chapter 10

Flashback

On every anniversary, me and my boyfriend get each other presents.

The previous anniversary, I made Brandon a cute crotcheted sweater. He went above and beyond and moved us to a new apartment. A bigger and better apartment. It has a big balcony with a beautiful view. I've spent the last year drawing and sketching numerous fashion designs in the lovely balcony.

We moved here mainly because he wants to be closer to his work place. Last year, he used to struggle to get to work on time. He's always been punctual ever since we moved here.

On this anniversary, I want to do something special. I know how hard he works for us. Most of the time he's busy toiling away at work and he's never home. There's no one that deserves a promotion more than Brandon. He's been working there for almost three years now and he's never gotten a promotion or a raise. Brandon's boss is the biggest asshole. He must be jealous of him and his potential. That's why he keeps promoting everyone but him. For the past few months, Brandon has been complaining constantly about him. And I hate him. Probably more than Brandon hates him.

Anyway, back to our anniversary. I was thinking about buying him a big bouquet of flowers with tickets tucked in it. I've been saving up for our little vacation for the past couple of months. He's been working so hard and a vacation would help him wind off. Also, we'll get to spend more time as a couple. We'll have plenty of time to make love and take strolls and bask in the beach and watch the sunset.

It's one month to our anniversary. I still haven't picked our destination. I'm stuck between Ibiza and Italy.

Brandon has always gushed about Ibiza. Lately, he's been obsessing over Italy and how he would like to move there permanently some day. Imagine having my own Fashion House in Italy and coming back to our beautiful beach house and finding our beautiful kids running around. After putting the kids to sleep, we would sit in the balcony sipping wine or making out or making love even.

That would be a dream come true!

***

Brandon swings the door open, carrying his black briefcase.

I just finished setting up the table for dinner.

I pull him in my arms and plant a little kiss on his lips. His eyes are tired. I take his briefcase as he takes off his shoes.

We finally sit down to have supper. I made him pasta and pork. It's one of his favourite meals. He yawns and stretches as he reaches for his plate. Poor thing must have hard a long day at work with that horrible boss.

"How was work?"

"Exhausting." He grumbles. "As always."

"Your boss still on your ass?"

"Yeah." He sneers. "But I don't want to talk about him. It will ruin my appetite. I've had a long day and the last thing I want to talk about is that asshole."

Brandon sighs, running his fingers through his hair. Maybe this is the perfect time to bring up the vacation. Maybe it will lighten up his mood.

"Babe." I say. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"If you won free tickets in a competition and was forced to choose between Ibiza or Italy, which one would you pick?"

"I thought the answer is obvious." He beams. "Italy."

Italy it is.

"It's my birthday this Saturday, remember?"

"Ofcourse." He says. "There's just a lot going on at work. Friday will be hectic. Wanted to get plenty of rest on Saturday. Let's just chill and do something small for your birthday."

"I understand." I nod. "We could just chill during the day and throw a party at night."

"A party?" He scoffs. "Since when do you like parties?"

"It's my first birthday in this apartment. I want something memorable." I smile. "I want you to invite your work friends. I would like to meet all of them."

The only work friend that I've met is Wendy. She was always going to the gym with Brandon so I asked him to bring her home for dinner. Prior to that, I had stalked her on I*******m and expected her to be some stuck-up snob. She turned out to be the sweetest soul. She helped me make dinner. She helped me set the table. She even helped me clear the table and do the dishes.

As we laughed in the kitchen that night, I knew I wanted to be friends with her for a long time. For the past couple of years, I haven't had any friends. Brandon is my only best friend. I didn't realise how much I craved a female friendship until that dinner with Wendy.

Just like Brandon, Wendy has been busy with work. We've never hang out since that dinner. This little birthday party is my sorry excuse to see her. Ofcourse I want to meet all of Brandon's work friends but I'm looking forward to have lots of fun with Wendy.

"If a party is what you want, that's fine with me." Brandon shrugs.

He doesn't seem the least bit interested. Infact, he seems a little annoyed. I don't know if he's annoyed about the party or me inviting his work friends.

But that won't stop me.

**

It's my birthday!

Wendy is the first person to get here. We cook together. Make cocktails together. Decorate the house. But even after all that, her make up is still intact. Her baggy jeans don't have a single stain from all that cooking. Her white crop top doesn't have a single stain from the cocktails we've been drinking. She's seriously the coolest and most perfect person I know.

Brandon left earlier to go hang out with the boys. He'll be back later with them. For the mean time, Wendy and I have the house all to ourselves.

Wendy forces me to sit on the bed and do my makeup. If she wasn't a supervisor, she would definitely be an exceptional makeup artist. After the facebeat, she ties up my hair in a bun and surprises me with a pink dress. It's perfect!

Tears sting my eyes when I look at myself in the mirror. I can't remember the last time I looked this beautiful. I keep swirling around, running hands through my little cute dress. Wendy is a distance away, taking pictures and videos of me.

This is definitely not where I saw myself at twenty five. Jobless with no college degree and nothing to my name. Despite that, I feel content. I have a wonderful boyfriend who makes me happy. I have a wonderful friend who cooks and drinks cocktails with me. I have a wonderful apartment where I've made a bunch of beautiful memories. I'm not where I want to be in life but I'm so grateful for all the wonderful things that I have. Things that I didn't have on my last birthday.

"Are you crying?" Wendy asks. "Whatever you're crying about is not worth ruining your makeup, girl."

"I'm just..." I stutter. "I can't believe this is my life. Me and Brandon have struggled a lot for years. I'm just grateful that we got here."

She moves closer and wipes the wet edges of my eyes.

"I don't care if it's tears of joy, just don't ruin your makeup. Plus, you deserve it all. You deserve all the nice things on this planet, girl."

"You are so sweet."

"I know." She rolls her eyes. "Let me go get some cocktails. No tears on your birthday. Just cocktails, okay?"

"Okay." I chuckle. "Can I see the pictures you just took of me?"

"Sure." She hands me her phone and scampers out of the room.

I sit on the bed and start scrolling through the photos. They look perfect. The videos are quite funny. I look so quirky swirling around in my dress.

A message from Brandon pops up on the top of the screen. He just sent an image. Why would he sent an image to Wendy? Maybe it's work-related. Maybe it's something to do with my birthday and they want to surprise me. I don't want to spoil my own surprise. I shouldn't open it. Plus, Wendy is my friend. That would be violating her privacy. And most of all, Brandon is my boyfriend of seven years. I trust him with my whole heart. Opening the message would mean I suffer from insecurity issues. Trust me, I'm not insecure.

Another message pops.

Brandon: I would do anything to stick it inside you right now.

That drives me to open the chat instantly. I click on the image. My heart drops.

A dìck pic.

Another message pops up. My hands are shaking. My heart is pounding. I'm frozen on the bed. Please tell me this is not happening on my birthday.

Brandon: Last night was hot. You can't blame my poor pènis for not getting enough of you. Can't wait to fùck you tonight.

*****