Chapter 6 Episode Six

Chapter Six

*First Person's Perspective*

~Marie~

It had been a month since Brandon and I started going out, and things were going well. He was kind, sweet, and attentive-the kind of man who made you feel valued. It was a refreshing change from the cold, demanding presence of Mr. Lazarus. While I still had to face Lazarus every day at work, Brandon's warmth made the sting of those encounters bearable. He gave me the courage to keep pushing and to not give up just like that.

Today was Saturday, and Brandon had invited me over to his house for dinner. While I appreciated the gesture, the idea of going to his house made me uneasy. I wasn't ready for something so personal. You know? I'd only known him for this long, I wasn't that comfortable to be in his house

"Thank you for the invite, Brandon," I told him over the phone earlier. "But I think it'd be better if we met at a restaurant instead, you know..." I let the rest of my words trail

There was a slight pause on the other end before he replied, his voice understanding, "Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable, Marie."

And so, dinner was set at a cozy Italian restaurant in the heart of the city.

The restaurant was charming, with soft golden lights and the aroma of fresh pasta wafting through the air. As we sat across from each other, Brandon was as charming as ever. He asked about my week, shared funny anecdotes from his own, and made sure my glass was never empty.

It was during dessert when the conversation shifted.

"So how's work? You seem a little exhausted. Hope that boss of yours isn't putting you too much stress?" He asked and I laughed

"Well, he is as he has always been, no more no less and I think I've gotten used to it by now" I responded

"You know, I still don't get how you put up with someone like Lazarus," Brandon said, leaning back in his chair. His tone was light, but there was an edge to it. "I mean, the guy's a tyrant, right? A control freak who probably thrives on making people miserable."

I paused, my fork hovering over a slice of tiramisu. While his assessment of Mr. Lazarus wasn't entirely inaccurate, I felt a pang of discomfort. Talking about my superior behind their back didn't sit right with me.

"I mean, he sounds like a complete nightmare, I think you should leave him and come work with me. Seriously, " Brandon continued. "If I were you, I'd have walked out of that job the second he opened his mouth."

I offered a polite smile, choosing my words carefully. "He can be difficult, yes. But he's still my boss, and I believe in maintaining professional boundaries."

Brandon raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by my response. "You're too kind, Marie. Honestly, someone like him doesn't deserve that kind of respect."

I simply smiled again and took another bite of dessert, steering the conversation toward lighter topics

After dinner, Brandon insisted on driving me home.

"Let me drop you off," he said as we stepped outside. "It's late, and I don't feel right letting you go alone."

I hesitated, glancing at the line of taxis nearby. "Thank you, Brandon, but it's really not necessary. I don't want to inconvenience you."

"It's not an inconvenience," he pressed, his concern evident. "I'd feel better knowing you got home safely."

I appreciated his thoughtfulness, but something inside me resisted. My gut told me I needed to take a cab, though I couldn't explain why.

"I'll be fine, really," I said firmly, offering him a reassuring smile. "Thank you for a lovely evening. I'll text you when I get home."

He looked like he wanted to argue but eventually nodded. "Alright. Be safe, Marie."

"I will," I promised before walking toward the nearest cab.

As the cab pulled away, I leaned back against the seat, letting out a small sigh. The evening had been nice, but that strange unease lingered, gnawing at the edges of my mind. I shook it off, telling myself I was overthinking.

The city lights blurred past the window as the driver navigated through the quiet streets. I gave him the directions to my apartment, and he nodded silently. For a while, the ride was uneventful, the only sounds being the hum of the engine and the faint chatter of a radio station.

It wasn't until we approached the turn to my street that my heart started racing. The driver sped right past it.

"Excuse me," I said quickly, leaning forward. "You missed the turn!"

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his expression apologetic. "Sorry about that, ma'am. I'll make a U-turn up ahead."

I nodded, trying to calm the sudden rush of panic. My heart was still hammering in my chest, but I forced myself to breathe. Mistakes happen, I told myself. There's no need to overreact.

True to his word, the driver slowed down and prepared to turn around. I relaxed slightly, my shoulders slumping in relief.

But that relief was short-lived.

Out of nowhere, a car sped toward us from the opposite direction, its headlights glaring like twin beacons in the night. The screech of tires filled the air as both vehicles tried to swerve, but it was too late.

The collision was deafening. The cab jolted violently as metal met metal, the impact throwing me forward. My seatbelt yanked me back sharply, knocking the air out of my lungs. Glass shattered, tiny shards raining down like deadly confetti.

Pain exploded in my head as something heavy struck me. The world tilted, spinning out of control, and my vision blurred.

I tried to move, to speak, but my body wouldn't respond. Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, swallowing the chaos around me. The last thing I heard was the faint, panicked voice of the driver calling for help before everything went black.