U Broke The Girl In Me But You Wont Break The Man

Andrew had been sleeping (more like staying overnight) at your house for a few months now. During that time you had started your new job as a bank teller (Andrew had made sure to tell Craig and Deran that your place was off-limits to pull a job) it wasn't your favorite but you mildly enjoyed how mindless it was. You also had some decent coworkers, some you actually didn't mind talking to during your lunch breaks. The only person you couldn't find a positive about was Steven.

Steven happened to be your 38 year old coworker who genuinely believed he was God himself. His arrogance about his brains and his beauty practically overcrowded the entire office space. From the ill-timed comments about how if you're in debt you must be an idiot in front of a customer to the times he gave unnecessary and false advice on how to use the banking system SEVERAL times. Truthfully, he mostly made your life harder.

You thought Steven couldn't be more of a nuisance until he found some part of you likable. He now took advantage of any moment to talk to you, usually in an annoying falsely sweet voice. "Hey honey, you think you can help me process this check?”

Thankfully, he mostly kept his hands to himself aside from the occasional slide of his fingertips on your waist.

You had told Andrew about Steven and how he had tried to flirt with you, which infuriated Andrew more than you've seen before.

"He knows you have a boyfriend and he's still trying that shit?" Andrew says gritting his teeth. It took a whole three days to talk Andrew down from storming into your job and tearing his ugly little head off.

You didn't mention the touching knowing he'd either pass out from an aneurysm or strangle Steven in his cubicle, instead you opted to handle it yourself.

You quietly shuffled into Steven’s cubicle announcing yourself with an awkward clearing of your throat, "Steven, I wanted to talk with you. I know that you are just trying to be nice, but I wanted to ask if you could stop with the flirting, pet names, and touching. Both my boyfriend and I are uncomf- "

"I'll stop you right there sweetie. I'm not interested in someone like you so both you and your boyfriend can relax." he says with a scoff.

As if you have been experiencing an alternate reality where he peeked down your blouse when he stood above you and made flirty sickeningly sweet comments that made your skin crawl.

"I'd rather not talk about this again so you can go back to your desk now" he pushes out with a dismissive grunt.

For a moment you just stand in disbelief, at least until Steven spins to give you a cold look over his shoulder. Then you make the awkward uncomfortable trek back to your desk.

Since then your time at work had become unbearable, Steven making it well known to both you and coworkers of his disdain for you.

While perched at your desk, you could hear him not so quietly whisper, "if I'm being honest I don't know why she was hired. Half the time she has no idea what she's doing. The other half she tumbles s around like an idiot. God I wish Chris would just fire her." It didn't take a genius to figure out he was referring to you.

Andrew had noticed how miserable you were each time you woke up in the morning and remembered you had work or someone mentioned your job. At first, he assumed it was the typical irritation that most had towards working. He tried his best to encourage you, but wasn't quite sure how since he'd never worked a normal job a day in his life.

"Um...at least you don't work with an idiot like Craig. " He offered with an unsure look.

"Hey!" Craig said with confusion to which you gave a snort and a "thanks Andy".

One day he'd finally prodded the reason out of you very reluctantly, "Steven has been giving me shit and talking about me to the other coworkers. It started a few months ago after I told him to stop flirting with me." you lifted your eyes from your feet up to meet his eyes grimace at your words.

You tried to fill in his silence with more of an explanation, "Look, it sounds worse than it really is. I just don't want him saying anything to my friends and then my boss having to get involved."

You knew Andrew was ready to kill, which was exactly why you hadn't told him earlier.

"How long." he says with a grunt.

"The flirting started like a month in. Then the touching and pet names started soon after." you say quietly.

Andrew's eyes snap towards yours, “What do you mean touching? This motherfucker's been touching you?"

You sigh softly, not in annoyance but in defeat of containing his anger, "Yes, I wanted to handle it by myself." You approach Andrew gently like you would approach a wounded fawn. "I need this job. I still have to pay my rent, utilities, and my student loans. Chris is too buddy-buddy with him to fire him. I can handle the shit-talking until he gets bored of it."

The entire time you spoke Andrew's thoughts and expressions were unwavering, he stood with clenched teeth, an incredulous stare and a look of determination.

"You are not going back there. I have enough money for the both of us."

You knew this was true, but struggled with the idea of taking his money. However, with his commanding tone, you knew you didn't have a choice. "Give me Chris' number I’ll call him and tell him you're quitting while you shower" he adds.

You offer him your phone before turning to walk to your bathroom. Before you make it inside the threshold you turn around to him again, “Thank you for handling this all so well," you weren't oblivious to the reputation all of the Codys but especially Andrew. "I know you’re upset and probably have a million thoughts running through your brain, but we don't have to worry about it anymore and can let it go." you said this more for him to hopefully discourage him from hunting down Steven and strangling him.

Andrew gave a stiff nod and let you retreat into the bathroom. While you started the water, Andrew quickly made the call to Chris, "She's never coming back. Start firing the perv who works there before more people quit."

With you still in the shower Andrew knew he had time to find Steven's number.

He was smart enough to not hunt him down today or even this week. He didn't want the police to suspect you and most importantly he didn't want you to be upset that he didn't let it go after all.

Months later after getting all the information he could from J, Andrew began to spend a portion of his down time watching every move Steven made.

"Hey, I'm heading out. Craig has some job lined up and set up a meeting." he says. He walks over to where you were sat on the couch entranced in the newest show you were binging. He leaned down towards you to slide his fingers in your hair, tilt your head up to face him and give you a couple of soft sweet kisses on your lips.

"Okay hon, just don't be out too late! Wanna spend some time with you before bed." you say with a flirtatious smile and a wiggle of your brow.

The tips of Andrew's ears blush as he replies sheepishly, "I'll try my best to get home at a good time bunny." Pleased with his response, you pull Andrew back down towards yourself to press a deep heavy kiss on his pink lips.

"Now go before I keep you here all for myself" you groan.

Andrew pulls away with a content smile and makes way out the door to his black truck. As he started his car and quietly peeled off, he did in fact make his way to the Cody house, but not for a meeting like he had previously told you.

No, he went to pick up Dean, Craig, and J to finally implement the plan he had for months. He had never moved on from the day you told him everything Steven had said or did.

"He would back me into the corner of the break room and try to grab at my waist and kiss me Andy. I kept telling him no and stop but he wouldn't" you sniffled quietly with your head in your hands. You were inconsolable that day in fear Andrew would blame you and leave you.

That entire day, Andrew dreamed and plotted what he would do to Steven.

His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly turning his knuckles white.

When he picked up the guys, he gave them a run down of his plan. Wait out for him to leave the bar a drunken mess, J would ask him if he needs a ride home and lure him to his car where the others would be waiting, and beat the shit out of him.

When Steven stumbled out of the bar, he stopped briefly to throw up on the side of the flashy building. Andrew grimaced at the sight of him, sickened by how this man touched his sweet girl.

J played his part well, acting as a concerned and helpful bystander, easily leading him back to the truck. Craig, Deran, and Andrew lied in wait behind a wall near the truck, waiting for the right moment to spring into action.

Once Steven was close enough,the guys sprung out and began their assault. Andrew moved quickly to the right side threw a heavy right hook to Steven's face knock him off balance. Craig had shifted to the left of him and began throwing several powerful body shots. Deran stood behind him placing him in a chokehold to silence any noise and to keep him from running off.

Steven instantly began begging and pleading for the guys to stop but received no reprieve. Eventually when Deran loosened the tight hold Steven fell with a heavy thud and started speaking with a hoarse voice, “Why are you doing this? You can take my money, my car, everything! Just please stop!"

Andrew chuckled in fury and disbelief, "Stop!? You want me to stop!? Did you stop touching her when she told you to stop?" he delivered another blow to Steven's face causing a sharp crack to ring out and his nose beginning dripping blood.

"Wh-who are you talking about?!"

"What you do this to other women too?!" Andrew kicked him hard in his ribs. "you were touching my girl. You were flirting with my girl you were talking shit to your coworkers, making my girl miserable. You're lucky I don't kill you" Andrew spits out venomously.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry"

Andrew doesn't hear the half-hearted apology, he orders Deran to pick him up and continue the assault. He begins striking Steven repetitively with blows to wherever Andrew can reach. Andrew completely loses control and is throwing punches on autopilot - something he hasn't felt since his old fighting days. He only comes to when Craig has to pull him off of Steven.

"Pope, c'mon man you're gonna kill'em!"

Andrew pulls his body out of Craig's grip before giving one last blow to Steven's face and whispering to him," you better never even look in her direction again, do you hear me?!"

Andrew walked back to the car with Craig, Deran, and J following behind.

After dropping off the guys. Andrew sat with his head on the steering wheel thinking of you. His precious girl who always saw the best in others, who always gave people a second chance, who struggled sticking up for herself. He shed a few angry tears that he wasn't there to stop this from ever happening.

He vowed that moving forward he'd protect you more fiercely and nothing would ever harm you.

When Andrew got home he quietly slipped in the house in case you were asleep in bed. Before going to lay down, he snuck into the bathroom and cleaned his hands and applied bandages to his split knuckles.

As he walked in the room, he found you peacefully sleeping under the pale moon shining in from the window. Your figure was curled under your comforter holding on to Andrew's pillow like you would hold onto him. All he could think was

God, I love you so much. How can you be this fuckin' cute sweetness?

When he crouched down to get into bed he pressed a few kisses to your shoulder and pried his pillow out of your arms. The movement caused you to stir and slowly open your eyes partially.

"Andy?" you ask quietly.

"Yea it's me bunny."

"I thought you weren't gonna stay out super late?" you question with a pout.

I just wanna kiss that pout right off your lips sweetness.

"I'm sorry baby, can I make it up to you?" he asks sincerely.

You give a slow nod.

Andrew slides down your body pressing slow languid kisses at any sight of bare skin. He turns you over onto your back before mouthing wet licks to your panty covered pussy. He groans at the taste of you, "Fuck bunny, you taste so good." before diving in to press more kisses and licks to your clothed mound.

He gently pulls your panties down from your hips then begins to make out with your wet hole. Andrew uses one hand to grab and squeeze at your thick thigh and the other to rub at your sensitive clit.

"Ffffuck Andy...it feels so good" you moan while you reach down to play with his auburn curls.

Andrew picks his head up and stops his licking momentarily to say, "Yea you like that don’t you sweetness? You want my fingers now?" you nod your head as you fail to speak. He returns to your clit giving short kitten licks before sucking your clit into his mouth. He slowly thrust two fingers into your pussy before picking up speed.

Quickly you begin to feel that knowing pressure build in your tummy, "Andy...don’t stop...m'gonna cum" You start to lift your hips to ride his face.

"Cum for me baby. Come on be my good girl and cum" Andrew says before continuing to pound his fingers and sucking your clit.

"Mmmmm fuck Andy, oh my god" you shout as you reach your orgasm.

As you come down from your high, Andrew climbs back up your body pressing kisses to your waist. He slowly pulls up your oversized shirt revealing your bare breasts.

"Is this all for me bunny?" he asks with a sultry smirk. You nod shyly. He leans in and begins licking and sucking at your right nipple while kneading at your left breast.

"You gonna let me fuck you now?" he says while humping your core.

"Yes Andy" you breathe out shakily.

He unbuttons his jeans, pulls down his boxers. His thick red tip slaps the bottom of his firm stomach. He grabs and strokes his dick a few times before tapping it on your entrance.

He glides into your pussy, groaning at the feeling of how tight you felt. As he bottomed out, you gasped and grabbed at his arm because of how full you felt.

Once you both had adjusted to him being deep in you, Andrew began begin thrusting in and out of you at a medium pace. He grabs your legs to rest on his hips bringing him deeper in you and a whole new level of pleasure.

He leans down putting his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in completely.

Andrew typically isn't much of a talker during sex. He mostly gave groans and moans to show his pleasure. Tonight, it was like he flipped a switch. He kept rambling different praises and questions to you as he fucked you.

"bunny you feel so fuckin' good" "mmm I love you and this pussy so much" "gonna fuck a baby in your pretty pussy...yea you wanna make me a daddy baby?'' “no one else can make you feel this way can they sweetness?”

Andrew kept getting deeper and deeper inching closer and closer to your cervix. "Andy... I'm gonna cum again...keep going baby please" you whine.

Hearing you getting closer spurs Andrew to fuck you harder, the sounds that fill the room is your whining, Andrew's babbling, and the wet slaps of his hips slamming into yours.

You grip onto your bedsheets as the white hot feeling of pleasure crashes over your lower half. A guttural scream rips through your body as your pussy squirts onto your thighs Andrew's tummy.

Andrew continues pounding into you chasing his own high still babbling away, "yes...yes... oh fuck bunny you're gripping me so good," he moans out "I'm gonna cum... y’gonna let me cum in you pussy and make you a mommy…huh baby?"

You nod and pull him closer, "yes Andy make me a mommy... please. Want you to cum in me" you run your fingers through his hair pulling a moan from his lips.

He leans in close and presses his face into the crook of your neck. His thrust begin to stutter, when you before he presses his thick dick deep inside you, warmth from his release fills you up. His hips slow to a stop but Andrew keeps his cock inside. You hear sniffling and wet drops on your skin, so you turn to see Andrew crying.

"What's wrong Andy? Did it feel too good?" you ask in a soothing tone.

"No...I mean yes. You just felt so good and I just love you so much sweetness,” he presses a few kisses to your neck and says. “You’re such a good girl fr'me".

"Oh baby. I love you too, I’ll always be your good girl. Let's go to bed baby." you moan as he slides his soft cock out of your pussy then he snuggles into your chest.

You knew you'd regret not cleaning your self up right away , but you knew your Andy was extremely sensitive and needed you right now. So you happily let him sleep peacefully promising yourself to clean up in the morning. For now you just wanted to rest with your gentle giant of a boyfriend.

Andrew sighs and picks everything up off the floor. He riffles through them, searching to see if you have anything he can sneak into his pocket and pay for when you’re not paying attention. “The grocery store?” he mumbles at the cat while placing the Chinese takeout menu next to Michael, letting him sniff it as if he might smell the orange chicken through the sticky paper. 

He lets out an incomplete meow, then flicks it off the table again. 

“Rude cat,” Andrew replies, looking at Michael, who has jumped off the table and made room for Scott, your tuxedo kitty, who doesn’t really think of anything besides wet food and making biscuits on your stomach. “Hi Scottie, have you checked your mom's mail yet?” 

“Meh,” she answers, which is good enough for Andrew. 

He doesn’t know how you’ve accumulated such mail while he was away. He always tells you to check when you get home – he’ll say, “What if you have an important bill to pay and you miss it because you don’t check your mailbox?” 

Then, you’ll reply with, “We live in modern America. They can call or text me. Plus, I have you.” 

He laughs at the thought as he reaches the end of the pile. He’s about to drop the envelope, but stops just before it leaves his fingertips.

“What is this?” he asks himself, and receives an unsolicited response from Scott. “I thought you didn’t check her mail. Why are you answering like you know?”

Scottie jumps off the table – grazing Andrew’s arm as though she disagrees with his smart remark. 

He brings the envelope closer to his eyes and reads the company name. 

Miranda Schofield's San Diego Eating Disorder Recovery Center. 

He stares at it for a few minutes. He puts it down, then lifts it back up to make sure he read that right. 

Eating. Disorder. Recovery. Center. Bill due 5/15. 

Andrew looks over at the bright neon calendar you have hung up beneath the dry-erase board, and checks the date. 

May 14. 

Without asking himself anything, he slips the envelope into his back pocket and walks away from the bubble of questions he found himself in. To busy his mind, he grabs your dirty clothes from your bedroom and starts a load of laundry. 

While they silently whir in the new washing machine he bought to replace your old whiny one, he cleans your room. He started doing this two months into your relationship despite your incessant begging for him to do anything else.

 “Powerwash the driveway, or clean the kitchen. Or the baseboards behind the washer and dryer! Just don’t bother with my bedroom. It’s a mess, and you’ll never manage to get it clean,” you’d beg him, following him around with your hand fisted into the back of his shirt like a crying child. 

He obviously wouldn’t listen, because in his strange and beautiful mind, it was a form of therapy. Once you saw this firsthand, you stopped crying and let him clean every nook and cranny of your maximalist bedroom. You audibly cringed when he first cleaned beneath your bed – he fished out old socks and an old vibrator box you were too anxious to throw away – but simmered down when he just shrugged and kept on cleaning. 

Andrew typically just cleans. He doesn’t look through your drawers in search for something you might be hiding. He knows you keep your ‘lady things’ in your bedside drawer, stuffed beneath satin bonnets, sleeping masks, and unread books, and that you keep a stash of joints in a pill bottle in your bathroom. He knows where everything is and doesn’t usually find himself curious to search.

But today is different. Along with knowing every hiding spot, is his knowledge about the memory box you keep tucked beside the left foot of your bed. Once he’s done cleaning your bathroom and sweeping and mopping your bedroom floor, he sinks to his knees and grabs the neon pink box splattered with dollar store gems and tiger print duct tape. 

He’s not doing it with bad intentions; he just wants to know if anything hints at the bill still crumpled in his back pocket. He takes off the lid and sets it on the bedside table. He pushes past the countless ticket stubs and letters he’d leave behind before jobs, and grabs the stack of photos at the bottom. 

The first few are of you and him on hikes, at the bar, or at the beach. Some of you and your best friends at a Halloween festival. Nothing really shares any insight until he finds an old picture of you. This must date back a few years – your face is far more youthful than it is now, and much rounder, too. Your cheeks are red and round like gala apples, and your smile is wide and bright. 

You look beautiful, Andrew thinks to himself. He stares at this picture for what feels like eternity, though technically it’s just until the washing starts singing thirty minutes later. He could stare at it for thirty more, because of how gorgeous you look in your bright yellow swimsuit dotted with flowers. He can’t stop obsessing over the way it sits on your hips – hips that are wider than they are now. He can’t stop looking at the way your skin slips over and under the strings of your bathing suit top. He thinks you’re gorgeous, and finally lets himself enter the bubble of questions he left less than an hour ago.

He snaps out of his gaze when two purring kitties rub their heads against him. Michael sniffs the memory box, and Scottie jumps into Andrew’s lap, her eyes fixed on the picture he’s holding. 

“Is your mother okay?” he asks Scottie, but she doesn’t answer. “Why did this happen?” 

He wishes cats could talk in this moment. He’s sure Michael and Scottie would tell him all about the clinic bill and what led their mother to look drastically different than the photo. It can’t be that old, considering you’re in California with your group of friends – a state you moved to two years ago – and holding the surfboard you only acquired a year ago. 

Andrew stands up when the sing-song of the washing machine starts sounding like a fire alarm. He neatly tucks everything back into the memory box and holds the photo he’d been staring at between his thumb and forefinger. He places the lid back onto the box, then carries it down to the kitchen, where he sets it down beside the photo and the unpaid bill. 

He continues cleaning your apartment: he moves your clothes into the dryer, dusts your living room fan, moves every piece of furniture around to compile all the dirt into one corner, which he then sweeps up. He mops every corner of your house with the strongest solution, and once your clothes are dry and smell of salt and lavender, he folds and puts them away. 

Andrew sits down at your kitchen table when he’s done, dripping with sweat and smelling of faint aftershave. He lays his phone out in front of him and opens the Find My Friends app, clicking on your name. Your dot is moving around Oceanside, getting closer and closer to your house as the seconds pass by. 

He turns his phone off when your keys jingle in the door. Michael and Scott run over and purr until you open the door. They stop, but only for a second. Then they start crying. 

“Hi my babies!” you sing, bending down with a bag full of wet swimsuits. 

“Leave the bag outside,” Andrew says, cringing at the droplets your bag leaves on the shiny floor. 

You re-open the door and throw it next to the lounge chair. You come back in and pick up your kitties. “Have you been fed? Are you hungry?” 

“Their automatic feeder went off a while ago while I was cleaning.” 

“Have you given them wet food?” you ask, stepping into the kitchen and admiring the cleanliness. You scrunch your nose at the strong smell of lemon and vinegar cleaning solution. 

Andrew shrugs. “They didn’t complain about the dry stuff.” 

You chuckle and continue your venture through the room. “You’re supposed to give them wet food for lunch. Michael in my room and Scottie in the laundry room because one likes salmon and one likes chicken. But they somehow always try to eat one another’s food if you keep them in the same room.” 

“Cats in the wild don’t get that option, you know. They should be thankful they have a roof over their head and an automatic feeder.” 

You roll your eyes and mutter, ‘Well, they’re not wild cats.’ You look around, smelling the lavender that remains in the air from the recent load of laundry, and smile. Even if Andrew doesn’t understand what it’s like being a cat mom, he understands how to keep a place clean. And for that, you can’t completely be mad. 

“Thank you for cleaning. Did you get new laundry detergent? It smells like lavender and –” you go to say, but pause before you get to say ‘salt.’ Your memory box is sitting on the kitchen table, right beside your recovery bill and a photo of you before starvation and bulimia took over your first year living in California. You point at it, then look at Andrew. “You went through my stuff.” 

“You have an unpaid bill from Miranda Schofield's Eating Disorder Recovery Center.” 

“Okay. So that prompted you to go through my stuff?” 

“I wanted to know why.” 

“So ask.” 

“Can you sit down? You’re stressing me out,” he says, gesturing towards the seat across from him. 

You keep standing, arms crossed over your chest. You’re holding onto your armor that is falling apart as you look into Andrew’s eyes. You haven’t told anyone but your therapist, a couple of people at the center, and one friend about your eating disorder since you moved to Oceanside. You haven’t told Andrew, because to you, it’s in the past. Your final visit to the center was a month before you met him, and you’ve been clean since then. No throwing up, no laxatives, no starving. Just an immense amount of hobbies and therapy sessions you have been concealing under the words ‘Swim Time.’ Why tell him about it if you don’t plan on going back anytime soon? 

“I don’t want to. I can tell you standing up.” 

“Sit the fuck down,” he orders. 

You grunt and pull the chair back. You plop yourself down and grab the unopened bill. “You look through my stuff, but don’t open the bill? If you’re already invading my privacy, might as well commit a federal crime.” 

“How long have you been avoiding this bill?” he asks. 

“I haven’t been avoiding it. I just forgot.” 

“You forgot, or you just didn’t feel like paying it?” 

You shrug and slide the paper over to him. “I stack them in my vibrator drawer and tell myself I’ll pay it when I wake up. And then I get busy and forget about it.” 

Andrew reads the services you’re being charged for and the amount you have to pay at the bottom of the page. 

Bulimia. Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID). 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reply with a smart remark or say what his mind has been screaming since you first started speaking – “You’ve never cared about me going through your things. I thought it was okay.” He keeps reading the page until his brain meshes the words together. He starts thinking about the picture of you in the yellow bathing suit, and the girl in front of him with a figure plenty of times smaller. 

“I’ll pay it tonight,” you tell him. 

He throws the bill down and stands. He runs off into your bedroom while you say something nearly intelligible: “It was hard living here!” 

He grabs his wallet that sits on your dresser and rushes back into the kitchen. He sets it down on top of the bill and pushes it over to you. “Pay it right now while you talk to me about this.” 

“Why are you mad?” you ask, or beg, really. 

“I’m not mad. I’m concerned.” 

You laugh. Then you pull out your phone, scan the QR code at the bottom of the page, which takes you directly to the payment website, and start talking while you type in his debit card information. “I wasn’t as insecure before I moved here. I sometimes didn’t like how I looked, but it was a normal amount then. Like when you’re about to get your period, and you start overanalyzing yourself. But most of the time, I didn’t think my body was that big of a problem.” 

You finish paying the bill – an amount you don’t even want to think about – and return his card. “I don’t know much about periods making you hate yourself. I don’t have one.” 

You shake your head at the dumb remark and bite down on your lip to stop yourself from saying something dumb right back. “I’ll tell you later,” you say instead, pausing right after before picking up where you left off. “I started hating how I looked right before I moved. I was visiting while I solidified my living arrangements, and by the end of my week-long stay, I realized I didn’t belong there. Which sounds dumb, because my job created a position just for me. But I mean it like…” 

It’s hard for you to confess what made you pick up this frustrating addiction. It’s stupid when you think about it, but also extremely real and painful. Andrew isn’t making it any better, either. He isn’t making facial expressions. He’s only looking at you with a straight face, eyebrows drawn together if you look hard enough. 

“Don’t judge me.” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because tons of people here tend to do that.” 

“Fuck them,” he says, voice stern. 

You nod. You reach over for his hand and grip it with enough strength to make his fingers lose color. “I felt like I didn’t fit in because no one looked like me. Everyone was thin with small faces, big lips, and perfect boobs. The guys had incredible abs, and no one had beer bellies, even though everyone drank and smoked. No one wanted to look like me. It was noticeable, even if they didn’t say it.” 

“So you started …” Andrew chooses his words ultra carefully now. He’s never a stuttering mess, but he is now. “Starving yourself? Throwing up or… restricting food?” 

“All of the above,” you answer, your voice and body shrinking. 

“Jesus, baby,” he murmurs. 

“You don’t get it.” 

“I want to.” 

“I wanted to look like everyone else. That’s it. I didn’t want to walk into shops and get stared at because nothing in there was meant for me. I didn’t want to walk into a smoothie shop and immediately get told what I should get, which was always some nasty green drink with every sour green in the universe,” you admit. “I also wanted to look perfect for when I’d meet someone. Someone perfect like you.” 

Andrew pushes himself off the chair and sinks onto his knees in front of you. He grabs your other hand and sandwiches all ten of your fingers between his. “You are perfect.” 

“Now I might be,” you scoff. 

“No, you always were. I wouldn’t have cared about your weight ‘cause it’d still be you.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“What would I gain from lying to you?” 

You shrug. “Fair point.” 

Andrew unwraps your fingers and kisses your knuckles. “I love you,” he murmurs. 

“What’d you say?” you ask. Your heart starts beating faster, nearly leaping into your throat. “Did you just say what I think you said?” 

“I love you,” he says, louder this time. 

“Get up.” 

He doesn’t make you repeat yourself. He stands up and cages you in, one arm planted onto the table, the other fisting your chair. “I love you,” he keeps telling you. “Say it back, please.” 

You stand up and kiss him with immense infatuation. “I love you,” you say, your teeth clacking against his. You wrap your arms around his neck and push against his body. You keep repeating the words while you deepen your kiss and make it to your bedroom door. Michael and Scott follow behind you two, meowing like they might be judging you. 

You step into your bedroom, and Andrew pushes you up against your dresser. He chases your mouth and says, “Don’t let them in, they’re literal children.” 

You laugh and move around him to shut the door. Right before you do, you look at them peering up at you and nearly cry. “I’m sorry, babies. Mommy is about to fuck your dad’s brains out.” 

“I’m their dad now?” he asks with a playful groan. 

“You said I love you! You have to be now.” 

Even though he’s stressed at the thought of buying all of their expensive food, along with paying for their unnecessary clothing and flower-shaped scratching posts, he agrees because it makes you questionably happy. 

Andrew would do anything to make you happy. He voices that as he devours your body from head to toe. 

“Don’t go through this alone,” he whispers once you’re lying in bed after long and intimate sex. His hands are holding your head as if it were glass: with care. “I need you to tell me when you feel insecure. Or if someone looks at you weirdly. Or tells you to eat their green shit smoothie.” 

“Okay, baby. I will,” you laugh. 

“Seriously. I need you to tell me. I need to make sure you’re okay. Always.” 

You promise in the form of a pinky promise and a kiss.