C3

***

I hated Travis. I really did. I cursed the day four years earlier when my brother had brought him home like some stray dog. In fact, a stray dog would have been a hundred times better.

My brother had a good heart—truly an angel in disguise. How he could be best friends with Travis was beyond my understanding. Travis was really…the devil incarnate!

When we were younger, his pranks included pulling my hair, stealing my lunch, and reading my diary. But this year, I decided to take the high road and just ignore him, tune him out. I guess he found more creative ways of making my life hell. Lately, he’d been putting me into uncomfortable situations. He flirted with me, not because he thought I was attractive, but because he knew I blushed the brightest shade of red whenever he touched me or threw a sexual joke my way.

After he and my brother had become best buds, he stayed in the guest bedroom at least three times a week for four years. And my parents just adored him—they felt the family was incomplete when Travis was not around.

One time, when I wanted to insult him and irritate him, I asked, “Why do you stay here all the time? Don’t you have a house of your own?”

He smirked. “Of course, I do. Depends on which state or country you are referring to,” he said in an arrogant tone.

My brother slightly shook his head and shot me a look that almost said, Don’t go down that lane. You won’t win.

I didn’t get what my brother meant at the time. But one day, I saw a limo park in our driveway. I stared at it in awe. Then the driver got out and opened the passenger door. Travis stepped out of it.

The driver spoke in Spanish. The only words I understood from him were Master Travis.

Master Travis? What is happening to the world?

Travis saw me watching him and his driver with my mouth wide open. His eyes gleamed, and I didn’t miss the cocky look he pasted on his face as he approached me.

Then he leaned forward and whispered to my ear. “Try not to look too amazed, sweetheart. It’s called a limousine. Limo for short.” Then he pushed my chin up to close my mouth. With a low chuckle, he went inside my house.

When Travis turned sixteen, I never saw the limo again. But a sleek red Porsche, or a white Bentley, or a yellow Corvette, or an orange Maserati would always be parked in front of my house, indicating his presence.

Okay, so Travis was not just rich. He was super rich! But I wondered why he spent more time in my house than he did in his many, many estates?

And why did he torture me a lot?

Since Travis told my mother I came home at eleven, I had to wake up early the next day to make sure I showed up for breakfast; although in truth, I’d only had about three hours of sleep.

“How was the party?” Tom, my brother, asked me.

“Okay, I guess,” I replied curtly.

“Who brought you home?” my mother asked.

“Ah…Cindy’s brother.” That was not a lie. Immediately, I felt Travis’s eyes watching me carefully, and I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

We sat and ate breakfast.

“Jesus, what happened to your arms, Brianne?” Tom asked, reaching across the table to examine my wrists.

I looked at them and found some blue and purple spots on both my arms and wrists.

Instantly, I remembered how Travis and I played tug of war with my arms early this morning. I forgot that I bruised very easily and my skin complexion was just too white—any mark would be noticed almost immediately.

“Did somebody hurt you at the party?” my father asked, alarmed.

I pulled my arms away from Tom and hid them under the table.

“No,” I said. Then my eyes shot up to Travis. “Not at the party.”

Travis had a hard expression on his face, but I didn’t know whether he was scared or sorry. Except when he was playing a trick on me, Travis was so good at hiding his emotions. Did he feel at all sorry that he had bruised me?

“Then where did you get those?” Tom asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I bruise easily, Tom. Somebody must have pulled me and caused this. I don’t really remember. No big deal.”

“Brianne, you know you can always tell me. Whoever leaves a mark on you, Travis and I…we’ll beat him up!”

My eyes darted to Travis, who actually bit his lip with Tom’s statement.

I smiled contentedly at Travis’s guilt and discomfort. “Thanks, Tom. I’ll hold on to your word. It’s good to know you’re ready to beat up anybody who hurts me.” Then I looked at Travis meaningfully.

“Of course, I will. Nobody could hurt my little sister and get away with it.”

I smiled widely at Tom, but it was more for Travis’s benefit.

My father finished his breakfast. Then he kissed me and my mother goodbye.

“Where is he going?” I asked my mother.

“Golf.” I finished my breakfast and then kissed my mom before running back to my room.

Before I could reach my bedroom, I felt somebody tug at my shoulder. I spun around and found Travis hot on my heels.

“What do you want now?” I asked.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he reached down for my hands and examined my wrists. True enough, he saw faint bruises from the grip he had on me the night before.

I pulled my wrists away. “I bruise easily.”

“I can tell,” he said. Then he looked into my eyes. “I would never hurt you physically, Brianne. I’m…sorry.” He sounded like he was in pain while he was saying that.

I laughed. I decided to enjoy this.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said a little louder.

“I can’t hear you.”

“I’m. Sorry.”

“Still can’t hear you,” I pressed on.

He raised a brow at me. “I’m so sorry for bruising your arm, sweetheart.” Then he added, “Do you still hurt? Come, show me your arms again. I would like to kiss them to make the pain go away,” he said in a puppy-like tone.

I glared at him. “What am I, three?” And before I shut the bedroom door, I heard Travis’s low chuckle behind me.