his illusion and she settles dark, hateful eyes on him.
"You shouldn't even be here."
Brett just stares at her unflinchingly.
"I know."
Her lips thin, her nose flaring, as she breathes heavily at his curt reply, but he doesn't give anything away and that just upsets her more.
Her eyes flame with all the strength of her ancestry and she opens her mouth to scream at him, to yell at him, hell, to hit him, but then she sees sadness in his eyes, despite the smile and uncertainty fills her.
They look at each other, a stalemate, neither backing down, and she studies his face. There's nothing there. At all. His eyes are a bit shiny, almost contrite, but his ghost of a smile is happy and she doesn't know what to think.
Seconds tick away and they're still locked like that, but then he really does smile and turns to move, and, for some reason, she feels like she has to say something.
"He's fine," she says, not knowing why she said that, and angry because of it. "He's okay. He's...he's doing okay."
She sees something flicker in his eyes and emotion washes over his face, and she thinks he might actually say something now, something deep and meaningful, something important, but...no.
"Thank you," is all he says and his smile is genuine despite the sad eyes. He fidgets, looks at the floor, twiddles his thumbs, hands running through his hair, takes one more look at her and flashes a grateful smile then turns to leave again.
And...she feels like she should just leave it like that, just let it go, but then—she doesn't know why—but then...then—
"He's changed. Different," she says softer now, but still harsh, wary. "He's quieter now. Introverted. Guarded." Her eyes flicker away to ponder that and she laughs suddenly, crude and gravely, and, when she speaks, she knows he can hear the accusation in her voice. "I didn't think it was possible."
She expects him to look shocked at that, to be devastated, to feel something, but all she caught was a slight wince, and she honestly doesn't know whether it was because of her tone or her words, and that just makes her all the more angry.
He smiles.
"I know."
He turns again to walk and she seethes. She realizes that everything she's been feeling has been leading up to this. She's beyond angry and...and hateful, and she's just...she's pissed.
"You don't even care, do you?" she asks, hand flailing, trying to drive out the itch to just blast him with an energy ball. "You don't even care that he's practically imploding in on himself, and you're the one who caused it. You don't even care."
He sighs, and she thinks it's supposed to be warning. "Bianca..."
She doesn't care.
She's moving forward without her own consent, but she's too far gone to care if she loses control...you know, at least on him. "You knew, didn't you? You probably knew this would happen and you still let it," she said, head bobbing, bordering on hysterical. "You still let him cave in on himself. You sick fucker."
She gets a reaction out of him then, even if it is a small one. His lips thin and he looks away from her, and she can tell he's getting a little angry himself.
"It's not like that," he says as his eyes meet her again.
She laughs at his face. "No? Then tell me what it's like."
His face is stoic, his entire body like a wall he thinks she can't affect anymore.
It takes a second for her to think back, to reflect and something just...clicks and she almost blacks out in her rage.
"You knew!" she yells and she moves to hit him, only to be unpleasantly surprised to find that it was just another illusion. "You knew about him and me before your staged finding out, didn't you?! You knew what was happening, knew where he was going, and you...you just stood by?!"
She's still now, scanning the room with all her sensing powers, but she can't get a lock on him of he keeps doing that mind shift.
"You knew it was tearing him apart, you not knowing, him betraying you, and you just did NOTHING?!" she yells as she picks up a stack of plates and hurls them anywhere and everywhere. "What kind of love is that?!"
She wipes the tears away from her cheeks as she moves on to the next stack, not even bothering to look at the places she's throwing them to. "What kind of person does that? Who would do that? Why?"
The plates stop, and the room is quiet save for her heavy breathing between sobs, and when she looks up, she can see the light and shadows bend and Brett appears, voice breathy and hoarse, tears freely falling from dark-blue eyes, despite that infuriating ghost of a smile he has on.
"Because I'm selfish."
He takes one last, long look at her and their eyes meet, then turns and pushes the kitchen door, flooding the room with alternative music and sounds of people talking before stepping through, letting the door slowly swing shut.
When she's crying on the littered, jagged floor, she doesn't know which of the three of them the tears are for.
"Come, my dear," Wyatt whispers into his ear, and Brett doesn't have the energy to shudder. "There's nothing left for you here."
He takes Wyatt's outstretched hand and walks down the steps of the old, but still standing manor, and pauses. He turns around one last time, looking through the open doors to see Matt staring at him, arms crossed, eyes shot, tears falling, even as his mouth twists in defiance amidst the wreck that used to be a home.
When Matt raises his arm and slams the door shut with such a telekinetic force that some of the glass breaks and falls off, Brett feels proud of himself that he only let a few tears spill down his cheeks.
He takes Wyatt's hand again and he finds himself quickening the pace to the limo waiting at the end of the walkway. He doesn't wait for the chauffer to open the door and gets in, Wyatt settling in next to him, albeit gruffly, though smiling, and then their off to some building Wyatt found—a penthouse, he thinks—to call a place of their own.
Brett doesn't know if he has it in him to call it a home.
The limo is quiet, Brett settles back on his seat and looks out the window at the trees and bright sky. He takes in a deep breath and lets himself try not to think about what's gonna happen next.
For teal-lover and raveuk01...you encourage me the most. Thank you.
To ChrisBianca, Faith Love and Penny Candy (I still love that name)and Drew's baby: Thank you for reviewing, I appreciate it muchly.
Rin-Loy, I love your enthusiasm. Thank you. (to be less confused, though, read the more recent chapters, preferably in chronological order.)
Thanks again to everyone.
Please review.
Devil's Archangel