“I knew you wouldn’t leave me,” Mike says.

Jackass.

“What are your plans now?” he asks.

“I’ll keep on working for you.” I mumble it, sickened to be saying the words.

“And what makes you think I want you back?”

My head snaps up, but he’s completely serious, there’s not a sign of teasing to be found.

“I thought.... I assumed...What?”

He’s enjoying my discomfort, and even though I didn’t think it possible, I hate him even more.

“Tell me why I should take you back when I have plenty of girls who never even think about leaving me.” He towers over me.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“And I care because?”

Panic seeps into my body, and I don’t know what I’ll do if Mike doesn’t take me back. “Please?”

“Not good enough.”

I think about telling him I’ll do anything, but I’m not that desperate. I don’t want to imagine what his ‘anything’ would be, much less do it.  I stare at the floor and his shiny leather shoes. I hate him so much.

“You still think you have a say in what you do,” he says. “And that is very dangerous thinking. You eat because I choose to feed you. You sleep when I say you do. You have a roof over your head because I let you have one.”

The man working the ticket counter picks that minute to come over to us. “Can I help you two with anything?”

“Athena?” Mike asks.

“No, I’m staying here,” I manage to get out.

“Nothing for me,” Mike  says.

The gentleman tells us to let him know if we change our mind and walks back to his station.

“Unfortunately,” Mike says. “We can’t have this conversation here. Be in my office in fifteen minutes. And take that ridiculous wig off.”

Later that night, I’m soaking in the tub back in my apartment. I’m sore all over, both inside and out. I would be crying, but I don’t have any tears left. For a few seconds, the warmth of the water is so inviting, I imagine staying in it forever. I picture it in my head. It would be so easy. Slide into the water, hold my breath until I can’t anymore. Surely, it wouldn't be that painful. Not in comparison to everything else.

The only thing that keeps me from doing it is hate. I hate Mike for what he’s made me and what he makes me do. So instead of taking my life that night, I vow to one day take Mike’s.

Chapter Fourteen

Whoever she is, she certainly isn’t expecting a woman to sit next to her. She’s been given a script and I’m nowhere in the act.

Too bad, I think toward the gentleman with her, but I keep my eyes away from him. She’s mine.

I’ve been an actress for ten years, I can play this part, too.

I sit down beside her, cross my left leg over my right, and rub my calf. “Whew. I should not have worn these shoes.”

Silence from the girl beside me. She probably thinks if she doesn’t say anything, I’ll go away faster. I plaster a smile on my face and look at her more fully. I was wrong earlier. She’s nowhere near seventeen. She’s fourteen, tops. Just the thought of what is planned for her makes me sick.

My left foot slides back to the floor and I try to make my smile warm and inviting. I don’t think I do a good job.

“Shopping?” I ask, trying again for a response.

Her lower lip trembles. “No.”

“Probably not here for the food.” In the corner of my eye, I keep the man in my sight.  He’s taken a phone from his pocket and is texting someone.

“Not shopping. Not eating,” I say. “That leaves meeting someone. Am I right?”

The lower lip tremble stops and determined resolve somehow slips into its place. “What’s it to you?”

I shrug. Lean back into the bench. Make myself dissolve into nonchalant. “Just making conversation.”

She risks a glance at black jean guy and straightens her shoulders. “Yeah, well, make it somewhere else.”

“Just making conversation,” I repeat, turning to her. “And passing out advice.”

Her skin is smooth and flawless.  There’s a wariness in her eyes, but no sign of bitterness and rejection. Not yet, anyway. Her body is lithe and long. She’s not yet grown into womanhood, but the blueprints are there. Under her adolescent skin, the woman she will become waits.

“I had to tell you,” I start. Hard to believe I’d ever been that young. I clench my fist.  So many years wasted. “Needed to tell you. He’s not worth it.”

She blushes, and I know I’ve guessed correctly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says with a flip of her hair.

“He makes lots of promises. Tells you he loves you. That you have to prove your love.” I probably haven’t blushed in nine years. The life of a working girl sucks the blush right out of a person. It isn’t too late for her yet. “But he’s wrong. Love just is. It doesn’t make demands.”

She huffs, reaches down to her purse, pulls out a compact, and checks her lipstick.

“You see me as an obnoxious know-it-all,” I say. She acts like she isn’t listening, but I desperately hope some part of what I say sinks in. Would I have listened if someone had tried to give me advice ten years ago? I’m not sure. “And you’re right. I’m a know-it-all because I’ve been where you are right now, and I made the wrong choice. Listen to me when I tell you it won’t end with this one friend.”

Beside me, her hand holding the compact trembles.

“I know his type, and he’s got a long line of friends just waiting to have their turn at you.” I cross my right leg over my left this time. Hopefully, the guy in black jeans thinks I’m a mall patron gabbing on and on about nothing. “Before you know it, you’ll be dependent on him for everything. You won’t breathe without thinking you need permission to use air.”

She slowly puts the compact back in her purse and straightens her skirt.

“You can do anything. Be anything.” I have never in my life wished for the ability to make a choice for someone. “Don’t be me.”

We sit in silence for long seconds. I roll my head around and around.  This is me, just an achy shopper.  I can be anyone. I am every woman. Or at least that’s what I hope the man certain to be watching us thinks. I risk a peek: He was still texting. If I guess correctly, he probably has a group of five other girls, just like the one beside me, waiting and ready to do his every command.

I hate him.

“I know you won’t leave him today,” I finally say. “But I’m hopeful you’ll at least think about it.”

I probably haven’t changed anything.  She’ll go through with what she came here to do, and she’ll hate herself later. Maybe I’ve actually made it worse with my observations and advice.

Unfortunately, there isn’t anything else I can do to help her. I’m useless. I can’t offer her a viable alternative, or a place to stay. I stand up. “Chose wisely.”

I almost miss the soft whisper behind me.

“Thank you.”

***

If I were smart, I’d leave the food court and go back to buy the green dress like I told Harris I was doing. But I can’t. I have to watch her: the possible Mrs. Isaiah Martin.

I move far enough away so I can see her without being seen myself. I try to act natural and not at all like I’m spying on a stranger. I can see Harris from my location, too. He’s texting someone. He stands up when he finishes and looks around. Looking for me?

I move behind the directory I’m hiding myself with and wait. I count to fifty, and when I look again, he’s gone. The supposed Mrs. Martin is still there. She’s finishing up her lunch and telling her friend goodbye. The friend leaves, but Mrs. Martin’s phone rings, so she sits back down and answers it. Whoever it is doesn’t talk long, and in a few minutes, she pushes back from the table and rummages in her purse.