Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I hate her.
“You’re late…again. Not only that, but Louise is also out there serving your customers.” Her lips pucker as she talks, and it looks like an asshole. Does she ever look in the mirror? Sarah reminds me of someone who has always gotten what they want, and the minute someone else gets more attention, they snap.
I’m that person she wants to snap at, and it seems she is now doing it constantly.
But she also knows it comes with a price.
I won’t just sit here and take her bullshit like some people she knows. I will snap right back and worse.
The next time she touches me without my consent—even a tap on the shoulder—I will slam her head into the locker as hard as I fucking can, and I have zero care factor about what damage I do to that face.
She needs to learn manners, and it seems I was put on her path to teach her some.
Sarah continues to stare at me. Her big white teeth peek through her stained lips when she smirks. God, she gets on my nerves. “Louise can handle them. Now… Fuck off.” I sneer at her as I grab a tray and make my way out.
When I step out into the bar, I see Louise in one of the private booths, but this time it’s not filled with people. There is only one person, and his eyes have already found mine. Louise follows his gaze checking over her shoulder. A small smile takes over her lips and she relaxes her posture in relief when seeing me. She turns back and says something to him before she steps down the stairs and straight to me.
My feet are frozen to the spot.
The last time I saw this man I ran away from him with only a sheet to cover me. And now he is sitting in my workplace, in a booth that costs a small fortune to book, waiting for me to serve him.
“I’m so glad you’re here. He won’t buy anything, and I know he’s waiting on you.” I manage to meet her eyes and nod. She does her usual, stepping into my personal space and wrapping her arms around me as she gives me a quick hug hello. As usual, I don’t reciprocate and as usual it doesn’t bother her. She’s used to that now. “Okay, I’m going to service my own customers now. Let’s chat when you finish.” She runs off as I stay rooted to my spot.
What do I do?
Do I run again? No.
He doesn’t have the upper hand here, I do. Or so I keep telling myself.
I put one foot in front of the other, striding straight past his booth. I feel his eyes burn my body as I pass. I force myself not to look in his direction as I reach the bar and grab some drinks. The bartender waves hello to me, but I can’t seem to do the same back. I’m trying to work out the best course of action and how to deal with the man waiting for me.
Being in and out of foster care all my life, I learned early on how to handle men. The system taught me to depend on no one but myself. I can read people’s body language and work out how to treat them based on their personalities, so harm never falls on me again.
In one of my houses growing up, they drank—a lot.
They used to hit the kids when they were drunk. And at first, I received those blows, and it was frustrating. Until I learned that if I offered them things, little things to help them while they were intoxicated, they didn’t look at me as if I were a punching bag.
It would be as simple as not looking them in the eyes and asking if they want a drink—alcohol, of course. Just helping them as much as possible to view me as a bonus not a burden.
For another family I lived with, it was all in the way you spoke to them. A soft demeanor and a gentle smile would get you food, particularly when it was held back as punishment.
Not all of it was bad.
I was placed with an elderly couple once for about six months. It was the best home I lived in. They cooked every night, and they taught me how to make the best chocolate cake. It’s my best party trick, and I made it at many other foster homes when I needed to get on their good sides.
It’s a good thing too since it’s the only thing I know how to cook.
And it’s saved me many times.
Steeling myself, I turn with the tray and make my way to his table. Taking the few steps I need to, I breathe deeply, trying to gain some equilibrium before I glance at him.