Fantasizing you, Mr. CEO

Chapter10

"What's with all the questions? Why do you want to know? Is it really any of your business?" Roxy yells, her words coming out like rapid-fire. Her face turns red, her anger boiling over. She feels as though he is intruding into her personal space, prying where he doesn't belong. He doesn't need to know about her mother. Why is it any of his business?

Andrew's eyes widen in shock at her outburst. His gaze hardens, jaw tense, and his hands appear to have tiny spasms. He looks directly into her eyes, and suddenly, Roxy feels a pang of remorse. Why did she allow her anger to get the best of her? She needs to get out of there, to breathe in some fresh air. Lowering the window, she takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

Realizing the need to apologize, confusion fills Roxy's mind. She is angry at Andrew for prying for information, yet she also feels ashamed for yelling at him once again. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, attempting to clear her thoughts.

Interrupting her thoughts, Andrew speaks with innocence and sincerity, "I'm sorry if my questions made you uncomfortable. That wasn't my intention. I was just trying to get to know you." His gaze remains locked onto hers.

Roxy feels a wave of guilt washing over her. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted that way. It wasn't right for me to come at you like that. It's just... when it comes to her, it's difficult for me to talk about. I can't seem to bring myself to discuss her yet." Her eyes remain focused on the floor of the car, feeling the sting of unshed tears and the weight of her suppressed sadness over the loss of her mother.

Andrew pauses for a moment, the air heavy with tension. His face reflects thoughtful consideration before he speaks again, "I have a past that I'm not proud of. There are things that happened to me that I didn't want to discuss with anyone either. But eventually, I opened up, and now I can talk about it with less anger or hurt."

A brief moment of silence follows, the air thick with emotions. Andrew's face indicates that he carefully chooses his words before continuing. "My father was abusive. He used to beat my mother. She always made sure we were in bed by the time he got home, so we wouldn't have to witness his behavior. She was always protecting us." Roxy's eyes widen, absorbing his words.

"We would hear things breaking, things being slammed against the wall... the whole ordeal. We would never leave our room, too scared to find out what was happening. But the next day, we would see the aftermath - the shattered glass, the bruises, the blood," Andrew's voice trails off as he drifts into his memories.

Roxy's heart goes out to him, feeling immense compassion for the childhood trauma he endured. How could anyone subject someone to such a horrific experience? She realizes the stark contrast to her own upbringing but can empathize with the pain. Andrew continues, his voice filled with a mixture of sadness and strength, "My mother would be battered and bruised, but she would always defend that man. Making excuses, saying she fell or walked into a door, anything to cover up what he had done to her. She would have black eyes, broken bones... she was even knocked unconscious."

The tension manifests in the white knuckles of Andrew's clenched fists as he recounts his story. "But she always made sure she took care of us. We were never exposed to it. She shielded us from the abuse, bearing it herself," he states, his gaze drifting towards the window. Absentmindedly, he rubs his cleanly shaven chin, adorned with intricate tattoos.

Reminiscing, Andrew continues, a smile stretching across his face. "He used to be different. I have memories of him playing with our train set, mimicking the sounds of a conductor." The smile widens, a trace of nostalgia evident. "I even recall him lifting me onto his shoulders, pretending we were flying, and I truly believed we could soar through the sky." Warmth fills his eyes as he recalls those moments. "We played catch, and I have a vivid memory of him patiently teaching me how to catch a ball. The pride he showed in my progress was exhilarating. Every child longs to make their parent proud." The smile lingers, bringing a sense of contentment to his expression. "He was once good," he trails off, his gaze distant, lost in the memories.

With a composed demeanor, Andrew continues his story, delving into more complex emotions. "It's perplexing, not knowing whether he was genuinely good or what caused his descent into alcoholism and abusive behavior," he muses. Roxy, feeling the weight of his words, remains silent, allowing him to share his thoughts. While the urge to hold his hand tugs at her, she refrains from interrupting, granting him the space to speak.

Over time, Andrew explains, "He started coming home later and later, growing increasingly angry." A sigh escapes him, conveying his frustration. "The arguments between my parents escalated, and my mother's life became a cycle of hiding behind sunglasses, concealing bruises, and making excuses," he reveals. Sympathy wells up within Roxy, but she maintains her silence, lending an empathetic ear.

Reaching a pivotal moment in his recollection, Andrew shares, "During my teenage years, I reached a breaking point. One night, I defied my mother's pleas to go to my room. Instead, I waited for him, anticipating an inevitable confrontation. And when he finally arrived, ready for a fight, little did he know I was prepared to confront him," he says, his fists clenching.

He describes the climactic scene, "He stormed into the living room, searching for my mother, only to encounter me blocking her escape. I had locked her inside from the outside. I confronted him, demanding that he leave and never harm her again. He scoffed at my words, dismissing me and ordering me to go to bed," Andrew recounts, his grip tightening with the memory.

As he recounts the events that followed, Andrew's expression remains stoic, hiding the emotions swirling beneath the surface, trapped within haunting memories.