Hi! I’m Rita Branches. I was born and raised in in Portugal and I’m going to independently publish my debut novel in the Spring of 2016, Painting Sky.
I am so happy that you decided to take a look at my work.
Little bit about myself: along with being a writer, I am also a landscape architect. I started writing to bring ‘to life’ the stories that my mind created.
I LOVE to read. It was and always will be my passion.
“I’m sorry about your hand,” I said. He threw his jacket over one of the couches and sat on the other. His eyes dropped to my arm, which I was subconsciously rubbing.
“Did he hurt you?” He wasn’t mad, this time—he was worried.
I tried to hide my smile and shook my head. “Not really. I bruise easily.”
He jumped to get closer. “Bruise?” He pulled my wrist and turned my arm to check the damage. It was red. Maybe I wouldn’t get a bruise, but his face made me smile.
“I’m not dying, Keith. He was just an ass.”
“I told you to go with your brother.” He sat again. “Did you have fun, at least?”
“Not really. I guess I didn’t drink enough.” I shrugged, not feeling drunk anymore.
“You really shouldn’t have told me that.” He jumped from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard a couple of cabinet doors opening and closing and then glasses clinking.
Keith came back with a bottle under his arm, two glasses in one hand, and a lime cut in two and salt in the other.
I wasn’t experienced, but I knew what that meant. “Tequila? Do you think it’s wise?”
“This night wasn’t supposed to be about being wise. It’s just the two of us: you won’t get in trouble.” He paused for a second, staring at the walls in deep thought. He then placed the ingredients on the coffee table. “We won’t get too drunk. Do you know how to drink this?”
I nodded. I’d never tasted it, but I saw it in the movies. The first one burned, and the second did, too. I stopped, while Keith kept pouring shots for himself.
After the first shot, Keith had turned the TV to a music channel. He had turned it up a couple of times, since. We were laughing at each other’s faces. Of course, he was used to it, but I saw the glimmer in his eyes. We were both drunk. The first time I had ever gotten drunk was with
Keith Hale. Who would have guessed?
“You should go to sleep,” he slurred, pushing me to the stairs. “Your brother would kill me if he showed up right now.”
“Really?” I stumbled on almost every step. Keith grabbed my waist every time and released me after I steadied myself, only to stumble again. I repeated the word because it was funny in my tongue. “Really?” He laughed behind me.
“Yeah…” He was also dragging his words. “Thanks.”
“For what?” I had reached my door and turned to say good night.
He struggled for the words. His smile disappeared and he took so long to say anything that I was considering forgetting the question and going to my room. Then he grabbed my face with his hands.