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"I..." A throbbing pain begins to cloud my thoughts.
"Answer me!" His roar echoes in the small room.
Tears glaze my eyes as I glance over his shoulder, my mind racing. Andrew has never been to my house; I have always been cautious, knowing Peter doesn't approve of him. Our relationship has been confined to the campus dorms or his place. Despite my frequent visits home to spend time with my brothers, Andrew remains a separate part of my life. So how the hell did he get inside my bedroom at home?
"I was studying with him," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
"At Roy's Bar!" His fingers dig into my skin, his accusation piercing the air. "Were you going to cheat on me, Poppy?”
"No!" I shake my head vehemently, trying to break free from his iron grip. “We just finished the class project I told you about. We went to Roy's because we were hungry; you know how it is there."
Roy's Bar is a common haunt for students - a place for jazz music, private tables, and their famous crispy chicken wings. It's a hub for study sessions, not wild parties.
As I reiterate this, tears stream down my face. Andrew is always assertive, sometimes overbearingly so. His tendency to take control, to order for me at restaurants, or to dictate my choices often leaves me feeling powerless. Sometimes it pisses me off, like when he orders a meal for me without allowing me to look for myself, but other times I’m so exhausted from school, I just don’t care what I eat or where, what I wear or how I style my clothes. Yet, I have never seen him like this, never felt afraid of him.
"You hurt me," I whisper, my voice cracking, the realization of his physical aggression sinking in.
His expression softens slightly, the red in his cheeks fading. "I didn't hurt you, Poppy," he insists, his grip loosening as he pulls me into a hug. He states it with such conviction that it makes me second-guess my own memory. “You hurt me. I thought you were cheating on me. I got a text with a picture of you and another guy at a bar. A fucking bar! You know what that could do to my image. It looks like I’m dating a whore.”
I don’t know what’s worse, the shove against the wall or his words.
More tears fall. “I was studying.” I cry as I defend myself.
“I know, baby. But I love you. Fuck, I’m crazy about you, and you're at a bar with another guy.” He begins to rub circles on my back.
I feel so confused.
Yes, I was at a bar, but it’s a place to meet up and study. It’s not a bar students' party at.
I guess it might have been considered inappropriate. I didn’t mean it to.
“But you hurt me,” I confess as my heart breaks. The throbbing in my head makes me feel dizzy.
“Fuck, baby, I didn’t mean to. I just lost control. I love you. Poppy, you mean so much to me, but you know your actions reflect on me. I want us to work out, but that means you have to stay in line. As my girlfriend, you represent me and my family. I told you this.”
He did tell me about his family and the stringent expectations set by his father, who is deeply concerned about their public image. Andrew never appears drunk or disorderly; he epitomizes composure and control. Even at the massive parties he throws, which are more like social events than typical college gatherings, he oversees everything meticulously. It's a whirlpool of gossip and information, a gathering ground for the influential and affluent.
His father's ambition stretches beyond our town, aiming for the larger political arena. This ambition isn't just a distant dream; it's a palpable presence in Andrew's life, influencing his actions and decisions. It's well known that his family owns this town, and now his father wants more.
I have no doubt he will get it, too.
Being Andrew's girlfriend is about how we fit into the larger picture of his family's ambitions. I constantly navigate these unspoken rules, balancing being true to myself and fitting into Andrew's carefully curated world.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you think I was seeing another guy,” I say. His palms press hard against my back. “I’m sorry.” And I am, but I also want to hear those words from him.
He pulls away and takes my chin between his thumb and index finger, “Then promise me you will never be alone with another guy. Promise me, Poppy.”
"I promise," I repeat. I'm not sure I want to be alone with you, is what I want to say.
He shoved me into a wall! My eyes glance down at the broken picture frame. “Andrew, maybe we should take a break.” My words are badly considered a whisper because fear won’t allow my voice to speak louder.
He snorts slightly as if what I said is a joke. “You don’t mean that. We’re perfect. You don’t separate perfect, Poppy. We’re what people search for. You made me upset; it won’t happen again.”
Does he mean I won’t mess up again or him?
His lips press against mine, and all I want to do is push him away, so I try to. “Please,” He begs me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You made me so upset and jealous. The thought of you with another guy made me want to kill someone. You can’t do this to me again, Poppy.” He says, but I can’t respond because he keeps kissing me.
Does he not notice that I’m not kissing him back?
