What, exactly, was Brandon trying to do? It said a lot for the state of his head that he wasn't completely sure. He was angry at Silas right now, absolutely. He was beyond angry; practically unable to think straight most of the time. But whereas most people would just take it upon themselves to avoid someone they were that blindly angry at, Brandon refused. So, what was he going to do? He didn't know. But he couldn't just say that. “Maybe I am. What about it?” he asked angrily. He was tired of losing. Tired of the world thinking they could kick him while he was down. And he wasn't going to lose this fight. Not this time.
If there was anything his time as a cop had taught him, it was how to take a punch, but when Silas' fist hit his ribs, he stumbled. Yeah. That was going to hurt like a bitch later.
“He felt sorry for her,” Brandon sniped. “Everyone feels sorry for her. Ask any of her fucking friends.” That was something he'd always felt: she'd lost her boyfriend and her parents, so all her friends actually just felt sorry for her. That was the only thing Brandon could think of, to make people like her so much. “No she didn't! That was for his fucking family. She doesn't have to have her fucking stripper fingers in everything!”
'Them.' Brandon narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists again, not even thinking his actions through before taking a swipe at the leg that he knew Silas was still favoring with his foot, making his friend fall to the ground. While he was still collecting himself, Brandon grabbed the collar of his coat and hauled him up to look him in the eye. “Lexi was not responsible for any of that shit. And I fucking know we aren't gonna happen. We happened, it didn't work. Simple as that. So no, I'm not living in a fantasy land.”