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In the end, he just screamed at me about not fucking around, then demanded I go up to bed, kicking me in the rear when I didn't move fast enough for him.
I had closed myself in my room, locking the door, taking myself into the bathroom where I caught my reflection in the mirror, seeing the fear there.
And it had done something to me.
It woke a rage I didn't know I could possess, so big and heavy that I wasn't sure my frame could contain it all.
I had been as lily white as a girl could be when he had accused me of sleeping around.
The next night, I followed a guy into his backseat and lost my virginity in an act of utter defiance.
It hadn't occurred to me before, but hearing Helga talk about my father's men - and his possible plans for me - I realized what that anger had been about.
A woman was always "worth" more when she hadn't known the touch of a man.
As if an intact hymen was a fucking selling point.
As if our worth was determined by if we had shared our bodies with someone before or not.
Losing my virginity had always been an act of power, something I never looked back on with regret. Even if it hurt. Even if it hadn't been the least bit pleasurable. Even if I didn't love the guy. Or even have any feelings whatsoever about him. Even if I only saw him once again, and he didn't even know my name.
It wasn't about him.
It was about me.
And the right to make my own choices about my body, refusing to let any man dictate what I could or could not do with it.
Even if I wanted to be the biggest whore on the east coast.
I was doubly glad now, though, that that was a choice I had made. That he could never use my innocence to drive up my price tag.
"Think about it. Sleep on it," Helga begged, groaning a little as she pushed down on the table to get to her feet, her bones creaking in objection. "Promise me," she demanded as she pulled the scones out of the oven.
"I promise," I assured her, slinging an arm around her lower back, pressing a kiss into her cheek.
Even though I had no intention of leaving her.
At this rate, I didn't care if I had to drag her with me in the middle of the night.
We were leaving.
And soon.--The sun was an unyielding, cruel mistress, paying no mind to the striped pink and green awning meant to keep it from pelting down on me inside the wooden booth.
The ice cream machines only aggravated the situation, blowing off hot hair as they ran, making the back of my shirt stick to me, the hair at the nape of my neck dampen, occasionally trickling down between my shoulder blades. The visor on my head - the same hideous stripes as my shirt and the awning - at least managed to keep any sweat from dripping down my forehead.
Just another hour, I reminded myself as I fanned my face with a laminated menu of the twenty-one flavors of ice cream, and thirty different toppings. In an hour, the sun would be behind me instead of staring me in the eyes, making a mockery of the makeup I had applied before my shift.
Seeing no one looking my way, I ducked behind the soft serve machine where the break room was situated. It could barely be considered one, being the size of a closet, literally just large enough to turn around in, but we had a light, a chair, and a mirror.
Grabbing my purse off the chair, I dug out the baby wipes I had for just this reason, swiping off the remaining traces of makeup before tightening my ponytail, swiping some of the sweat off my chest and neck, then moving back out front to find a family of three waiting for me.
"Sorry about that!" I said, smiling at the boy with his toothless grin as he rambled off four toppings he wanted on his sundae.
"Think he's half in love with you," a voice said.
A familiar voice.
A voice that belonged in my father's office, not at my job.
"What are you doing here?" I heard myself ask, tone a little sharp, making me grimace as soon as I heard it.
"Been here weeks, and I haven't walked the boardwalk during the day," he told me. "Had the day off. Figured I would see what all the fuss was about. Saw you. Decided to come say hi."
He decided to come say hi after avoiding me for weeks?
He did have the day off, though, that was clear. Because he wasn't in a suit. My father demanded suits. As if dressing up drug dealers and enforcers somehow made them respectable citizens.
