THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance

his memory, but how I imagined he would look older than thirteen like the way that he was permanently stuck in my mind. Sometimes I would paint too much muscle, or his eyes would be too sad. Turns out I was wrong on all fronts.
Bowen made it hard to see past the glossy finish of designer plaid pants and chunky boots. I was sure at first glance he looked just like anyone else with a chip on their shoulder. I knew better, he was in so much pain it had morphed into normalcy.
He always wore pain like a designer jacket even when we were younger: true to size and dry clean only.
Now, I could paint in private with more accurate source material.
Making my way back downstairs to grab my paints and canvases, I breezed past his door that had been left open. His door was never left open, not even a crack.
Sneaking inside, I took in his private space in the daylight, trying to collect all the clues I could to his destruction. Still coming up empty, I settled for just being in his space without him around to ignore me or kick me out.
His room was bare and covered in matte black surfaces that blended in with the hardwood black floors. His bed frame had the most unique posts crawling up into the air—modern, thin, and

metal instead of wood like more traditional ones are. His two small bedside tables seemed to float—also matte black with sleek gold handles, both boxing in his huge bed that I wasn’t sure he even slept in.
In just the short time I had been here, I had seen him passed out everywhere else in a drunken stupor.
Twisting around, I swiped my fingers along the dresser avoiding the air pods, the Clave ring, and a decorative bottle of Hennessy that I wasn’t sure was just for decoration. Not with his thirsty ass mouth and annoyances begging to be dulled down every time his eyes found mine.
My eyes scanned around to see a wall-sized print of a faceless girl with dark hair tangled in a sheet; her pale legs spread open to reveal a garden of flowers blooming between them. Her hands hovering over the blooms were busted with chipped nails, and a butterfly was fluttering over the petals as her fingers circled the center of the peony.
It was beautiful and dripping in vibrant colors that contrasted with the darkness of his room—of his life.
The naughtiness of this art placed right across from his bed sent chills down my legs and made my nipples perk up against the mess of ruffles covering my chest. My teddy was powder blue and see- through, leaving nothing to the imagination while giving him a perfect view of my matching hot shorts.
Jumping out of my daze with the sound of the door slamming downstairs, realization set in that Bowen was home early. He had a thing for slamming doors like they had personally offended him.
I was dipping my toe into uncharted territory when I didn’t make any moves to leave his space. I wanted to get caught. 
I wanted to be punished by him.
We had waited long enough for this time together. Our upcoming nuptials and wedding reception were only in the way. No one needed to know when we sealed the deal; I was only ever going to be his regardless.
That wasn’t in the agreement that neither of us had signed yet.
Wandering further into his room, I let my hand grasp the bedpost, swinging myself around and up onto his soft mattress in one motion. I felt something under me that was hard—a thick green Clave folder casually hiding amongst his thick blankets.
Fingering the folder, I heard Bowen’s voice dampening my motivation to look inside, but I opened it up anyway to find our contract. It was completely marked up with a red pen and small notes filled in the margins with no signature at the bottom.
We had a meeting scheduled with our parents at the Clave to go over the contract, but I knew better than to think his problems would be voiced loudly enough to change anything.
I could hear his heavy footsteps in those clunky ass boots coming down the hallway and right towards me, making my eyes pull away from reading his issues with the contract.
A promise was a promise even if we didn’t understand the ties of it when we were kids. 
I wasn’t going to let him have so many issues that it stopped him from sliding a ring on my finger.
Closing the folder and pushing it away from me, under his pillow, I crossed my ankles, keeping my eyes on the doorway as he stomped his way through the threshold. Pushing my lips into a soft smile, I pressed back into my palms to prop myself up as his face twisted into fury pretty quickly at the sight of me in his bed—half naked.
I’m sure the front door, hallway, and the laces on his boots all found ways to aggravate him on his way upstairs. He was easily triggered.
He had a face that just looked like he had feelings. More than most.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” his voice pushed me further up the bed like we both agreed I was in trouble.
I was used to it.
Crossing my ankles, I fell back into his pillows, stretching my arms above my head. “It’s really like I’m flirting with a corpse because you’re either never here or want nothing to do with me. I have to get my fix somehow.”


He started looking around with his laser focus, flipping over the duvet and recklessly throwing pillows off the bed when he shouted, “Where is it, Eve?! Where’s my folder?” My body sprang up at the assault his words had on the air between us,