I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 9.2 - Emma

From the moment Brandon described to me Isaak's death until now, the memory of my mother had been on constant reply within my mind. It was like a virus of a video that, no matter whatever you do in hopes to exterminate it, it would still be there until you succumb to its wants. And what it wanted me to do was to tell Brandon the truth.

But even though Brandon was able to tell me his story, as he laid beaten in his bed, I wasn't. I hated myself for lying to him when he was so honest with me, but I didn't feel ready to tell him, or anyone for that matter. I didn't know if I would ever be ready.

I felt as if I was in a hole, my feet glued to the floor and my hands wrapped in iron chains, with no way out. I only have a few more days here in Amsterdam, and so that gives me with two choices - leave with telling Brandon, or without.

Both were anguish.

Maybe I should just call it off. Maybe I should just stop seeing him before I fall in any deeper. But even if I wanted to, my heart pulled me closer to Brandon with each passing second. I sighed. What have I gotten myself into?

A knock interrupted my thoughts, and I grabbed my sackpack on the table beside me. I walked over to the front door, and opened it. Brandon stood on the porch, with a picnic basket in one hand. The scratch along his cheekbone had almost disappeared overnight, and his bruise on his jaw was already fading.

"What is this?" I asked.

"We're going on a little road trip," he answered, with a grin I couldn't resist. "My motorcycle's out here."

"Motorcycle?" I repeated, surprised. "Where are we going?"

His eyes lit up. "The countryside."

"What?"

"You know how last night you were saying your ultimate dream is to live in the wild?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't give you that, but the closest thing I can is the countryside. My grandparents own a little cottage right next to the sea in Amsterdam's countryside. Right now they are on vacation, and I have the keys, so we can get the whole place to ourselves."

"Wow," I said. "And a picnic too, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah. It's really scenic there. I just packed the food a few minutes ago," Brandon replied.

The countryside. A picnic. How deep have I already fallen? For even though my mind protested against it, my heart took complete control and drove my legs out of the house without a second of hesitation.

"Wait," Brandon stopped me. "Are your parents okay with you coming with me all the way to the countryside?"

I froze. Even now, I'm constantly reminded of the lies I've fed Brandon. Now would be a good time to tell him. But just the thought of it made me back inside. "Oh, yeah, right. Let me go ask them." Reluctantly, I closed the door behind me, and leaned against it in despair, sighing soft enough so that Brandon couldn't hear.

Should I tell him the truth? The question nagged at me like a fly at a lamp. Every minute I don't tell him is another minute I'm lying. And will I leave Amsterdam still lying to him? But every time I thought about it, I just pushed the thought away. I can never stop running, can I? I ran from my mother's death, and now I'm running once again.

I gave myself some time before I opened the door again. "They're okay with it," I lied through my teeth.

"Great!" Brandon exclaimed excitedly.

I followed him out to his motorcycle. It looked new, shining with a fresh coating of black paint under the sun. He probably just bought it.

Brandon picked up his helmet and put it on. "There's a helmet for you over there," he told me. "I'm hoping it's your size."

I fit the helmet on snuggly. "It's perfect," I assured him.

He strapped his picnic basket to the back of the motorcycle, and then hopped on, flicking his leg over the side like mounting a horse. He then started the engine. It revved like a tiger's roar. He turned to see me standing cautiously by his side. "Have you ever ridden before?" he asked me.

I shook my head. "No. But I guess there's a first time for everything."

He smiled. "There is. Climb on."

And so I did. Copying his movement, I flicked my right leg over the side, and positioned myself on the motorcycle. I wrapped my arms around Brandon's waist, careful not to worsen his injuries from the night before.

"Just keep your feet on the pegs," Brandon instructed. "And hold on tight."