My American Nightmare • Spencer Charnas x reader

0.4

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At the Bar
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Y/n Pov

"I'll be right back," I informed Spencer, noting the subtle shift in his expression before hastily excusing myself. Taking my drink with me, I made a mental note not to leave it unattended with someone I barely knew.

As I rose from my seat, Andy's forceful grip on my arm pulled me into a secluded corner, his words dripping with venom. "You look different," he observed, his tone laced with disdain.

Rolling my eyes in response, I took a sip of my drink, refusing to let his presence unsettle me. "You still look like an asshole," I retorted, the bitterness of our history evident in my words.

His response was predictably cruel, his words slicing through me like a knife. The sting of his insults brought tears to my eyes, a painful reminder of the emotional scars he had inflicted upon me over the years. Despite my efforts to maintain a facade of indifference, his words cut deep.

But he was wrong about one thing—I wasn't seeking his attention, nor did I crave it. My actions were driven by a desire to prove my worth, to show him what he had lost. Yet, as his anger escalated, I knew this conversation was futile.

"I'm done with this conversation, Andy," I declared, attempting to step away. Before I could escape his grasp, he seized my shoulders, slamming me against the wall with a force that knocked the cup from my hand, shattering it on the floor beside me.

My heart raced as Andy's hurtful words echoed in my ear, each one a dagger to my already fragile emotions. Tears streamed down my face, unchecked and uncontrollable, as I felt the suffocating weight of his presence and the acrid scent of alcohol on his breath.

Attempting to push him away, I found my hands trapped in his tight grip, his drunken haze clouding his judgment and fueling his aggression. "Please stop! You are beyond drunk. Leave me alone," I pleaded, my voice trembling with fear and desperation.

The sound of broken glass crunching beneath his feet only added to my growing sense of panic. Nausea churned in the pit of my stomach as the realization dawned on me—we were alone, and Andy was in no state to be reasoned with.

"she said to let her go, Andy."

Chris's voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline, and I turned to him with a mixture of relief and apprehension. With swift determination, Chris intervened, his actions decisive as he forcefully separated Andy from me, sending him crashing to the ground amidst the shattered remnants of the cup.

The sight of Andy's prone form stirred a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within me—fear, frustration, and a deep-seated anger at the situation I had unwittingly found myself in. Grabbing hold of Chris's arm in a gesture of both gratitude and frustration, I felt a wave of regret wash over me. This was not how I had envisioned the night unfolding, and I couldn't help but feel responsible for the chaos that had ensued.

"I'm sorry, but I'm going back. I can't handle this right now," I muttered to Chris, my words laden with exhaustion and frustration. Without waiting for a response, I hastily made my way out of the bar, the weight of the evening pressing down on me.

Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I quickly ordered a ride to the hotel, my thoughts consumed by the chaos that had unfolded. However, my apprehension turned to surprise as a sleek car pulled up beside me, its window rolling down to reveal Spencer.

"I'm going back to the hotel; seems as if you might need a ride?" he offered, his tone gentle and understanding. I hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in my mind before nodding slightly in acceptance.