He calls me Angel

25. Trust

Warning: This chapter contains mature content! Don't read if you don't like mature themes or are underage. You've been warned.

Now please enjoy this crazy ride!

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Brandon's POV:

It's no one's responsibility to make you happy; that was what my father used to say. As a sixteen-year-old I couldn't fathom all there was to come. No one owed me anything, and even though that was a hard pill for me to swallow, I had to learn the hard way, how I needed to work for what I wanted, get hurt by my mistakes and then, with disappointment and guilt weighing me down, pick up all the pieces before I started again. And again.

There was no perfect recipe, just a series of failures, of letting down myself. It was only through a near-death experience that I realized, I was nowhere near who I wanted to be, to make him proud; to make myself proud.

Trying to convince myself that she deserved better, was my own way to stay away from her for my own good. I was convinced that love hurt; that I'd rather be in pain, than open up to her. But that fucking battle proved useless, since all I truly wanted, was to be consumed by her, live in the feelings she erupted in me, in a way that left me high and bewildered.

She deserved so much. So much more than I was. But here I was, selfishly pursuing her, because now I couldn't stand to imagine my life without her in it. Even on nights I wasn't allowed to be with her, per Elijah's rules before each boxing game, I couldn't stay away for long. I craved the calm she brought with her, the soft caress of her fingers on my skin, her kisses, her moans.

Everything.

Being committed to a real, serious relationship used to be a joke to me. I never had girlfriends; I was never committed to one woman. That woman at the front of the club, Francis, was just one example of all the mistakes I've done in the past. The real question was, how the fuck was she working at the exact same club my sponsors were organizing the party? And how the fuck did she know who Erika was; what she looked like, what she was to me.

"Don't look at me like that, Brandon. Francis was just eager to see you, only to find out you were infatuated with someone else. The look on her face, though, when she walked into my office later... damn, that little vixen is on another level when it comes to angry-sex."

There came my answer in the words of one James Inkles, who was having fun in yet another game of his.

Francis didn't have the right to play the jealous-ex card. She was never more than a night's fling; one, that James, behind my back, shared on multiple occasions. Like me, he didn't care about her or any other woman, for that matter, which bared the question: why bother telling her about my personal life. It frustrated me beyond belief, because - even after all this time, even after his numerous attempts at mending our friendship and collaboration - he couldn't stop himself from stirring the pot and all the shit that got stuck to the bottom. It gave him power, meddling with people's lives; that I knew, but when was this game over? Trust was still a sensitive subject, one we both knew wouldn't work between me and my old friend, but the games he played proved me right; I should always keep an eye on him, because he was always a few steps ahead in his twisted games.

"Don't get me wrong, brother, you know your happiness is the most important thing to me. It's just, when you're angry, you're ruthless in the ring. A fucking beast."

"So, messing with my relationship will give you, what? More money?"

"Such a clever bastard, you are."