His words were so sweet, it made my teeth ache. There he was, in all his glory, throwing his head back and slapping a hand against his lap. I hated him. I hated him. I hated him.
“My wife here,” He extended an arm towards me, calling me over. I stood up and strode towards him, not paying attention to the sounds his poison-filled lips were making. I smiled at his guests, the ones that smiled back. I pity them, they feel obliged to be here, standing before the multimillionaire I have the burden to call mine.
Just a few more hours, just a few more hours…
“Well, it is rare to find a woman who is both captivating and able to speak like a man,” one of his business partners states, as if it were a compliment.
“Yes, I am still looking for one,” he retorts, and I crumple my fist hard enough for blood to peek through the palms of my hand. But they laugh, and they laugh and laugh again.
“But I pay her enough to stay here with me.” He smiles at me, like I do not understand English. He strokes the back of my hand forcefully, his nails digging through the flesh of my palms. His eyes demand that I smile, so I comply.
Just a few more hours, just a few more hours…
“Thank you for coming, we look forward to having you back.” He firmly gives his last handshake before we stand together, watching the cars drive away. I anticipate a slap from him, but it never comes. Instead, we stand there in silence, a slight fear unable to shake my intention for the night.
“And darling, thank you. After that dinner, we might even buy a new mansion.” He laughs, walking back inside the house. “Come in, come in…”
Now, now…
He sits there on the couch, reading a magazine. I walk towards him, unnoticed by the sharp eyes and dangerous intuition of the man in front of me. I walk towards him, raising my hand to aim just between his eyes, above his nose. I walk towards him and stop just three inches away.
It is not until the gun clicks that he looks up at me.
“Darling?” He starts, his eyes wandering from mine to the firearm in my palms. I instinctively clutch the gun with two hands, my eyes never leaving him. “We can talk through this, I can give you money, I can-“
“Shut up.” My grip firms on the handle. He closes his mouth.
“I control you, darling. You live because of me. You serve at my pleasure.”
“Not anymore,” I press the barrel against his forehead. “The tide has turned.”
“My wife here,” He extended an arm towards me, calling me over. I stood up and strode towards him, not paying attention to the sounds his poison-filled lips were making. I smiled at his guests, the ones that smiled back. I pity them, they feel obliged to be here, standing before the multimillionaire I have the burden to call mine.
Just a few more hours, just a few more hours…
“Well, it is rare to find a woman who is both captivating and able to speak like a man,” one of his business partners states, as if it were a compliment.
“Yes, I am still looking for one,” he retorts, and I crumple my fist hard enough for blood to peek through the palms of my hand. But they laugh, and they laugh and laugh again.
“But I pay her enough to stay here with me.” He smiles at me, like I do not understand English. He strokes the back of my hand forcefully, his nails digging through the flesh of my palms. His eyes demand that I smile, so I comply.
Just a few more hours, just a few more hours…
“Thank you for coming, we look forward to having you back.” He firmly gives his last handshake before we stand together, watching the cars drive away. I anticipate a slap from him, but it never comes. Instead, we stand there in silence, a slight fear unable to shake my intention for the night.
“And darling, thank you. After that dinner, we might even buy a new mansion.” He laughs, walking back inside the house. “Come in, come in…”
Now, now…
He sits there on the couch, reading a magazine. I walk towards him, unnoticed by the sharp eyes and dangerous intuition of the man in front of me. I walk towards him, raising my hand to aim just between his eyes, above his nose. I walk towards him and stop just three inches away.
It is not until the gun clicks that he looks up at me.
“Darling?” He starts, his eyes wandering from mine to the firearm in my palms. I instinctively clutch the gun with two hands, my eyes never leaving him. “We can talk through this, I can give you money, I can-“
“Shut up.” My grip firms on the handle. He closes his mouth.
“I control you, darling. You live because of me. You serve at my pleasure.”
“Not anymore,” I press the barrel against his forehead. “The tide has turned.”
Katya Tjahaja
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