Thirteen Years Of His Lies

Brandon stood there, frozen, his mouth agape. The words hung in the air between us, heavy and final. He didn't seem to have fully registered them, his mind still reeling from the events of the last few minutes. Before he could respond, a shrill scream pierced the stale air of the warehouse.

"Brandon! No! Get away from her!" It was Kendal' s voice, sharp with a mixture of terror and jealousy.

Then, the screech of tires, a sickening thud, and a series of muffled shouts from outside.

Brandon, without a second glance at me, bolted for the door, his concern entirely focused on Kendal. He was gone, abandoning me in the dust and shadows of the warehouse, just as he had abandoned our relationship for years.

As the sound of his receding footsteps faded, my phone buzzed in my hand. A message from an unknown number. My fingers trembled as I opened it. It was Kendal.

The message was a photo. A blurry, close-up shot of her and Brandon, locked in that passionate kiss moments earlier. Beneath it, a caption: "He' s mine, Averi. Always has been. Always will be. He' ll never choose you. He' ll always choose me. Especially when I' m in 'trouble' ."

A bitter, self-deprecating laugh bubbled up from my throat. It was all a game to her. A cruel, twisted game, and I had been a pawn. The photo, a final, definitive stab to the heart. It confirmed what I had just witnessed, what he had just denied. He had chosen her. Again. Without hesitation.

I gazed at the empty doorway where he had disappeared. My vision was blurry, but I wasn't crying. There were no more tears left to shed. Just a profound, aching emptiness. I was just a casualty in their toxic dance, a sacrifice on the altar of his misplaced loyalty.

I turned and walked back to the car, my movements slow and deliberate. As I drove away from the desolate warehouse, I saw Brandon huddled over Kendal on the pavement, paramedics already arriving. He didn't even look up as I passed. He was entirely consumed by her, just as he always had been.

When I arrived home, the apartment felt cold and unwelcoming. It was still filled with memories, with the ghosts of a love that was never truly real. I systematically began to pack. Not just my clothes, but my life, my dreams, my very identity. Each item I placed in the suitcase was a step towards severing the ties that bound me to Brandon and his suffocating family. I left behind anything that held significant emotional weight from our shared past, choosing to carry only the bare essentials, the physical manifestations of my independent self.

Brandon didn' t call that night. He was undoubtedly at the hospital with Kendal, playing the dutiful brother, the concerned caretaker. The next morning, I received a text from him: "Kendal is okay. Just a sprained ankle. I need to talk to you, Averi. Please. Explain everything."

I didn' t reply. There was nothing left to explain. And I was tired of listening to his explanations, his excuses. My silence was a wall, impenetrable and final.

Hours later, a frantic pounding on my door shattered the fragile peace of my packing. Brandon. I opened it, my face impassive. He stood there, disheveled, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. His arm was still bandaged, a grim reminder of his self-inflicted sacrifice.

"Why didn' t you answer my calls?" he demanded, his voice raspy with exhaustion and frustration. "My texts? What is going on?"

"I' ve been busy," I replied, my voice flat. "Packing."

His eyes darted past me, scanning the half-empty apartment, the open suitcases. A flicker of alarm ignited in his eyes. "Packing? For what? Where are you going?"

"To a new life," I said, watching his face, devoid of emotion. "A new city. A new husband."

His jaw dropped. "Husband? What are you talking about? Averi, this isn' t funny." He tried to laugh, a strained, hollow sound. "Are you upset about Kendal? I told you, she' s fine. Just a little accident. I' ll make sure she stays away. I' ll send her to rehab, I swear! Just… don' t be like this."

He wasn' t grasping it. He truly believed this was another one of my "tantrums," something he could smooth over with empty promises and placating words. His inability to comprehend the finality of my decision was startling, almost comical in its tragic absurdity.

"My flight leaves tonight," I stated, ignoring his pleas. "I' m going to be married soon."

His eyes, wide with disbelief, fixed on me. "Tonight? You' re leaving tonight? Averi, what are you saying? You can' t just… leave. We' re getting married! Remember? The 100th vote passed! I told you I' d fix things with Kendal!"

He sounded like a broken record, repeating the same lines, the same empty promises.

"Averi, please," he begged, stepping towards me. "Don' t do this. I' ll make it up to you. I' ll throw you the most lavish engagement party you' ve ever seen tonight. A real one this time. You' ll see. You' ll be my wife. We' ll be happy."

I shook my head slowly, a sad smile touching my lips. "There won't be an engagement party, Brandon. There will be a goodbye party."

He frowned, confused. "A goodbye party? What do you mean?"

"Just come," I said, the words a final, bitter invitation. "For old times' sake. Say goodbye to our friends."

He hesitated, then nodded, a flicker of hope in his eyes. He still didn' t understand. He thought this was some convoluted way for me to forgive him, to return to him. He was so utterly, desperately wrong. My acceptance was not a reprieve. It was a final, ceremonial farewell.

Later that evening, as I stood outside the familiar restaurant, a pang of something akin to sadness stirred within me. This was our old college haunt, a place filled with laughter and youthful dreams. Tonight, it would be the graveyard of those dreams.

Brandon' s car pulled up. Kendal was in the passenger seat again, her ankle now heavily bandaged, a crutch leaning against the dashboard. She offered me a triumphant, pitying smile. The irony was suffocating.

"Kendal? Again?" I asked, my voice calm, almost detached.

Brandon grimaced, running a hand through his hair. "She… she insisted on coming. Said she needed to support me. You know how she gets." He managed a weak smile. "But don' t worry, Averi. I told her to behave."

I simply nodded, my gaze sweeping over her bandaged ankle. "I see. A sprain, you said?" My voice was unnervingly calm, a stark contrast to the storm raging within me.

Brandon flinched under my steady gaze. He seemed almost surprised by my lack of reaction, my detached demeanor. He had expected tears, anger, a fight. But there was nothing. Just a quiet, chilling indifference.

We entered the restaurant, a wave of noise and familiar faces washing over us. Our college friends, a tight-knit group, greeted us with boisterous cheers.

"Brandon! Averi! Finally!" a friend shouted, raising a glass. "It' s about time you two officially tied the knot!"

Another chimed in, "You guys are the definition of true love! Thirteen years! Unbelievable!"

Their words were a cruel mockery, highlighting the chasm between their perception and my grim reality. Brandon forced a smile, his arm tightening around my waist. Kendal, however, quickly interjected, her voice saccharine sweet.

"Oh, they' re not married yet, silly!" she giggled, leaning heavily on her crutch. "Still waiting for that official announcement from the Scott family board, aren' t we, Brandon?" She shot a venomous glance at me.

Brandon' s face darkened. He squeezed my waist, a silent plea for me to play along. "Soon, Ken. Very soon. We' ll be married. I promise." His eyes, however, were fixed on mine, searching for a reaction. I gave him none.

After dinner, a traditional game began. We each pulled out a small, sealed box we had buried in our college days, containing our deepest wishes for the future.

My friend, Maya, pulled out her box first. She read her wish aloud, a dream of becoming a successful artist, which she now was. Then came Mark, who wished for a family, now surrounded by his wife and two kids.

Next was Brandon. He opened his box with a flourish. His wish, written in his youthful scrawl, read: "To marry Averi Reed and build an empire together."

A collective aww went through the group. Brandon beamed, squeezing my hand. It felt like a lie.

Then it was my turn. My heart ached as I opened the small, tarnished tin box. My wish, written with the hopeful naivete of a girl in love: "To marry Brandon Scott and have a happy, simple life."

A poignant silence fell over the table. The simplicity of my wish, now so far from my grasp, resonated with a bittersweet echo.

Finally, Kendal, leaning forward with an eager glint in her eyes, opened her box. Her wish, scrawled in an overly dramatic hand, read: "To be Brandon' s one and only. To have his undivided love and attention."

A gasp rippled through the group. The blatant possessiveness, the thinly veiled jealousy, hung heavy in the air. Kendal, however, remained unfazed.

"Well," she announced, a triumphant smirk on her face, "It seems my wish has already come true, hasn' t it?" She looked directly at me, her eyes challenging.

A wave of murmurs, then outright whispers, spread through our friends. Their faces registered disgust, embarrassment, and a growing understanding. Kendal, however, seemed to bask in the attention, fueled by their disapproval.

Suddenly, a visibly inebriated college friend, Lucas, stumbled towards Kendal, his face flushed with alcohol and indignation. "You know what, Kendal? You' re a terrible person! Always messing with Averi and Brandon! You' re just a spoiled brat!" He lunged towards her, his hand reaching out.

Brandon, without a moment' s hesitation, sprang to action. He pushed Lucas back, shielding Kendal with his body. "Get away from her, Lucas!" he roared, his voice filled with protective fury.

He turned to the stunned crowd, his arm wrapped tightly around Kendal' s waist, pulling her close. His eyes, blazing with an almost savage protectiveness, swept over them.

"She is my sister!" he declared, his voice ringing with a possessiveness that chilled me to the bone. "And she is my responsibility! You will respect her! She is my woman!"

The words hit me like a physical blow. My woman. Not me. Never me. My heart, already shattered, splintered into a million irreparable pieces.