Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“How about a smile?”
Again, I must reiterate how young I was. Fourteen years his junior, in fact. With an extremely limited dating history. Back before there were a lot of conversations about how weird it was when men would tell women to smile when they would never, ever, demand that of another man.
Smile for me might as well mean perform for me.
But I smiled for him.
“That’s better. You’re much prettier when you smile,” he’d said. I’d taken that as a compliment. It would be years before I even heard the term ‘negging’ let alone realized Kyle was guilty of exactly that. “I’ll have a large coffee with an extra shot.”
“No cream? Sugar? Flavor?” I’d asked, plugging my code into the register to wake it up then tapping in his order while I waited for him to answer. But he refused to until I glanced back up at him.
“No,” he’d said with a tone that suggested anyone who did want those things was an idiot.
“Okay. That’ll be four-ninety-nine,” I’d said, waiting for him to produce a ten, then handing it to me.
“Keep the change,” he’d said with an air of importance like he’d given me a hundred for a tip.
But, well, it was generous compared to what I’d gotten so far, so I’d been excited as I reached to dump the coffee.
“I’m going to make you a fresh pot,” I’d told him. “It’s been sitting for a bit.”
“Sounds good,” he’d said, and I was hyperaware of his eyes on me as I went through the motions of making a new pot. Then, waiting for it to drip, I took his cup to the latte machine to make his extra shot. “How long have you been working here?”
“Well, I trained for two weeks. But this is only the fourth night I’ve been working by myself.” He only nodded at that. I’d been desperate to engage him further, so I looked over at him and asked, “Do you come here often?”
“Every night,” he’d said. Instead of feeling suspicion, since I’d been there every night for four of them and this was the first I’d seen him, I’d only felt excitement at the idea of getting to see him again. Maybe I could even have his drink waiting for him. People liked that. It made them feel seen and important.
He did come in every night after that. And I did learn his schedule, having fresh coffee ready, then just throwing it together when I saw him walking up.
“How old are you?” he’d asked sometime that first month after weeks of having long conversations where, mostly, he talked or picked apart my answers to his questions. I’d thought it meant he was interested, not that he was criticizing me.
“Nineteen,” I’d told him, shoulders pulling back, feeling that nineteen was so mature.
“That explains it,” he’d said, making my shoulders immediately fold forward as my mind raced, trying to figure out what I’d said wrong to make him think that.
I would see in the coming weeks, months, and, yes, years, that I never actually did anything wrong, that he was always looking for subtle ways to knock me down a peg, to keep me from feeling confident or comfortable in my own skin.
What’s this? he’d ask when I was getting changed in front of him, grabbing hold of the fat covering my hip, or my inner thigh, my lower tummy, making me immediately aware of his disapproval without him actually having to say anything else about it. Then, if I knuckled down, starved myself, exercised myself to exhaustion, he would nod at my new body and declare That’s more like it.
Over time, the praise got less and less frequent. Which, as sick as this was, only made me strive harder and harder for it.
He liked sports and made it clear that my ignorance was a turn-off, so I’d go online and study for hours at night when he was asleep, trying to learn everything I possibly could about how the game worked.
I learned quickly that while he did want me to know some basics, it pissed him off to no end when I eventually became studied enough on a topic to correct him.
What, you read a couple articles and think you know more than me? He’d rage as he jumped off the couch, going to grab his wallet and keys as I rushed after him, begging to know where he was going. To spend time with people who don’t act like little know-it-alls.
I wish I could say that I recognized it as control. Especially as he started taking my paycheck, only giving me a small allowance back to buy my own personal items with. Or when he would sit me down for a ‘serious discussion’ when he thought I was becoming too friendly with coworkers, telling me that they didn’t have my best interest at heart.