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Oh man.I think distantly.He’s insane too.
“I will not be messed with, do you understand?” he growls in a low tone. Yes, he actually growls. “You will not use me for a free meal or to just boost your ego. Maybe I’ll take that from the skinny, pretty bitches but I’m not going to take that from you.”
“Let me go,” I grit it out, trying to keep my voice firm despite my racing heartbeat. “Or I’m going to scream.”
For a second, I think he won't let me go. His face is twisted in an expression so sinister that it reminds me of some kind of unhinged serial killer.
It reminds me of the fact that I didn't do a background check on him. I thought since he works at the University and we were introduced by mutual friends, I didn't need to.
Shit.
What if he actuallyisa serial killer?
But then he draws back his hand, allowing me to land back in my seat. I instantly shoot up to my feet and rustle in my bag pulling out a hundred-dollar bill.
I toss it on the table. “Keep the change.”
Then I grab my salad and bolt out of there as fast as I can.
Not fast enough, though, because his parting words reach me
“You know, a woman like you won’t have options forever!”
It's loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear it, and there are a lot of people there too.
Humiliation washes through me, pressing me down as I storm out.
But I refuse to let myself be bullied. I won't cry over an asshole, I already did that enough through my high school years. I've been unlucky in love for a very long time and this isn't my first shitty date.
And it probably wouldn't be my last either, as much as the thought depresses me.
I continue down the pathway surrounded by tall oak trees. I forego calling the Uber and decide to walk home. My place is not far from the Dairy Queen (cheap bastard) and the walk is pretty scenic, with persimmon trees and low flowers surrounding a winding pathway. I'm hoping the beauty will improve my mood because I'm still so spitting mad that I can't believe it.
Because as much as I try not to let it get to me, I can feel the despair in my chest, and the tears sting behind my eyes.
Don’t cry.I tell myself.No matter what, don’t you dare cry.
Even though I can feel it in my chest, I tell myself it’s anger that I feel and not despair.
It's taken me a while to come to terms with my body. I'm not enormous by any means but I'm a full-figured woman, and at five feet and eight inches, I've always felt too much for most of the men I've dated. Like I'm a dirty little secret that they fuck indoors but don't claim otherwise.
It's why I took a three-year break from dating to work on my self-esteem, because I realized that I kept picking the same men who didn't give a damn about me. I‘ve worked so hard on my confidence and to not feel second best to the thinner, more svelte women too.
I've been doing well so far.
But apparently not well enough because it only takes a few choice words from some asshat to make me feel like the frumpy high school girl again who wears sweaters that are way too big for her frame.
I stop in my tracks and take a deep breath of the cool evening wind. It’s been a cooler summer so far, and the weather is nice, at least for the walk.
I tell myself to stop being ridiculous. That’s one bastard who’s not even worth a minute of my time. I’ve taken a long time to build myself as a complete woman to let anyone ruin it for me.
You’re beautiful, I say.No matter what anyone says, you're enough.
Sometimes, I want to be one of those people who are fine on their own but the truth is I can’t. I crave companionship and sex. Love. I want to be with someone who is proud to have me on their arm, a man like the heroes in the romance books I read.
You’ll find someone, I tell myself, but I’m not sure I believe it. My last three dates happened to be an unemployed man who insisted on moving into my place as quickly as possible (thank god I have a roommate and half a brain) a chronic stoner who was still sleeping with his ex, and this man who was a psychotic, fatphobic douche.
Which is just my luck.
