The Art Of Revenge (Thalia Nash and Brandon) novel Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I knew he was going to take long in the restroom, so I took advantage of the opportunity and fled. I knew it was wrong but staying in the house with him was a bad idea, to begin with. I dashed back into the room, grabbed my plastic bag, stick, and bolted out.

“Taking Josh down?” I snorted. Brandon had a good probability of dropping dead at any given second but then what? Was I going to continue alone with the revenge? Those were the questions running in my head.

Yes I was a coward, a stup*d coward. His first idea of moving to a small town and starting all over was not a bad idea.

When I accepted his offer, I was completely out of my mind. I kept running after opening the door to my left. I couldn’t recall how we got in earlier, but I knew I was on the right track.

I just recalled passing through one room before entering his master bedroom. I went through another door and was only met with a large empty white room without windows. A room that I did not recall us passing, I was definitely lost.

I chose to go back the way I came. I retraced my steps, but when I opened the door, I entered another room, it was smaller in size compared to the first one. It was surrounded by four doors.

It was like my mind was playing games on me, I definitely was lost because I could not recall anything, nor was I in such a rush to notice.

I was lost and I didn’t know which door to go through, so I guessed; I was running out of time. Brandon was going to find me soon. I went right and ended up in a long corridor. It appeared to be going someplace, so I dashed through it, which led to two doors.

Something wasn’t quite right in the stup*d house, so I paused to gather my breath. I chose the left door, which took me into another white room with four doors but no windows.

It appeared like I was back at square one, but to be sure, I went through the same door as before, but instead of ending up in a corridor, I found myself in a larger white room with no windows.

I went back and chose the middle door, which led to a long flight of stairs. I dashed back and opened another door, which led to a glass-enclosed room.

I began panicking. “Brandon?” I screamed out in the hopes that he would hear me, but everything was silent. As my anxiety held me, negative ideas began filling my mind.

I had no idea whether to move forward or backward. I took a deep breath in and reminded myself to relax; there was no reason to be alarmed.

I chose the door with the stairwell because the stairs always went to a lower level and then to an exit. I virtually sprinted down the white stairwell. The stairs dashed along the entire length of a street. At first, I was counting but stopped when I became tired. It was then that I realized I made the wrong decision choosing the stairs.

But I’d gone too far to turn back; I needed to finish the stairs; I was sweating, exhausted, and disoriented; tears were streaming down my cheeks like a little girl.

After what felt like an eternity, I arrived at the top of the last step, but to my surprise, it was another white room with four doors and no windows. I began panicking as my heart began racing. I dropped my plastic bag and stick.

“Brandon, Brandon, Brandon, Brandon, Brandon, Brandon, Brandon, Brandon, Brandon!” I screamed, but all I heard was the echo of my voice. I started pounding on the walls and screaming his

name.

Why wasn’t he coming for me? He should have realized I was missing? Maybe he died in the toilet, I

reasoned, it was the only explanation why wasn’t looking for me. If that was the case, I’d be lost in