here is a quiet hum in my chest as I shower. Dinner with Max felt right, somehow, like it's something we do all the time. I'd told him about things I've never told anyone–like my ear pinning–and he actually listened. Cared.

It's something I'm not used to. People stop talking when I open my mouth, but they don't really listen. They don't reflect. They just tell me what I want to hear in the hopes that sucking up pays off.

My lips still tingle from our kiss. I find myself smiling as I work shampoo through my hair, imagining what it would be like to go further. To have his hands explore my body properly, no restraint. I can tell he's holding back for several reasons, but what if he didn't?

I work the soap in next, a light, coconut scent that makes me think of the Tropics. It's still hard to believe that Max has never left this state, let alone the country.

Even though it's insane, I'm suddenly fantasizing about what it would be like to show him all the things I've been lucky enough to see. I close my eyes, allowing my mind to wander to other fantasies, the far less innocent kind.

It's the kitchen kiss I replay in my mind; the way he'd hooked my legs around his waist and lifted me on the counter. I'm not exactly inexperienced, but he'd kissed me in ways I've never been kissed before; it's hard not to think about.

I finish in the shower and change into a large black tee. After working leave-in conditioner through my hair, I walk into my bedroom to find Justin leaning against the doorframe watching me.

Instantly, my stomach clenches. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

He closes the door, then crosses the room without making a sound. "You've been MIA all day. Figured I'd check you were still alive."

I force a smile. "Alive, just tired. I was actually planning on going to sleep now." I walk over to the bed and take a seat like I'm getting ready to sleep.

A second passes, then another. He doesn't take the hint. "Where have you been?"

I'm silent as I stare at him. There is something different in his eyes tonight; something dangerous. I get to my feet in a bid to feel less powerless, but he towers over me. "Is everything okay?"

His eyes darken. "You tell me."

My heart pounds. I feign confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says, grabbing my face, "I saw you get out of the car of that asshole. Something you want to tell me?"

My blood runs cold. "It's not what you think."

His grip tightens, and I feel the pressure in my teeth. "Really?" he asks. "Because it looks like my girlfriend is running around with a gangbanger like a little slut."

My fear is briefly replaced with disgust. "You had sex with someone else but I'm a slut?" It's the wrong thing to say, and I know it as soon as the words leave my mouth.

He presses against me, lowering his head until he's right in my face. "Is that what this is? You're way of getting back at me?"

"No." I swallow hard and glance at the door. This house is a mansion, but maybe if I scream loud enough, my parents will hear me.

"Do it," Justin says. "Scream for them. We'll tell them all about your new little romance. Then I'll tell my dad to end this business deal so fast, you'll be out on the streets before you know it. No college, no nothing. Is he worth all this, Alyssa? Worth your family and future?"

Anger fills my bones until I'm shaking. I tilt my head to look at him, trying to keep it together. "It's not what you think. He was just driving me home."

"From where?" he asks.

"I joined the gym, and he happens to go there, too."

"The gym," Justin repeats, letting go of my face.

"A boxing gym," I say, and I hate that my voice shakes. "When I saw you fight, I wanted to try it. I didn't know he went to the same gym. We don't even talk, but he offered to drive me home tonight because I didn't have my car. It was the first and only time."

His jaw clenches. He runs a hand down his face, glancing at my bedroom door before looking at me. "You thought it was a good idea to get a ride with that guy?"

I let out a shaky breath. It's becoming harder to control myself–to control him. "I wasn't thinking. I just didn't want to have to waste money on an Uber."

Justin sighs and looks down at me. This isn't the first time he's gotten angry about guys. His jealousy has led us to many altercations, but this time, it's different. This time, it's Max, the guy who beat him down in the boxing ring–that makes it personal.

"I have the chance to ruin your whole family, do you know that?" he says.

"Yes."

He shakes his head, letting out a humorless laugh. "My dad told me all about the shitty business deals your father made. He's on the verge of going bankrupt unless my dad bails him out with this new property investment. One word from me, Alyssa, and you're family is done for. Is that what you want?"

I swallow back the lump in my throat. I am used to being the one in control, the one calling the shots; this lack of power is killing me. "No."

He nods like I've made the right choice. "I'll make a deal with you, alright? I'll keep my mouth shut about this, but from now on, you don't go to that gym anymore, and if that little bitch comes within three feet of your ass, he's done."

I close my eyes. I'm so close to appeasing him, to getting out of this situation unscathed, but I can't do it. I can't hold my tongue any longer. "He's not the little bitch."

The silence stretches on until I open my eyes. Justin is watching me as though he can't believe what I've said. "What?"

I straighten up, because this isn't me. I didn't climb to the top of the hierarchy by being meek and submissive. "I have a better deal. We're done, and you're going to leave my house before I call the cops and tell them you assaulted me."

The way his expression darkens terrifies me. His hand darts out and he grabs me by the neck, shoving me back into the wall. His eyes flash with fury as I struggle for breath.

He leans in closer, positioning his mouth near my ear. "Keep up with the boxing lessons," he whispers. "You're going to need them." Then, without another word, he walks out.

I let out a sob and rush into the bathroom, where I lean over the sink. It feels like his hand is still around my neck. He's always been quick to temper, but nothing like this; I am terrified.

When I'm done with sobbing, I look into the mirror. Despite the red eyes, which could easily pass as allergies, my face offers no other hint of my unhappiness.

Years of facial treatments and salon visits have kept my hair and skin looking blemish-free because, as my mother never tires of telling me, there is nothing more important than taking care of one's looks.

My face looks fresh, void of troubles, but it's my eyes that give me away. Not because they are red, but because they are empty.

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