Brave Movie の小説・ストーリー

He asked, trying to get freed from the boys held. "Don't ask another question just yet, Alex. I am not not answering your previous ones." She frowned at him dramatically. "So, to answer your second question, no, you are not hallucinating. I am standing just in front of you. SAFE AND SOUND." He said with a smirk while making a small twirl for him before looking back at him. "And about what's happening here, you will have to be more patient to know that because the movie just started." She said with a smirk as everyone else stayed silent. Nobody interrupted them.

After what felt like hours Aurora had come out the shower and after I had told her everything, I broke down crying and now here we are, with Aurora comforting me as I cry about a guy. "Hey, instead of crying over my douche ass brother lets watch a movie and eat junk food," I nodded. "Okay, I will grab the food from the kitchen and you chose a movie on Netflix." Aurora super sped out of her room while I walked towards her television and chose a movie. "I see you chose Mean Girls, the best movie ever." I chuckled as I saw Aurora's reaction.

“Umm nothing triggered me I just felt really bad. Th-the same thing happened Wednesday” “I don’t believe you. My mother is a psychologist and she taught me a thing or two but if you don’t want to tell me it’s okay” Brandon's voice is still so soft and kind so I answer him. “The violence, the near-death experiences, the danger…” And Brandon will probably ask “why” now because all these things are normal in movies even I know that. But instead, he just nods. “Okay, let's get you out of here. Wait here darling and don’t move I’ll be right back.” Brandon flashes me a beautiful smile and steps out of the restroom.

They watched me through the shower glass. I soaped slow. Blind. Exposed. I bent for the soap. And saw it in the drain. Half a contact lens. Blue. Not mine. Not my sister's—hers are brown. Someone else showered here. I stood. Wrapped the towel. Fumbled the tuck. Blind people can't see mirrors. "Your phone," the robot voice said. I reached out. "Where?" "Counter. Left." Wet phone. Cracked screen. I turned on VoiceOver—Siri reading fast, gibberish to them, clear to me.

The name burns itself into my retinas like a brand. These are the people who are stealing my son. Adrenaline floods my system, cutting through the haze of despair. I'm suddenly alert, sharp. I surge to my feet, every instinct screaming at me to act, to fight, to do something other than sit here like a broken dog. The window on the driver's side slides down, revealing a professional-looking Russian couple in their mid-forties. He's got the bearing of a man accustomed to respect and deference. She's elegant in that polished way that comes from never having to worry about money.

Because I couldn't refuse, I agreed and in the car, the middle-aged man and I talked to each other. I learned that the man's name was James Brian. We talked for a while. After understanding my situation. Understand why I have to come home from work so late. He gave me a piece of paper with the address and phone number on it. With the suggestion that I go to his house as a maid. At first, I was a bit hesitant but then agreed. After seeing the man's car leave. Then I looked at the paper in my hand and thought to myself. Am I dreaming or not? Everything happens just like in the movie.

She gave a small gasp as her green eyes met his blazing blue ones, ‘How do you feel now my little Zaya’ He asked and she licked her dry lips forcing her feelings for him down inside her and locking them away tightly she did her best to wriggle away from him, ‘You, you, you are.’ She stuttered wide-eyed and he saw she was afraid of him now her hand was shaking as she pointed at him, ‘Yes. I am the Bratva Pakhan, you know now and I will no longer hide who I am.’ He said lifting his head and keeping eye contact he was making no apologies, ‘Are you afraid of me little Zaya?’ She looked back at him biting her lip to stop it from trembling, ‘You’re the Mafia’

I pressed play. The video opened with a shaky, zoomed-in clip of me leaving my shift at the restaurant last night. It was dark, so the video wasn’t even clear. You could barely see my face, but my hair and bag gave me away. Someone had recorded me through the window like a little creep. Right across the screen in bold white letters was the caption: “Miss campus queen by day, waitress by night???”