Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Now, it’s pelting cats and dogs, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon either. I sigh gustily. How am I going to get home? I’m working until eight, which is when the store closes. Shit. I don’t want to call Joey even though he’s at home because I want to be independent. Besides, the car acts up in the rain. It has a leak in the sunroof, and it stalls out when it’s raining. If I called, Joey would come, but the drive over might ruin the car, and we can’t afford the repairs.
I’ll figure something out. Normally, I would take public transportation back to the trailer park, but according to the TV at the front of the store, buses are shut down because of the storm.
Shit. I can’t walk, I can’t take a bus, and I can’t call Joey. Maybe John will let me sleep in the break room tonight? There’s a small, shabby couch in there that might be more comfortable than my bed in the trailer.
My chest tightens. I’m trapped here, and I hate that feeling. I’m the kind of person who likes to be free, breathing in fresh air while getting some exercise. Sitting in the trailer since we’ve been quarantined is bad enough, but at least at home, I’m allowed to go outside and walk around. Right now, it’s raining so hard that I can’t even see the store across the street. I can’t so much as step outside without getting drenched to the bone.
I force myself to breathe. Everything is going to be okay. There’s still an hour left before the store closes. Maybe the skies will clear up by then and the buses will start running again. Yeah, right.
Resigned, I switch the TV channel to a cooking show, letting the inane chatter take me away from my problems. I’m fully immersed in a cooking competition when the bell over the door chimes. Thank god there’s a customer because I haven’t seen another human being since my break three hours ago.
A shabby, worn-down man skulks into the store. I can’t really see his face because his hood is up, and he has a face mask on. Come to think of it, I’m not even totally sure it’s a man, given that the figure is all covered up. But oh no – I can see the wiry hairs of a unkempt beard poking out from beneath his mask.
I squint. I don’t recognize him but I slap a smile on my face nonetheless.
“Hello,” I greet the man. “Welcome to ShopMore. Let me know if you need any help.”
The man grumbles. “I won’t be needing any help from you,” he says, his voice harsh.
I’m taken aback. What have I ever done to this man?
“Dirty bitch,” he mumbles.
He doesn’t mumble it quietly enough; I can hear him. It’s like he wants me to know what he thinks of me, and I stand, slack-jawed, as the man approaches the register. What is his problem? Is everyone acting out because of the pandemic? He doesn’t have a thing in his hands, but he glares at me over his face mask.
“Who let a disgusting woman like you in here?” he spits out. “You don’t belong in the world. You should be in a home like the rest of your kind. Life was easier when women stayed home. We didn’t have to interact with whores like you.”
My heart races as all the blood leaves my face.
“Sir, please stop…”
“Don’t tell me what to do, you filthy whore!” he hisses. “Women like you don’t belong at work! You’re taking jobs from our men! Don’t you know jobs are scarce these days? How are men supposed to feed their families with whores like you earning a paycheck?”
He gets closer. Luckily, the checkout counter is between us. My entire body is shaking, and I cower a bit behind the plastic barrier. Is this man dangerous? Will he start throwing more than words at me?
The man laughs evilly, his eyes dark like the devil.
“Good girl. Women are supposed to be scared. You should be at home cooking for your man. Do you even have a man? I doubt it, you slut.”
I open my mouth to ask him to leave, but then to my horror, he raises his hand. My eyes go wide and my mouth opens. Is this really happening? Is this man about to strike me?
My eyes go unfocused as his hand reaches higher in the air, swinging back before delivering a stinging blow. I tell myself to duck, or to run, or to do something, but everything is moving in slow motion, and the only thing I can do is stare in fright.
Suddenly, John erupts from his office and literally charges the man.
“Ooof!” the customer cries as John wrestles his arm behind his back.