Fighting Love

♠Chapter Two

Love is a fantasy many adopt to not living

TROY'S POV

I thought college was for people with passion and purpose, two emotions I have never felt. Hence, my sole reason for enrolling at Flowerville college for business was my mother. She threatened to disown me if I didn't attend, or if I dropped out, and since I was the only family she had, I obliged. We were all we had, though all she did was give me money. I was rich and spoilt and I didn't care. Last semester, almost every night, I was at a different party. I flunked classes to where some lecturers didn't even know me.

Memories from last year brought a smirk onto my face as I thought about all the shenanigans I planned to lessen. I ended up repeating the semester. I decided to not disappoint again, even though my mother didn't really care if I succeeded. She just wanted to keep me busy because she didn't want to spend time with me.

I slept like the dead through the night, exhausted from partying and entertaining Gretchen. Gretchen and I were friends with benefits. She was hot and clingy, but I got tired of her. Once I woke up, the memories from the evening before surged to the front of my brain and I peered across the room at my new roommate. Quite the bitch she turned out to be, and it irritated me how intriguing I found her. Every girl fell at my feet, all except her. What was so special about her? My image said it all, hot and filthy rich. Something must be wrong with her.

I sighed, thinking about how much I needed to straighten this new girl before she back talked me in public. Other than my mother and best friend, she was the only person who back to me. It angered me, but still somehow aroused some kind of strange attraction. I watched her tremble under her covers after she pushed me. Surely I scared the shit out of her. She just tried to hide it. She slept in an odd position and I stifled a laugh. I pondered over whether to wake her. It seemed her arms were getting ready to break. With a pillow beneath her hands and her legs pulled up into a ball, she grunted in her sleep.

"Hmm?" she groaned as I shook her awake. I did this again and again until she sat up, glaring at me.

"Why are you waking me, you moron?" She swatted my hand and shoved me away.

"You're welcome. You almost broke your arms under that pillow. Who the hell sleeps like that?" I asked.

She gave me a dirty look, then sharply averted her eyes. "Me!" With a sharp huff, she peeled the sheets off of her legs. "You just had to fucking wake me up, you mutt. Do you know how hard it is to find a non-painful position to sleep?" She grimaced, gripped her stomach, and squeezed her eyes shut.

All I did was wake her up to prevent her from breaking her arms. Women, very complicated creatures. "What the hell are you talking about?" I finally asked, confused. She could've broken her arms sleeping like that, and she's cursing me for preventing it.

"I'm menstruating, you mindless bat. It hurts," she shrieked, flung her feet onto the cold tiles, and stormed off to the bathroom. I assumed she believed herself to be storming off, but, in fact, she barely made it without faltering and bumping into the walls.

She shut the door in my face before I could say anything. "Bitch!" "And you thought I could read your mind to know that, you idiot." I rolled my eyes and walked away, plopping down at the desk. As I scrolled through my Instagram feed, I wondered if menstruation was really as painful as she made it out to be. I recalled all the times Kareem told us about how he felt bad for his girl whenever it was her time of the month. The way he described it seemed to be very unbearable, and I suddenly felt bad.

Minutes later, she wandered past me. I examined her skin. She wasn't black nor white, a mixture of the two gave her the perfect tone. But her eyes were dull, and she clenched her face. She gripped her stomach like its insides were falling out. "Sorry, I didn't know, okay," I whispered. I doubted she'd heard, but regardless, I hurried onto her bed. As she reached the edge, I heaved her onto my chest, but she resisted.

"What the hell? Let me go." Her voice was low and squeaky. When she realized I wasn't moving, she huffed and crawled into the bed next to me.

"Shut up and let me take care of you," I said. "Troy is not a red-light runner, if that's what you think." As I Spooned her, I massaged her tummy and tangled my fingers in her hair. It smelled like apples. "Does that feel better?" It was obvious she was in pain, and I felt somewhat guilty for waking her.

"A little, yes, and thanks, you didn't have to," She Said. By the time my response came, she was already half asleep.

"Don't sweat it, fluff. I wanted to."

"Don't call me that."

I ignored her and continued rubbing her tummy until I heard soft snoring. It was a wonder how she passed out in a matter of minutes. "Man, does she feel good."

Her not flirting back bothered me and getting the impression that she couldn't stand my presence disturbed me more. If we were in public, she would talk back to me there too. It would be a shame to put a scar on that face of hers because she is disrespectful. I admitted to being an asshole and frankly; I was proud of my assholeness. It wasn't my habit to hurt women, but sometimes they deserve it. Soon after her, I fell asleep. 

Please feel free to share your thoughts. I appreciate it. ♥

Crooksology