I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 11.3 - Emma

His hand was in mine, warm and loving, as we walked each other to the train station. We were silent the entire way there, but it was because we had nothing to say. Or maybe we just didn't know what to say. For once in a very long time, I could feel my heart pumping in my chest, desperate to burst. It vibrated throughout my entire body so that I could feel it beating in my thumbs, my legs, and my mind, somehow pushing me backwards as I walked forwards. I knew something just didn't sit right in me, but I only tried to ignore it, reminding myself that this was the best position I could be in right now. With the world, with Brandon.

But is this the best position for Brandon?

When I had taken him home after he got into the fight with his former friends, I saw first hand how concerned, how worried, his parents were. I had loved my own parents as much as they had loved me, but Brandon's had showed him a whole other level of care and love. It was like they knew him more than he knew himself, like their years together allowed them to never be apart, no matter what stands in their way. So is leaving them the best idea for him?

Beside me, I heard Brandon breaths, heavy and tight, as if his lungs were constricted and he struggled for air. I looked to his face and noticed it was paler than usual, making his pink lips pop.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

He glanced down at me, his chest rising as he inhaled another deep breath. I felt he was now getting too much oxygen. "Yeah," he answered through a long exhalation. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He didn't look fine.

"When was the last time you ate?" I asked.

He thought for a while. "This afternoon."

He hasn't eaten for 15 hours already. "Did you at least sleep?" I wondered.

He shook his head. "No."

That's not a good start.

I was beginning to worry. When we reach Brussels, I have no idea when we'll eat or when we can get a good sleep. I didn't know if Brandon was prepared for that. I felt like a mother worrying for her child.

It'll be fine, I told myself.

I tightened my grip on Brandon's hand, telling him I was there. "Don't worry," I said. "Once we get on the train, you can rest. Just hold on until then."

Soon enough, we reached the train station. The entire journey there, I kept on looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was following us, but everytime I did there was, of course, no one. I didn't know why I felt so apprehensive, so alert, but I was.

It took us a while to find out where to go, but we eventually figured it out, and arrived on the platform 15 minutes early. We took a seat on a nearby bench. My legs already felt sore, and were finally relieved when I finally sat down and took off my travelling pack. Brandon did the same, but he wasn't carrying much anyway.

I studied him as he laid one leg almost perpendicular to his other, and rubbed his eyes back and forth. He then began massaging his head. Watching him became torture; he just looked so ill.

"Do you want to go back?" I asked him.

"No," he whispered, returning to rubbing his eyes once again. "I'll just sleep on the train. I'll feel better after."

To be honest, he only looked more pale, and more sick.

We sat for five minutes before I hear whispering. At first, I thought it was the train approaching, but trains never whisper. But when I listened closer I realized it was coming from Brandon. He muttered things I couldn't clearly hear.