I belonged to another man. I was in the home of another man. I was in the bedroom of another man. And yet, there I was, my lips pressed to someone else.
The entire ride home, Wilmer was rambling on about the party.
"You need to look amazing," he said, pulling into the driveway of our luxurious home. "This guy thinks he can one-up me with his hot new fiancee. I have to show you off."
"How are you even friends?" I asked, only half listening. It seemed that Will didn't quite hear me when I said I didn't want to go in the first place.
He put the car in park, unbuckled his seat belt, and turned to me, looking me directly in the eye.
"Tell you what Demi," he said, his tone changing as if he were talking to a toddler. He had a fake smile on his face as if he needed to humor me. "Why don't you go inside and put on something pretty? And if you look nice enough, I'll take you shopping after the party for whatever you want. How does that sound?"
My face was blank as he spoke with me, and in that moment I wanted to scream in his smug face.
"Will," I began, my tone flat, "I do notwant to go to this party. I want to get in my bed. I've been sleeping on a concrete floor during a blizzard. Have a little damn compassion."
"Compassion?!" He yelled, which made me jump. "You want me to have compassion. Me?" I could see the anger rising in his face, and it made me so incredibly nervous, I immediately regretted ever saying anything. His voice grew louder, and though no one was around, I began to feel embarrassed. "Why don't you have a little compassion for me, Demi! I drove all the way out to some disgustingpart of town to see you huddled up with some sleazy mechanic, and you want me to have compassion? When I pay for your food, and your house, and all of your expenses? Do you want to go there?"
Though I felt incredibly vulnerable in that moment, a part of me still wanted to stick up for myself. It was a new part of me that I was unfamiliar with, but I ran with it. I blinked at Wilmer, keeping my voice calm, so as to not mirror his energy, but to counteract it with my own stoic demeanor.
"How I feel matters too, Wilmer. I'm tired. I'm drained. And I wasn't 'huddled up' with the mechanic. He wasn't sleazy, he was kind. He was compassionate. You could stand to learn something from a man like him."
It all happened so quickly.
So quickly, I had no time to process; no time to be appalled at his actions.
My head was suddenly facing away from Wilmer, tears spilling from my eyes. The side of my face stung so badly, the blood rushing up to my tender face. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, and already I could see the mark of his palm beginning to cover my cheek. Then his hand came back for me, snatching my chin to make me look at him.
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