The Tyrant's Trophy

Abijah

No matter how long the drive home was, it wasn’t enough time to calm down. My mind tumbled with the things Brooke said - forming pictures each time her words repeated themselves. Basil loved her...during our research for that book, Basil defended her every time her true nature showed. He was crazy about her - passionately confessing his love for her like some Shakspearian poet.

However, in the end, he chose me...didn’t he? “I’m not limping,” I repeated to myself as I merged with the traffic.

I recalled the night Basil and the police found me. While being rolled in the ambulance, I remember Basil’s expression when we passed by my sister, who was being taken into custody. I knew he wanted to run to her, hold her, and pretend everything was all some sort of lie. He gave that expression when he first approached me to write a book about Brooke. It was a man still longing for the love he lost, but then he professed his feelings for me the very next day.

I won Basil physically but it does feel like a defeat. Even now, Basil can’t let go of Brooke - I know it. We had so many fights at first when I moved into his place. He didn’t want to change anything about the apartment and me, being the fool, stayed and relented to his wishes on the condition I could bring some of my stuff.

All of those nasty emotions and personal fears began weighing, shifting my inside, and once I got home, I found myself wanting to run away from everything related to Basil. I missed my home - the tiny unkempt house Kelly called a shack, smack dab in the ‘ghetto’. I miss my church - the women I used to have potlucks with and the neighborhood kids I used to buy pizza for. I missed the community...the place I could be unkept and unfiltered in. I know when I felt broken, God used them to build me up.

Why did I leave that for a fool who’s still in love with my sister? I’m the fool in love with that very fool.

“Stop it.” I hissed to myself, trying to muster as much strength as I could. “Lamenting does no good.” Taking deep breaths, I determined to be a grown woman and walk into that apartment. That place is mine now, not Brooke’s, and whatever happened in the past, happened.

Out of habit, I straightened my posture to make myself seem taller than I already was. Upon entering the apartment, I found it...quiet. Not wanting to make my presence known, I hung up my purse and first checked Maybell’s room.

She was gone - most likely with Chad, which was good. I didn’t want to scare her with my rotten mood. Closing her room’s door, I turned back to the dining room and nearly jumped out of my skin. Basil stood by the island table.

I didn’t hear him move at all.

“Evening.” He greeted, with no light humor in his voice. He was dressed in his soft robe and holding an empty glass in his hand. Seeing him that way gave me a sense of Deja Vu. The last time he drank like that, he mistook me for Brooke. Wincing at the awful memory, I sighed and walked past him. When he’s brooding like this, it’s best to leave him be.

If only the man, himself, knew that. As I walked to ‘our room’, I made my way to the closet for some clothes. I ignored the bed and all the unwanted thoughts that came with it. At this point, I felt tired and wanted a good shower and sleep in Maybell’s room.

As I shifted through the piles of clothes, picking out my worn-out joggers and my comfort tank top, Basil snuck up behind me. “You didn’t come home yesterday night.” The smell of Jack swept over me: seemed my future ‘husband’ was hitting that bottle hard. “Why weren’t you home?”

“You’re drunk.” I pointed out, not wanting to indulge in this conversation. “You know I don’t like talking to you when you’re like this.”

“You were with him again?” There was a sharp accusation lining his voice. Without waiting for my response, Basil snaked his arms around me and pulled me toward his chest. “Are you bored of me?” His hug tightened.

“What?” I hated the feeling of being manhandled. The flashbacks began crawling all over my head - they felt like parasites gnawing at my brain. “Basil, you’re drunk. Let go and sleep it off!”

“Don’t leave me.” He pleaded, placing his face in the nook of my neck. “Not again...” ‘Tell me, have you and Basil done it yet?’ Brooke’s voice rang in my ear. ′tell me if it’s my name that passes through his lips. Won’t you let me know, dear sister?′

Shoving Basil off of me, I glared. “I am not Brooke,” I stated, tired of feeling second best.

There was hurt in his eyes - genuine hurt - but the drunken fool dared to reach for me again. “So you are bored of me, huh?” He followed me when I tried to leave the living room. “Now that your book is a best seller and the mystery of your sister is solved, you’re bored of me and want someone exciting - is that it? Is that CARTER giving you everything I can’t? That’s why you’re with him more than me - he’s richer; buffer; and more thrilling?” the man wouldn’t give me any time to counter those accusations. He just kept digging the knife into my back. “You’re not your sister but boy are you two alike: Selfish. You both just take and take from me, not caring how much I love you.”

“I’m selfish?!” I screamed, incredulously. “I GAVE UP EVERYTHING FOR YOU, BASIL! I left my home, Basil. My community and the kids I loved deeply. I gave that up because I love you and you insisted. You just moved my stuff into this PLACE and didn’t even talk it over with me! I hate this place! Hate it! The bed, that inferno thing you call a COUCH; the table; the shower - I hate it and you can’t even understand it?!” I threw a vase to the wall. “Do you think I like staying in the very place, you and my SISTER had sex EVERYWHERE!”

Basil never thinks!

For him to accuse ME of cheating!

How laughable!

How infuriating.

I aimed to throw another vase, however, Basil stopped me with just one phase. “Brooke.” All of a sudden it felt like the vase hit me instead of the wall. Basil called me Brooke. He made complete eye contact and called me her. Suddenly, the anger evaporated, and I just wanted to cry...Before we could even go further into the discussion, my phone went off.

“Hello?” I kept my voice from trembling. Weakness was not something to show to Basil - he forfeit that right.

“Is this a bad time?” It was Adam Carter.

“Perfect timing, actually,” I responded, locking eyes with the drunk in front of me, I turned back to the front door, got my purse, and walked out. I can’t stand being in that place a second longer. “I got the information.”