Brittany sat in the bedroom she’d grown up in, with her knees drawn up to her chest. The walls, once a vibrant shade of pink had dulled to a rose-tinted hue. She could still remember the summer her Dad had painted her room for her. How even after they’d thrown the windows open wide, the house still smelled of paint for days.
“Do you like it sweetheart?” he’d asked her when he’d finished, his handsome face speckled with pink paint.
“I love it,” Brittany had gushed, beaming madly. Her bedroom had looked fit for a princess.
“It sucks,” Zack had scoffed from the doorway, his hair dyed black and hanging across his eyes like a gothic curtain.
Brittany had felt her chin start to wobble before her father enveloped her in his arms, shielding her from her brother’s dark comments. Even back then, when life was good, Zack had seemed distant and angry, as if he always knew the terrible fate which awaited them both.
“You okay?” Zack was once again in her doorway, only now he was a man instead of a boy. Although the same hidden demons seemed to dance behind his tired eyes.
“Yeah,” Brittany straightened against the wall. The narrow bed she was sitting on now seemed too small compared to the double one she had back in Colridge. Thinking of her apartment made her insides twist uncomfortably. What if she never again saw Colridge? Saw Max? As angry as she was at him, she still missed him, still loved him.
“You need to just hang tight here for a while,” Zack explained, casually leaning against the door frame. “At least until things blow over. I am so sorry for this Brittany.”
“How long will that be?”
Her brother shrugged. “Who knows?”
Brittany coughed to push against the tightness she suddenly felt in her throat. She was once again a prisoner in the family home, being held there by her brother’s will.
“I can’t stay here long,” she told him briskly. “I’ve got a job and - ”
“You need to forget all about your old life in Colridge,” Zack snapped. “It’s not safe for you there.”
Brittany blinked back tears. She couldn’t accept that everything her brother was saying was true, that Max was part of some dangerous motorcycle gang. That Max was capable of hurting people, that he may have even hurt the nice girl who worked in the bar in town.
“This is for your own good,” Zack continued. “You’ll thank me one day.”
“Hey, man. You’re out of beer,” Jameson called from the kitchen. Zack leaned back from the door to shout to his friend.
“I’ll run out and pick some more up. Are you okay to stay here?”
Brittany tensed. She knew what her brother wasn’t saying. Jameson was supposed to stay there and keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t go running back to Colridge. But why? What weren’t they telling her?
“I’ll come with you,” she dropped off the bed and dusted herself off.
“No,” Zack swiftly extended his palm towards her, his expression severe. “You stay here, where it’s safe.”
“Zack, you’re being ridiculous - ”
“Brittany, just do as I say. Okay?” an edge had crept into her brother’s voice, which made Brittany slowly sit back down on the bed. She was starting to question who exactly she should be fearing.
“I’ll be back in like twenty minutes,” Zack was reaching into the pockets of his jeans, checking how much cash he had on him. “In the meantime, Jameson is here if you need anything.”
“Am I a prisoner here, Zack? Again? Really?”
“No,” Zack scoffed at the question. “Of course not.”
“But I can’t leave.”
“Brittany,” he sighed and took a step into her room. His face was softer now, as too was his voice. He once again looked took on the role of the concerned brother. “You saw what Max’s club did to Jameson? I’m just trying to keep you safe, you have to be able to see that.”
Brittany nodded.
“Good,” Zack reached forward and ruffled her hair the way he used to do when they were kids. Brittany couldn’t help but smile fondly at the gesture.
“Sit tight, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
Sitting once again on her bed with her back against the wall, Brittany listened to her brother’s departing footsteps, followed by the click of the front door closing, and shortly after that the roar of his motorcycle’s engine as he pulled out of the driveway. Sighing deeply, she tilted her head towards the ceiling. She’d lost count of how many hours she’d lie in her bed and look up at the cracks in the paint, daydreaming about how they might actually be some sort of secret map to a better life. Brittany had been so unhappy in her home after her parents died. And finally, she’d got out, found somewhere she could truly be herself only to have it all taken from her; to once again be back where she started. A solitary tear slid down her cheek and dropped onto her faded duvet. Brittany sniffed and wiped at her face, willing herself to be strong. But she needed Max more than ever, and he wasn’t there. Some strange woman had answered his phone, and now Brittany doubted if he even loved her anymore.