W A R N I N G: CAN BE CRINGE
"Shhh...just a little bit more. If you can still walk, then we're not finished." He groaned, moving down to my breasts, I moaned loudly, lost in a sea of pleasure. God I would definitely asked my existence after this.
An...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
That same day, back at my soul-crushing waitress job, I found myself on the brink of losing my cool with a particularly obnoxious customer. It was the usual routine-plaster on a smile, pretend the sleazy comments didn't make my skin crawl, and just get through the shift without snapping. Easier said than done.
"So, what would you like to eat?" I asked, forcing politeness into my voice as the middle-aged man at the table leered at me, his eyes roaming where they had no business being.
"Come on, I don't bite," he said with a sleazy grin, leaning in like he was doing me a favor. "How about a phone number?"
I stepped back just enough to keep his grubby hands at a distance, and gave him a deadpan stare. "I don't see that on the menu," I replied, my tone sharp enough to cut glass.
He scoffed, not even fazed, and continued to eye me up and down like I was some kind of object. "Quite a beauty and not married? What a waste," he sneered, the mockery in his voice so blatant it made my blood boil.
My grip on the pen tightened as I scribbled down his order, doing everything in my power to keep from snapping it in half. I'd dealt with creeps before, but something about this guy really grated on me, like he thought he had some kind of power over me just because he was sitting in a booth and I was the one serving him.
"Anything else?" I asked through gritted teeth, hoping to speed this interaction up before I said something I'd regret.
"Yeah, a smile wouldn't hurt," he said with a wink, leaning back in his seat like he owned the place.
I forced a tight-lipped smile, feeling like I was seconds away from breaking the pen in half. "I'll be right back with your order," I said, turning on my heel before he could say anything else.
As I walked away, I felt the sting of his gaze still on me, and I had to take a deep breath to keep myself from marching back over there and telling him exactly where he could shove his order. But what good would that do? I needed this job, as crappy as it was, and making a scene wouldn't help.
In the back of my mind, I couldn't stop thinking about the interview earlier that day. The hope that had blossomed during that meeting with Chloe was the only thing keeping me going at this point. The idea that I might finally escape this place, escape men like him, was the thread I was hanging onto.
But as I went back to the kitchen to grab the pervert's order, I couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped-caught between the slim chance of a better future and the harsh reality of my present. And until I heard back from the Caesar Mansion, all I could do was grit my teeth and survive another day.
