5
674 Words
BAILEY WAS FUMING. Who the hell did he think was? Her Father? She didn't need him coming out and scaring her boyfriend.
God, he thought he was so smart. His knowing look, his disapproval. She'd known him for a day! He had no right to impose on her life.
"You are not my Father, Spencer. You are not my brother, not my husband, not my boyfriend. You have absolutely no say in who I deal with."
Spencer's throat worked, his muscles twitched, his jaw clenched. He was angry. Angry about her choices.
"It's f*****g obvious he treats you like s**t—"
Bailey fought not to wince. Truth hurts. "Why does it bother you?"
His control was slipping she could tell. "Why doesn't it bother you?!"
"This conversation is over, Spencer."
Turning around she went back in her house, leaving him angry, disgruntled and confused.
What the happened?
Bailey fumed silently, biting her lip.
Who the hell did he think he was? Telling her—
Well, he didn't really tell her anything. But his face did! Preaching about her self-worth.
Fuck it, he was right, but that didn't matter.
Amidst the anger, a smile crept up. She found his dominating demeanor kinda sexy, especially in this context. He basically demanded her to raise her self esteem.
Sitting on her sofa, she imagined what it would feel like—to be in his arms.
He was so strong, with a bad boy-esqus about him. She imagined he'd hold her tight and close: he'd be warm and comforting.
Before she knew it, she'd drifted off, her mind conjuring the warmth of strong arms she'd never be in.
- - -
SPENCER WAS PISSED. That little s**t was obviously treating her badly. He didn't respect her, hell, he didn't even listen to her.
Eric. He scoffed.
How easy would it be to just snap him half? Pretty easy, actually. He could crush every bone in that shïthead's body and he would give f**k all.
His aunt and uncle always taught him that a man who doesn't respect a woman—any woman, but especially his own—wasn't a man at all.
He grew up on rough streets, and he saw how some of the guys his age treated their girlfriends. Before a fight, he'd look at the crowd, see woman perched on the laps of men who viewed them as accessories.
It sickened him, and it didn't make sense. Everyone has a mother whether they know them or not. Would they treat their mother like that? Would they condone someone else doing it?
For some, yeah. But most, would go off. Protect their Mother. That's what men did. Why they were here—to protect their families and keep them safe and happy.
Just because a woman will let you treat you like s**t, doesn't mean you should.
Spencer imagined her beautiful face, her sexy frame. She was worth so much more.
Why didn't she see that?
- - -
Weeks went by, blurring into the new year. Whenever they would see each other, they'd look away.
Eric still came by, always looking around to see if Spencer would come out. He didn't.
Meanwhile, Spencer bought some women home, but he was never satisfied.
At first he did it to spite Bailey. Until he noticed the hurt on her face. It seemed petty then.
Soon the holidays were over, and the new year was fast approaching. Bailey churned out her novel Find Me, and though she hated it, America loved it.
And so did Europe, and Asia.
There was a set routine, a balance of sorts. Until December 30th.
A snow storm barreled through the east coast, buried New York, Jersey, in snow. Power lines were done, family was frantic, not being able to reach loved ones.
The roads where a disaster, an accident on every block, someone who was dumb enough to drive in six inches of snow.
Generators were failing everywhere, hospitals left without power, people dying.
The heat was out, and the cold was brutal.
They called it Carlos.
- Writer
