from me to you. → kth | ✓

01.

[🥂] chapter one: i just killed a man

"I DON'T SEE why this should be an argument. As a woman, all you're good for is standing there, looking pretty, and most of all" He pauses, angrily trying to fix the cufflinks on his right wrist. "- keeping quiet. Now turn around so I can see how you look from the back."

I sigh, already used to this routine, and do as he asks. We were supposed to be going out for dinner to celebrate my birthday, but it doesn't feel like one.

He rests an arm on my shoulder, pulling me towards him. "You look pretty, just like you're supposed to. Now, make me proud out there and stop asking questions in front of my friends."

One of the questions he's referring to includes the one I asked while he was getting dressed. I simply asked why Mina, one of his friend's girlfriend was allegedly allowed to wear whatever she liked, when she liked, as she happily told me.

Her exact words were: "I think you should wear what you want when you want to. Stop basing it on Mark's opinions. He's not your dad, he's your boyfriend."

That means what he's doing isn't right. But how should I know? It's simply what she thinks is right. So I asked him, and as usual, whenever I ask him a question, he got angry with me.

Then I asked him something a stranger had told me the last time we went out together for lunch.

"Is our relationship abusive?"

His reaction then is something I don't want to ever recount.

"Let's go." He says, glancing at his wristwatch. "We're going to be late for the reservation."

I attempt to take a seat so I can wear my heels. "Mark, I don't think I can wear this dress."

"Why?"

"It's a bit tight. I can't really bend in it."

"So? That doesn't matter. Just don't bend." He turns around, uncorking his bottle of Moët. "This isn't just about you, you know."

But this is about me. I think to myself. And I can't wear this dress.

"No."

"No?"

"I can't wear this." I look at my feet and try to console my anxiety by fiddling with my hands. "I'm not comfortable wearing it. Doesn't that matter to you?"

Before I know it, his hand comes right across my cheek, stealing a single tear and a small yelp that escapes from my lips. It's painful, but something I've been gifted with in the past. Usually, I end up regretting listening to the thoughts of others, but this time it feels like some type of wake-up call. I can feel the adrenaline in my veins.