A/N:
Just so people know, Zelina Vega doesn't exist for this story. I wanted to try writing a story with Andrade for the first time, and his girlfriend is an OC of mine.
"Oh my god! Andrade just turned on Sunday! He just turned on his own girlfriend!" Tom shouted shocked.
"She had it coming," Corey said.
"I guess it's not true what they say about Sunday kids," Byron tried with a lame joke. "They're not born lucky."
"Shut up, Saxton!" Corey threw his pencil at Byron.
"Damn, he keeps beating her down," Tom shook his head. "Poor Sunday. She can't do anything."
One final blow and Andrade stood up to his full height, looking down at Sunday while his entire body was shaking. His face screamed of pain, yet he had chosen to beat her down on his own. It made no sense. He looked around on the booing crowd, nodding to agree with them. He was a bastard and he knew it. He rolled out of the ring and walked up the ramp.
"And the coward retreats," Tom said.
"Oh, boo-hoo!" Corey mocked. "We don't know what Sunday said or did backstage before they went down here. She's always had a mouth on her. I bet she asked for it."
Andrade kept his head held up high as he walked through the arena. Eyes were on him everywhere. Nobody could believe he had turned on his own girlfriend and given her such a bad beating.
"What the hell, Andrade?" AJ was the only one that dared stopping Andrade.
"Move," Andrade said lowly.
"What the hell was that in there?" AJ was clearly angry. "Were you trying to break every bone in her body?"
"I said move!" Andrade pushed AJ into the wall. "Get out of my fucking way, Styles, or you'll be joining her next week!"
He continued to the locker room, grabbed his bag and hightailed out of there. He couldn't deal with anybody in that moment. He jumped in his car and drove the short distance to the hotel. He unlocked the room and dropped his bag on the floor, staring at her suitcase and the empty double bed before stripping out of his clothes. He needed a shower to wash away the sweat from his body and the feeling of guilt.
"What did I do?" He asked lowly as he slid down the tiles and let the water run over him. "What did I do? What the fuck did I do?"
The good thing about hotels were that the water never ran cold so he stayed out there for as long as he could take it. He wasn't sure how long. 30 minutes, maybe even an hour. His skin looked like it belonged to an old man when he finally reached a hand up to turn off the water.
He sat on the wet floor a little longer, just staring out in the air. He had hurt her, the one person he was supposed to protect. His own girlfriend. She didn't deserve it. She deserved to be loved and he did love her. More than anything. That's why he had done it. To protect her from something much worse.
A noise from the room made him snap out of it. He quickly got back up on his feet, opened the bathroom door and stared at her. He didn't know how she had made it back to the hotel but her left arm was in a sling while she tried packing her suitcase with her right hand.
"Sunday," he whispered.
She shook slightly before standing back up and turning to see him. Her face looked just as broken and swollen from crying as he imagined his own did. For a few seconds they stared at each other and then he ran to her and put his arms around her.
"I'm so sorry," he cried.
She placed her right hand on his chest and pushed him away.
"I didn't mean to," he said.
"Then why did you do it?" Her voice was spitting venom. "Why the fuck did you do it, Andrade? You broke my wrist and popped my shoulder out of place. I can't wrestle for months because of you. I thought you loved me."
"I do!" He yelled. "Please, listen to me. I had to."
"You had to?" She couldn't believe him.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, wanting to take her in his arms again but he knew she wouldn't allow it and he couldn't blame her. He had put a barrier between them with his actions and he needed to get her back on his side fast before she zipped her suitcase and walked out of the room.
"Shane came to me earlier today," he said. "He said that if I didn't beat you up inside that ring tonight, he would do way worse."
"Like what?" She asked.
"He said he would send out Randy to..." He couldn't say the word. "Hurt you."
"So instead you hurt me? I'd rather it had been Randy," she said.
"No, you don't understand," he grabbed her good shoulder.
He had to say the word no matter how much he hated it.
"He said he would send out Randy to rape you, okay? That they would knock me out and drag you somewhere and let Randy break you the worst way possible," he said.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked.
"I couldn't. I was given those two choices," he said.
"What about my choice?" She yelled.
She yanked her shoulder out of his hand and stared at him.
"You don't get it," he said.
"No, you don't get it!" She yelled. "They played you, Andrade! They fucking tricked you! You could have told me and I could have made my choice and be ready for whatever might happen. And you know what? Nothing would have happened! Randy wouldn't have done shit to me and you know it. They made you do all the dirty work, not to break me but to break you because they knew that me leaving you would break you."
"Please, don't leave me!" He begged.
"How the hell do you expect me to be with you after tonight?" She asked.
He couldn't give her an answer. There was no answer. She was right. They had played him and he had jumped right into their trap. He had hurt her, beaten her, broken her, and now she was leaving. He watched as she crouched down again, zipped her suitcase and stood up. Her good hand grabbed the handle and she moved towards the door.
"Please, Sunday," he had to give it one last try. "I love you."
"That's the worst part," she sighed and looked over her shoulder at him. "I love you too but I can never trust you again. You broke us, Andrade. You fucking broke us apart."