Curved Edges ✔

(1) Amalthea's Anger

♡ AMALTHEA

"We should bring your percentage of body fat down first. I mean, it would be a shame if no one was able to see the muscle you're growing, right?"

I grab my phone from the table, get up, pull my jacket from the back of the chair, and walk out of the coffeehouse, not even sparing him a glance. I am so done with people like him. He's the fifth personal trainer I walk out on before we got started. 

What the fuck is wrong with them? I pay you to help me reach the goals I want. Not the goals you think I should want! Fuck all of them! Back to lifting weights and resistance band training at home. The only one judging me there is my own reflection.

And the female trainers were even worse. The two bitches I met with thought it would be helpful to insult me. Like that would motivate me to work out more or eat less or something. Oh, it motivates me alright. To pull those extensions from your fucking head and pluck those fake lashes off, real slow.

Yeah, there's an angry devil hiding inside of me. I'm pretty sure I didn't have to mention that anymore but just in case you're a little slower than the rest I thought I'd spell it out.

My blood is boiling and I scold myself for even wasting my precious time on another idiot. And what's worse I know why. It was his voice on the phone. I hate myself for falling for his deep, raspy voice. 

You know you need to get laid when a guy's voice gets you excited. 

I feel my phone vibrate in my hand and see my assistant's name flash on the screen. I deny the call. There's no way I can talk to that chipper, fake-titted, blonde bitch right now.

Don't get me wrong, I love her as an assistant. She is very good at her job, gets everything done on time, and with a ribbon on it. She knows exactly how to use her body to get favors and I admire her for it because I do the exact same thing. 

Women in a corporate world should always make good use of their assets if you catch my drift. Get them staring and imagining things and then slap them with a deal that's way better for your company than theirs. Because by then they're already under your spell.

My anger starts to subside and I pick up the pace towards the office. And that's when it happens;  the next thing to piss me off. This has turned out to be a wonderful morning. My stiletto heel gets caught in a crack in the sidewalk and I twist my ankle before falling on my ass. Thank the lord for that behind, because it breaks my fall nicely. 

But guess what? My anger is back with a vengeance.

"God-fucking-dammit just what I needed!", I yell at the sky. 

I try to move my leg and feel a sharp pain shoot through it like someone cracked a whip on it. 

I start praying to every god out there to have the pain go away. I know, I just swore like a sailor, out loud. But I don't need this right now. I really don't. 

I take the shoe off and stare at the broken heel with disgust.

And out of all the days... I always carry flats in my handbag. You know those little, easy-to-fold-up ballerina shoes? I wear them every time I sit down at my desk and no one can see me. I fully understand the power of a good stiletto heel in a world full of men in suits. But at the same time, I curse them every single day. 

But guess what? I switched handbags this morning and was too lazy to put them in, figured I could just take my heels off under my desk. 

Well, guess what, bitch? You're limping home on your stockings.