Fix You: Bash and Olivia by Christine Bell Page B

friend after Andy's snide insult. He ignored them and kept right on knocking until the person in the restroom came out with a scowl on her face.
    "Chill out, asshole."
    He didn't respond to her either, and dragged me into the bathroom. I sent the shorter girl who had tears in her eyes a sympathetic smile and mouthed an apology, shame wrapping more tightly around me when she looked like she felt even sorrier for me than she did for herself. Before I could think on that too hard, the door slammed closed between us and Andy leaned down until his face was level with mine.
    "What. The. Fuck," Andy ground out through gritted teeth. I could smell the beer and bourbon, sour on his breath, and it made my stomach churn. He pressed me hard against the wall and punched the paneling behind my head loud enough to make my ears ring.
    "Calm down,” I whispered desperately, close to pleading. “Look, it was nothing, I—" The words died on my lips as I realized I wasn't sure which thing he’d seen that had infuriated him. Was it the bartender with the wandering eye or Buzzcut Sebastian with the lips from heaven that had gotten Andy so mad? Maybe both. Maybe neither? Could have been some other imagined slight that had blown up in his mind to be a betrayal. Generic excuses rattled around in my head like a pinball, but I was afraid to voice any of them for fear of making things worse.
    The thing about Andy was that, before, most of the time? He was great. Funny, witty, smart. Handsome and polite, and my parents loved him. They couldn't wait for us to graduate from college and get married. And I thought I couldn't wait for that too. But lately, especially when he drank, his temper got the better of him and over the past few months I'd gone from being irritated by his possessiveness to being downright scared.
    Two weeks ago, things had taken a dark turn when he'd finally crossed the line and put his hands on me. It was just the one time, and it hadn’t been a punch—more of a hard grab and a shake—but it was enough.
    Now this.
    I wasn't scared anymore. I was terrified, and the look on his face and the spittle coming from his mouth as he shouted at me wasn’t helping.
    "You can say whatever you want to, Olivia, but we both know the truth. If you didn't want the attention, you wouldn't dress that way. So what am I supposed to do when guys stare at you like they want to fuck you, and think they can paw all over you?" The pulse in his neck pounded furiously and I bit my lip hard to keep from bursting into tears. "Do you know how that makes me look? Like some kind of bitch-ass punk, that's how."
    He nailed the wall behind my head again with his fist. At least now I knew the root of the problem. If I could diffuse the situation and get out of there, we could talk it through tomorrow when he was thinking clearer. It was long past time that I stopped hiding my head in the sand and dealt with this head-on, but I wasn’t going to do it when he was wasted.
    I grabbed his arm and tried to keep my voice calm in spite of the fact that my stomach was roiling and the alcohol in my system was about to make a reappearance down the front of my shirt. "Andy, I'm not dressed any different than most of the girls here. And the guy who grabbed me caught me to keep me from falling. He works here. He was just doing his job."
    His mouth twisted into the ugly smirk I’d seen only once before, two weeks ago, and I knew shit was about to get really mean. Would he seriously hurt me this time? The fight or flight instinct hit hard and, heart slamming against my ribs, I ducked underneath his arms to make a grab for the door handle. I'd just gotten it open a crack when he kicked it shut again.
    "Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you.” He pulled me away from the door and shoved me against the wall again, this time crowding me until I had to crane my neck back to see his face. His hand closed over my throat, and his voice dropped low. "If you ever embarrass