Help Me Feel

Help Me Feel - Meeting Brandon's Family

A/N: The dedication is because she made the cover on the side, as well as the covers for the Poetry Collection and the Just One Night Extras! And guys, she writes to so don't just fan her for the covers...

Chapter 6 – Meeting Brandon's Family.

I woke up the next morning with a searing pain in my stomach area, and it took a few minutes to remember why I was hurting. I tried to assess the damage without standing up, but found it was impossible; I'd cut along the crease I usually used to sit up with, and was feeling it now.

With a wince, I managed it, walking slowly to the bathroom so I could use the mirror to see the cut. The bandages were going to be a pain to remove, but I had to see it first hand, see if I'd be able to use cramps or something as an excuse to not go to Brandon's today.

I unwound the layers, surprised to see the top three were clear. That was good; I could use those again for the day. I was hoping it would be quiet, that I wouldn't have to worry about being too active and hurting myself.

I took off the bandage, cutting it at the point where the line of blood stopped and reapplying it over a layer of antiseptic cream.

As I made my way to the kitchen I stopped by my father's room, needing to see if he was still passed out or if he'd left already. I wasn't surprised to see the door open, the bed a mess, and the little sheet of paper that said 'gone for work'. I just attempted to clean up a little, fighting through the pain on my stomach. I'd take a painkiller if I had to, but I didn't want to. I wanted the reminder in case today became too much for me to handle.

I finished tidying the bed, deciding to finish cleaning the house before I ate anything. I wasn't that hungry, so I could wait. I made sure the room was clean and shut the door behind me, knowing it would be another couple of months before I ended up there again.

Before I went to the living room, I grabbed a box to dump the empty beer bottles I knew would be hidden somewhere. It wouldn't have even been intentional, but my father liked to pretend he'd had only two beers when he'd had ten. I wanted to blame his drunken self, but I knew it was all him, no matter which side of him did it.

Not that there was a side that wasn't hammered most of the time.

I found the bottles eventually, hidden under the sofa. I counted fifteen, at least. Who knew how many of them had been under there before last night? Or was that why he'd been so out of it?

I shrugged it off. I didn't care, it didn't matter to me. I just had to get these into the recycling bin and make sure I got that out at some point.

As I made my way to the bin, holding the box of beer bottles, there was a knock on the door.

I frowned. No one ever came here except for the occasional door salesman, but they never usually worked Saturdays.

With a sigh, I set the box down onto a table and went to look through the little peephole. I couldn't have been more surprised at who was on the other side.

I opened the door, confused. “Brandon?” I asked, looking him up and down.

“Andrea! Hey! I realized we never really talked about times, and I never got your number so... what are you wearing?” He cut himself off, and I looked down, confused. I was wearing my knee-length shorts and a long sleeved night shirt. Even when I slept, I made sure to try and keep my scars covered.

“My night stuff?” I told him, but it ended up sounding like a question. Why did he sound so shocked?

“It suits you,” Brandon commented.