The Sidekick

Chapter Thirty

Tera

Getting to know Max is so weird. Not uncomfortable, no idea what to say, blind date vibes. It’s odd because we get along so well. If he was single, I would have fallen all over myself for him by now.

But he isn’t. He’s in love with his boyfriend, and it’s sweet to see, even when it hurts. When I ask, he tells me stories about their relationship, eager to talk about it. The pure happiness he shows is sobering. I can’t see anyone being that happy with me.

They may have the right idea about this third-person thing. They don’t have to get hurt, and they fill a need they both occasionally have. There’s nothing wrong with that if everyone agrees. I could do that. If I think I’m catching feelings again, I can always walk away and know I have a friend in Max.

I know deep down that it doesn’t work like that. I don’t work like that, but I’m so close to jumping in without a care, just like before. The thoughts always sober me up to reality and turn my smiles cautious.

We’ve only been hanging out for two weeks. No physical intimacy, no kisses, or hugs or even hand holding. Conversations, movies, and actual getting-to-know-you instead of jumping into things. It makes me feel awkward because all I can think about is how good he felt, how perfect that one blip of time with him was. Sometimes, I think he feels the same way.

Something is going to have to give here.

I guess that’s me and Satan. I never go to the bar, and Max doesn’t ask me to. That can’t last much longer. It feels like Max is spending every spare moment with me instead of his boyfriend, making me feel guilty.

My phone rings, and I glance down, surprised to see Max’s name come up. He should be at work right now. Oh no, what if something happened?

I pick up in a rush, “Are you ok?”

There’s a pause, and I’m picturing all sorts of horrible things before he answers. “I’m fine, just run a little ragged. I was calling to beg you for a favor?”

I’m so relieved that I brush off his hesitance. “Sure. What do you need?”

“I need help at work,” he says softly, and I can hear loud laughter and a lot of people talking over each other excitedly. “We’re so short-staffed I can’t keep up, and I suck as a waiter.”

“I thought you had a full staff?” I ask in confusion. How could he be short-handed so suddenly?

“We do when they show up.” His reply is grim, and I can perfectly picture the heavy scowl on his face.

“I don’t know,” I chew my lower lip nervously. I haven’t been back since I lost my temper. And if they’re as short-staffed as he says, Satan will be on the floor as a waiter or a bartender, maybe both.

“I know,” Max’s voice fills with remorse. “I’m sorry, Pat talked me into this, and now I feel like kicking her ass. Don’t worry about it, ok?”

“No.” The word just pops out, and with it, a shield of determination. He called me for help, and I won’t back out on him. He needs me.

“Tera-”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

I hang up before he can say anything else and stand there stupidly for a second. Then the urgency that came when the phone rang takes me over again, and I hurry into my bedroom to change into something appropriate for a long night on my feet.

I’m cursing myself for doing this the entire way to the bar. I’m not ready to face Satan yet, and I will have to pretend it’s all fine because I don’t want to hurt Max’s feelings. Why am I doing this to myself?

I’m pulling into the packed parking lot before I know it, and my feet automatically hurry to get inside the front doors. Just like old times. I’m surprised by the frisson of excitement that zips through me as I walk in.

Oh my. That’s a lot of people.

Diana and Emily are behind the bar, rushing to fill drink orders. Satan and Max are doing their best to keep up with the tables, but a lot of people look irritated. Before anyone sees me, I rush back to the kitchen that’s been added on. Pat is sweating over a grill and glances up with her usual sour face.

“Get out there and make people happy, damn it,” she snaps.

I laugh as I grab an apron, black now instead of white, and rush back out. I’m not sure who’s this is, but they have a notepad and a few pens in the pockets, so I’m set.

I automatically take the tables closer to the door, greeting people as they walk in while I take orders for food and drinks. Instead of disturbing Diana and Emily”s groove, I mix my own drinks when I drop off tickets to Pat. I’m so busy I don’t have a chance to say hi to anyone, and I use that excuse to avoid Satan as much as possible.

A pair of waitresses stumble in a few hours after I arrived, and to say Satan isn’t pleased is an understatement. Guess they were no calls. I shrug it off and keep working.

When they start taking over some of my tables, I let it go because this isn’t my job anymore. Until they start giving the worst service I’ve ever seen before. They’re rude and antagonistic, riling the people I spent so long calming down, and it makes me so angry.

One has taken over half of Satan’s tables, and the other has taken half of mine. I could just walk away right now, but something inside me refuses. If I’m going to do a job, I’m going to do it right.

When the girl helping my side trips me as I carry a tray full of food, I’ve had enough.

I struggle with the tray, finally regaining my balance as patrons suck in a sharp breath in anticipation of impending disaster. I let out a sigh of relief at the close call, and several people clap when it’s apparent I’ve diverted the accident.

I get the food where it belongs, apologizing that everything is a little messy. Really, they’re lucky I didn’t throw it at the spiteful girl circling with a smirk. What started this nonsense? It’s childish and ridiculous.

When I return the tray to Pat for a reload of food, I spy the waitress leaning over the counter laughing with Emily as they both give me judgy looks. Diana gives them both a frustrated glare and meets my eyes. She does a series of confusing hand gestures behind Emily’s back. When I frown in confusion, she picks up the hose leading to the soda dispenser and aims it at her with a grin.

“No,” I mouth slowly and shake my head.

Diana pouts and lowers her arm. Emily must think I was trying to speak to her because she saunters over, ignoring customers calling for her attention. Has the service here been this bad all along, and I just didn’t notice? It’s disgraceful. Satan needs to stop hiring people who make his penis salute and focus on attitude.

“Problem?” Emily yells over the pulsing music around us, and I settle back into Shade imitation mode. I don’t have to engage if I don’t want to. I don’t care if it makes me seem like a coward. We’re working, for cripes sake!

“How did you get rehired?” She takes my silence as permission to keep going. Because she’s a bully. The thought is like a light bulb going off in my head. They’re both bullies.

My first instinct is to make a joke and try to alleviate the tension building in my shoulders. I swat it down and maintain a blank face. I don’t want to escalate things, but I don’t have to listen to it either.

I turn and go back to work. Whenever I return to the bar, one or both have something to say, but I ignore them each time. I’m starting to feel like a lunatic, going from a happy waitress to a blank mask and back again. It’s not the customer’s fault, and they don’t deserve to be treated to the irritated version of Tera.

Things eventually slow down enough that Max can take a break, and he winks at me as he fills a soda and drains it in one long pull. Diana shoves him out of her way and back with Pat, and I shake my head.

I feel something hit me in the back hard. I stumble forward a few steps, my spine taking up a relentless throbbing as my emotions reel. My hand reaches back, and my breathing increases when I feel a warm wetness coat my hands. It triggers the memory of Joe’s blood covering me, and my vision starts to go gray, the room suddenly unbearably hot. Somewhere in my brain, I know I’m having a panic attack, but knowing what’s happening doesn’t stop it.

“Payback’s a bitch,” an ugly voice snaps behind me.

Several people start laughing, but the sound is distorted, as if I’m surrounded in a funhouse of nightmares.

I force my eyes up and try to take a deep breath as I rush to the front doors, bumping into people and cringing away as I try to count to five in my head.

I burst out into the wind. The music is less loud here, which is good. I make my way to the side of the building, hand braced, and try to regulate my breathing like Dr. Robinson taught me. A breath in, count to five. Breathe out and count to five. At first, I can’t make it past two, and the panic increases. I sit on the ground, cross-legged with my spine straight, arms at my sides, and try again.

The familiarity of the position kick starts my body into, hey, we’re doing yoga mode, and my breaths start coming easier and easier. I let my body go through what it needs to and focus only on my air intake. I’m not sure how long I sit there, but by the time I feel at peace, my hands are resting on my knees as if I’m meditating. I guess, in a messed-up way, I am. Thank you, yoga.

I become aware of the night around me slowly, taking my time. There’s no rush, I can drift for a second, it’s ok. By the time I open my eyes, I’m starting to feel really embarrassed. I totally just flaked in the middle of work.

But this isn’t my job anymore. I came to a place that I don’t feel safe in anymore and got hit by something. The environment hasn’t been friendly. I’ve been flipping between my customer service persona and trying to be numb for hours now. It’s a toxic situation, and I don’t blame myself for not seeing it. I just need to be better about walking away when I should instead of staying to be punished.

My next thoughts are much harder and feel like a lie even as I force them to come. It’s a part of the process, and I need to do the whole thing.

I don’t deserve to be treated badly. I am worth more than that. I have the strength to get through any situation and the knowledge to know when to walk away.

All lies that make me feel even more pathetic than I did before. If I was really that type of person, I wouldn’t have to chant it to myself, right? Ugh, I hate that part.

I open my eyes and scan the cars around me, counting how many there are and what colors. I don’t know types or body styles or anything, but I could learn. That seems like a good technique to invest in. It would be fun.

“Tera?” Max’s breathless voice reaches me, and I look over at him with a wince.

“Do not apologize. You have a right to your feelings.”Dr. Robinson’s voice cuts through my automatic reaction to inconveniencing someone. I take another deep breath and hold it for five.

“Hey,” I say weakly and wave my hand without taking it off my knee.

“Fuck,” he continues swearing as he walks over to me with a glass of water and a towel. When he crouches down next to me, it’s like a shield descends, and everything in me loosens. My body sways towards him, and I rest my head on his chest. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around me, dropping the towel over my shoulder. His lips press into the top of my head, still spilling out curse words filled with rage.

“Sit with me for a second,” I suggest, suddenly finding the humor in his freak-out. I have words of affirmation, and Max has nonstop cursing. I don’t feel like either method is wrong. But one is definitely more hilarious than the other.

He shifts around and ends up wedged between me and the wall, arms and legs wrapped around me with his forehead pressed into my shoulder. The barrage of insults is muffled more that way. I wrap my arms around his, threading our fingers together as I listen to him switch back and forth between Spanish and English.

How can this feel so right when, just a minute ago, I was ready to pass out?

He’s just winding down when a few customers pass us and give a wolf whistle that starts him right back up again. This time, he’s yelling right in my ear and glaring as they get into their vehicle and drive away.

“Max,” an amused voice reaches us, “that’s enough.”

Satan walks over, just out of my line of sight, as I focus on the cars again. I try to stay relaxed, but with him so close, I feel fidgety and guilty. I’m out here being held by his boyfriend, and I’m not sure how he’ll interpret it.

“Fine,” Max tilts his head back, revealing more of Satan in the light of the parking lot. “Tera, you’re going to have to take over.”

I let out a surprised bark of laughter at the thought. I didn’t even know there were that many curse words to begin with. And some of them didn’t sound anatomically possible. I can’t beat that.

“You did a great job,” I giggle. “Very thorough. I don’t think there are any words left.”

Satan lets out a soft laugh, and Max shakes his head.

“Just say fuck once. Please?” His arms squeeze me, and he rocks us side to side.

“No,” I laugh again.

“It would make my night. Seriously. Pleeeease?”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” I tease.

“I quit.”

“No, you didn’t,” I shake my head as I laugh.

“Then I’m doing it now. Trevor?”

“Yes, Max?”

“I quit.”

“That’s nice. Get back to work,” he says idly, and I burst into laughter again.

“You’re both mean,” he pouts and buries his head in my shoulder again.

I give him a second to wallow and then pat his thigh. “Time to go. Up and at ‘em.”

He starts laughing as he releases me so I can stand and brush off my butt. I turn and offer my hand as Satan steps forward to do the same. Before I can drop mine, Max grabs both and hauls himself up. He obviously uses Satan’s strength for the most part. Otherwise, I would have fallen.

He doesn’t let go of either of us as he begins marching towards the door.

“If I have to go back to work, the both of you are going into the trenches with me,” he says in a false grim tone, ruined by his wink as he looks over his shoulder at me.

I giggle, shuffling my steps as he tugs.

“It’s almost closing time,” Satan chuckles. “I think you’ll last for twenty more minutes.”

“Not twenty minutes!” I gasp in horror, and Max stops to laugh, bent at the waist. “How will we survive?”

“Trevor, hold me! I’m scared,” Max flings himself into Satan’s chest, which causes me to laugh so hard I snort. The sight of Max, who is taller than Satan, clinging to him and whining like a puppy is too much. Not to mention, he hits him hard enough to almost knock them both over.

For a second, I’m laughing at Max’s antics. And then it tapers off when I really study both of them together.

The sheer joy on their faces as they tease each other with a familiarity that speaks of a long relationship. Max’s face buried into Satan’s shoulder as he whines, and Satan’s soft laughter as he pats his back, pretending to comfort him. It’s like I’ve never really watched them interact with each other before. The distance they maintain at work makes them seem like just a boss with his employee. I don’t understand why they hide it. They look happy and honestly perfect together.

It”s sobering as they banter as if I’m not there. I’m not jealous, exactly. More envious? I’m not sure. I don’t begrudge them their happiness. Everyone deserves to be loved. It’s blatantly apparent that’s what they have.

I’m uncomfortable with the fact that I want to be in the middle of that. Totally accepted by two people who still mean more to me than they should. How selfish does it make me that I’m willing to risk ruining their happiness for the five minutes of attention they would give me? And how stupid does it make me to want that even though I know it will destroy me completely?

I suddenly want to run from this, them, as far as I can. I stifle the urge sternly. I’m done running, which means I have to face hard facts. If I keep letting Max around, there is a good chance that I will demolish the happiness in front of me, and I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to be the wedge that breaks something beautiful. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life whining about a broken heart, either.

The music cuts off abruptly, leaving us in the quiet of the night, and draws my attention to the doors with the abruptness. I see Emily, watching their interaction with a different conclusion than I came to. She looks angry, almost disgusted, as she stares at them. It raises my hackles and answers the why they hide it question.

“Not to interrupt, but we need help in here,” she makes sure to wipe away the hostile look before she speaks. She totally meant to interrupt, and now I’m mad. The fake sweet smile that crosses her face as they turn towards her really clinches it.

Instead of burying the anger, making a joke, or running away, I step forward and slide in front of them, shielding them from her line of sight. My fists clench at my sides as I return her fake as fudge smile with one of my own.

“Of course!” I chirp and start towards her with stomping steps. I wish I wasn’t doing that, but it’s too late to stop now. “I’m happy to help. These two have worked their butts off all night. I think they deserve a little break together, don’t you?”

By the time I’ve finished speaking, I’m right in her face with my sugary smile, but I make sure that my eyes are telling her what I can’t get my mouth to say. Mainly, go away and leave them alone. I hope that’s what it comes across as, at least.

Her eyes have gone wide in surprise at my approach, and it isn’t until I’m standing two inches away from her that I realize she’s a few inches shorter than I am. I suddenly feel like a bully and want to back out of her personal space. I’ve never really threatened someone before. Obviously, I suck at it if I feel bad, right?

When she doesn’t answer, I loosen one fist to gesture her back inside. “Lead the way!”

Did that come out as loud and ragey? Crap.

Emily quickly backs away from me and twirls to go back inside. I follow her so closely I’m practically breathing down her neck. I think I’ve been around Shade too long. Or maybe his blank face has side effects? I’ll have to ask.

“Uh, Tera?” Max asks, and he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

I don’t stop hounding Emily’s steps as my hand jerks out, and I hold up a finger for him to give me a second. Which is dumb because I’m going to help with whatever is going on inside, so I’ll definitely be more than a second.

Once we’re past the threshold, she whirls back to me. I guess she had no idea I was so close because when she turns, her shoulder bumps into me. It startles her bad enough that she stumbles backward. She rights herself quickly and gives me a cold up-and-down inspection that makes me want to wilt. My rage is deserting me at a hyper-speed now that we’re back in enemy territory.

“I don’t know what happened to you while you were gone, but you need to get yourself under control,” she snaps. My stomach shrinks a little. She’s right. I am out of control right now.

“You bailed out on everyone and then came back acting like you’re better than us?” It’s like she senses my weakness because, this time, it’s her to get up close and personal. She has a little lipstick on her teeth. It’s kind of distracting. “Just so you can get attention? It’s pathetic!”

Did she read a manual about how to make me feel two inches tall? She’s really good at this, and I’m not prepared. I can feel the panic attack trying to flare back up and go back to Old Faithful. Acting like Shade and doing my count 5 breaths. I can multitask.

“Was she whining about what I did?” One of the younger girls asks with her hand on a cocked hip. She’s frowning at me as if I’m the bad guy here, and I’m feeling outnumbered.

“Probably,” Emily flicks her long hair over her shoulder with a disgusted look.

“You attacked our boss and expected us not to have a problem with it when you show up here like you still belong? News flash, you don’t,” I suddenly recognize her as the rude waitress who gave me the nachos the last time I was here.

Holy cannoli, did she hit me with a plate of nachos? That plate really hurt. And I threw it in Satan’s face. Now, I’m standing about one inch tall.

I really don’t belong here anymore. She’s right about that. This whole place is just toxic now. Every time I’m here, something happens that shakes me up. Maybe it’s always been this way, and I’ve just glossed over it. That doesn’t mean I have to let it happen anymore.

“Ok,” I try to raise my chin even though my hands are shaking, and my back is now coated in sweat and nacho cheese.

“Throwing the plate, I get it. That’s ok, I guess. It hurt a lot more than I thought it would.” I shrug helplessly, unsure of what’s coming out of my mouth right now, but I can’t stop the flow of unfiltered thoughts.

“And no, I don’t want to belong in a super toxic environment filled with piranhas, so you can have that one, too. I’m not any better than anyone else, and I really don’t want any of your attention. Especially if this is what it’s like when I get it. Why can’t you guys just show up on time?Or try to do your jobs without making people miserable?Or let two people be happy in their relationship for five freaking seconds after a long and crappy night? I guess what I’m trying to say in a stupid monologue is, get over yourselves.”

They all gape at me like I’m crazy. Even Diana and Pat are frozen behind the bar, paused in whatever cleanup they were in the middle of.

“N-not you guys,” I rush to assure them as they blink at me.

It”s time to put my pep talk to work and walk away. It isn’t running if I choose to remove myself from an uncomfortable situation. I feel really bad about saying all of that, and moving around might keep me from apologizing.

Plan set, I force myself to calmly walk into the kitchen to grab my purse and take off the apron. There’s cheese on the strings, and I cringe as my fingers hit the congealed mess. I don’t think I’m going to be eating that any time soon. Should I take this with me and wash it?

Ugh! No, Tera. Stop being weird.

I take out all of the pens and pads of paper, tearing off a sheet to leave a note apologizing to the owner about the mess. Then, I fold the stiff fabric neatly and set it on the bench just inside the doorway.

Now I just have to walk out of here with my head held high while the school of piranha watches me. I think about using the door by Satan’s office. Does that mean I’m running? Or not. That’s a conundrum. Couldn’t that be considered a strategic retreat?

Still undecided, I walk into the hallway, turning towards the bar on autopilot, when my feet stick to the floor in surprise.

Satan is standing a few feet away, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed like he’s waiting for me. When he glances in my direction, my eyes drop to the floor, studying the swirling pattern of the linoleum. Wait, that’s new. Totally worth a thorough examination.

My heart starts thumping harder in a painful jarring. I hope it isn’t visible. I say the first thing that comes to mind in a high-pitched, panicked voice.

“You can’t fire me. I don’t work here.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, standing up straight as his arms fall to his sides.

“I would never fire someone for standing up for themselves,” he assures me in a gentle tone that makes the thrashing of my heart even more painful. Don’t believe that tone, heart. It’s a pit of lies over there, and we’ve already fallen in once.

I nod, struggling to put the mask on and chewing myself out for being unable to look directly at him.

He clears his throat, and I can see him shift from foot to foot like he’s uncomfortable. Maybe I’m blocking his way to the office? I slide to the side awkwardly, leaving him plenty of room to pass, but he doesn’t move.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says and then goes quiet again.

I nod again, confused. Which part is he sorry for exactly? For making me think he’s a nice guy, like some kind of serial killer? For giving in to Max’s demands? For ripping my heart out and running it over with a mulcher? None of the above?

“The things I said to you were a lie.”

Not believing that for one second. Unless he’s talking about all the nice things he’s said. Those were definitely false advertising.

“I have a habit of trying to push away people who are good for me.”

Should I give him Dr. Robinson’s number? Maybe Max told him about her, and he’s angling for a way to reach her.

He sounds like he’s strangling on the words as he speaks. Did Max give him cue cards or something? I look behind me, expecting Max to be there with a poster board filled with words. The hallway leading to the exit past his office is empty. Awesome. I’ll just hear him out and text Max the number later.

He clears his throat again, bringing my focus back to him as I realize I’m eyeing the exit door like I want to hump it. I turn around and start studying the floor again.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, can we just… start over?”

Start over? From where? My interview for the job or my first day here? The day I realized that what I felt for him was more than a crush, and I started worshiping the ground he walked on? Or the time I realized I had been staring at Max for almost an hour, imagining what it would be like when he finally talked back to me? He wants me to return to the bumbling idiot I’ve been throughout my entire life.

My thoughts are careening out of control, and anger begins to rise up in me. I don’t want to be mad. I want to hear him out and give him a sounding board. Everybody needs one at some point in their life. But I’m no Dr. Robinson, and this? This sucks.

I don’t want to sympathize with his troubles. I don’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt and pretend like everything he’s done is ok. It’s not ok. And I’m ok with it not being ok. I’m thinking ok a lot.

“You have to forgive me.”

Excuse me?

The anger that was simmering in my thoughts suddenly bubbles over, and my head jerks up to meet his gaze. My emotional rejection mask is in place, and I suddenly feel like I’m wearing body armor. I don’t recognize my own voice as it comes out so cold and detached.

“I don’t have to do anything.”

As soon as the words are out, that realization slams home inside me. I don’t have to do anything. At all. That anyone says. Ok, let me dial that back a bit because I have to obey the law and maybe follow common decency rules. Otherwise, I’m free!

His gray eyes widen in surprise, and he raises his hands as if he’s going to fend off an attack. “That’s not what I meant. I said it wrong. Can we rewind?”

“It is what you meant,” I tell him softly, with a grim little smirk. “You want everything for nothing, just like everyone else. Out of all the things you just said that one sentence is the only true thing.”

His jaw drops, and his brows pull down as he begins to get angry. Good for him. Let him have a meltdown for once. I refuse to feel guilty about how he takes my truth.

“That is not what I meant at all, and I’m not lying to you.” His tone has dropped into what I now consider his real voice. A dark commanding tone that screams pay attention or suffer the consequences. It makes me want to bow my head, submit, and give him whatever he wants in the most mentally unhealthy fashion possible.

There’s nothing wrong with submitting. I just don’t want to feel this pull and obsession with a jerk.

“I don’t believe you,” I stress the word as the mask slips and anger starts to spill out. “I don’t have to believe you. Because I’m a person and I deserve to have my feelings whether they’re wrong to you or not.”

“You have a right to be angry. I know that.”

I interrupt, “I know that too, Satan!”

“Do not take that tone with me, Tera,” he says darkly and takes a step forward.

“I’ll take any tone with you that I like, Satan. I am not a toy to hand off to your boyfriend. I am a person! And you are going to hear me. What you did was horrible! You didn’t even care about what happened or how it would feel for me. Just like everyone else! That’s what you are, another piranha in the waters of this crappy existence. Max loves you so much, and sometimes I wonder if you treat him that way, too. Is that why you both look for some toy to mess around with? Someone you can throw away like trash after you’ve had your fun? How many of the women here have fallen for your nice guy act and gotten treated like dirt after you’ve gained their trust?”

I take a deep, gasping breath as tears roll down my cheeks. He stands there with a scowl, not replying at all as I yell, and it somehow makes my anger flare even higher.

“Why don’t you focus on the relationship you have, with a man that loves you with everything in him, instead of trying to get your dick sucked by any girl that offers.”

My eyes widen when I think about what I just said. I used the D word. I’ve been yelling at the top of my lungs in a quiet bar filled with employees. My hand slaps over my mouth in horror. Satan doesn’t look any better with his shocked face that has paled to the point he almost looks like a wax figure.

If no one knew about his interests in the bedroom before, I just outed him without a thought. All of their hiding in plain sight has just been wiped out by my stupid mouth. I hurt him. And Max by proxy. It suddenly doesn’t feel good or righteous, it feels crappy. Like I ripped my own heart out this time and used it to beat someone with. I had no right.

“I’m so sorry,” I choke out as tears fill my eyes to overflow unchecked. I’m staring at the floor again with no idea when I lowered my head.

He passes by me without another word, closing himself into his office. The door latches with a gentle click, and I run. Straight out the rear exit, to my car, and peel out of the parking lot.

I cry the whole way home, reliving the moment over and over and wishing I could go back in time and just stay quiet and let him say what he wanted. I could have endured it. I’m capable of taking a verbal lashing without freaking out, or I used to be. What is wrong with me?