The Art Of Revenge (Thalia Nash and Brandon)

12

Brandon’s Pov

I awoke with tremors in my hands, which I believe was caused by my body being stressed the day

before. I managed to force myself into a seated position with the little energy I had left, causing me

excruciating pain.

Every bone in my body felt like it was being dragged across the concrete. I winced in pain, cursing the

g*d who had given me such fate.

When I peered across the room, I noticed the fragile creature that had thwarted my carefully planned

suicide. She was dozing and her legs were strewn on my pricey leather sofa. I went to die but returned

with new baggage.

“That’s fantastic,” I told myself. I tried calling her name but couldn’t remember it; I bit my lower lip.

attempting to recall her strange name but came up empty-handed. To be honest, I’d always had a thing

for not recalling the girls I brought over to my other houses.

The rule was to sleep with them and toss them over for the next one but this was the first girl I brought

over without sleeping with her. In fact she was the first girl I brought to this particular house. My secret

hideout, my heaven.

I glanced about for something to hurl at her, but all I saw were pillows that were too soft for me to toss

and hit the other end of the room. She was a terrible sleeper, she slept like a toddler and it was no

surprise that her dumb husband abandoned her.

I only had one choice left: I turned around and looked for my house system control, hoping it was

nearby. I noticed it on my left drawer and pressed a button that turned the entire room into a disco with

loud music.

She leaped out of bed as if she had been drenched and inserted her fingers into her ears, peering at

me in disbelief.

I switched it off after exactly one minute of waiting. “What is your name?” I inquired, my tone harsh. Her

hair was messy, her eyes tired from the sleep that I had just interrupted, but she had a look of surprise

on her face as she slowly removed her fingers from her ears. This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

“Thalia,” she said.

“Oooh, Thalia, a Greek name, get me a wheelchair. I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, startling her

even more. I directed my finger to the wheelchair that was near the door. She turned to face me after

staring at the wheelchair.

“If I sh*t on this bed, you’ll clean me up and wipe my butt.” I joked.

As if her life depended on it, she dashed to the entrance and grabbed the wheelchair. She moved a

little and placed it near the bed. I locked my gaze on her and raised my arms, suggesting that I wanted

assistance getting into the wheelchair.

“But…” she tried to protest but couldn’t. She stepped closer to the bed and attempted to move me, but

she was unsuccessful the first time. Her hand was as small as a toddler’s and she was meatless..

I’m sure her husband used to starve her to death or something. Her boobs were the only huge thing on

her body, which I continued glancing at while she tried to move me again. I was curious as to how large

they were if she took off her ugly sweatshirt. She came to a halt and locked eyes with me for a little

moment.

I thought she had caught me staring for a second, but I needed to move quickly.

“How long has it been since you last had a bath?” I inquired, solemnly.

She quickly let go of me, embarrassed, and moved away, attempting to catch her foul odor. I sighed

bund motioned for her to move closer, afte, which I climbed into the wheelchair using her body as a

Astair.

As I pointed to my left and pressed a button, I said, “Take me to the restroom.”

“Isn’t this not an electric chair?” she inquired.

I slammed the wheelchair down and became enraged. “What happens if it gets stuck, throws me off, or

electrocutes me?” She looked at me puzzled, and unlike last night, she was quieter.

I had noticed when I woke her up, she had looked around the room, and I could only guess she wanted

to get out of the house.

“I’d like you to help me sit on the toilet seat,” I said in a calm voice.

“Why can’t you rehire your old staff? And you were walking perfectly fine yesterday,” she replied.

“Thalia My illness has mood swings, one minute I will be fine and the next minute I will be bedridden

and I’ve just gotten tired,” I replied. “And I won’t be able to hire my former workers back, but I’ll look for

new ones.”

She paused for a moment before wheeling me to the restroom. I was planning on making her take

down my pants, but I felt I was pushing her too much. I instructed her to stand by the door in case

something happened.

She looked at me once more, her face full of doubts. “You won’t hear or smell anything because the

toilet is soundproof and has an automated air freshener system,” I remarked as I shut the door.

I knew she wasn’t concerned about that; her expression was that of someone who wanted out of our

agreement but lacked the language to express it to me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was sane when I

promised her that I would bring down her ex-husband.

We were two people who planned to commit suicide but changed our minds last minute, and I made a

foolish pledge to her. The sleep allowed us to contemplate; suicide thoughts lingered in the back of our

minds, and we had no idea when the guts would return.

After I finished, I sat on the toilet seat, pondering my next move. I was certain that when I opened the

door, I would not find her, which I didn’t mind at first, but then I remembered that I would be left alone.

That was my fear when I first became ill, and it was always my fear. When I woke up and saw her in my

room, I guess I grinned; that’s why I brought her to the house, not to help her, but to keep me company

for the rest of my days.

Her idiocy made me laugh after so many years. Yes, I was going to do everything I could to get her

anything from her husband as compensation, possibly everything, but I needed her.

I quickly rose from my seat and opened the door, confirming my concerns that she was not there. My

heart sk*pped a beat as I dashed inside my room to discover it was empty; both her plastic bag and

stick had vanished.

I hurriedly grabbed my tablet; all of the rooms in the house were equipped with cameras, and there was

no way she could have gotten out of the house, particularly if she had used the left door.

I started scrolling through the rooms one by one and behold, I located her in the West wing, lost as far

as I could tell. Only I knew which doors led to the outside of the house, the house was a cube of doors.

To be honest, I was relieved that she was alive and well in the house. I could tell she was worried and

desperately calling out my name, but I was a jerk. I tossed the iPad on the bedside table and sat down

in preparation for a lengthy bath. My dying body needed a bath in my pricey bath tablets.

My new best friend was not going anywhere. Perhaps she required more time to reconsiderher

decision to reject my offer, or perhaps she needed more motivation.

Yes, I was being selfish by keeping her here, but I was also assisting her in her retention. I pulled out

my phone and dialed a number, giving the man, who was startled to hear my voice, explicit instructions,

and an address.

I swiftly wired thousands of dollars into his account once he took the job. With a smile, I walked to the

bathroom full of life.

Thalia’s Pov