Abby

My body feels as though it doesn’t belong to me as I stalk to the breakroom. I

feel like a puppet on strings that have been cut, like my limbs are made of lead

and my body might give out from beneath me at any moment.

When I’m alone in the breakroom once again, though, I can’t contain my fury

any longer.

“Dammit!” The word explodes out of my mouth, and without thinking, I whirl

around and let my shoe connect with the wall. There’s a faint but satisfying

crack, and when I pull away, there’s a slight dent where I unleashed my rage.

Enter title…

It’s almost laughable, seeing how small the dent is. It’s like my own body won’t

even do what I want, let alone the ingredients on that stage out there.

My mind is whirling with so many thoughts that I barely even register the door

creaking open. But then that venomous voice, that voice that I’ll hear in my

nightmares for years to come, slices through the air like an arrow whizzing past

my ear.

“Oh, Abby,” Daniel says, the sneer audible in his voice without me even having

to look at him. I can picture him without even turning around, that horrendous

his lips. “Having

start, Daniel,” I hiss, leaning on the counter,

him.

says, coming closer

concerned, aren’t I?”

not to respond, but it seems as

feel my resolve beginning to crumble. “Boy, that sure was a

You know, maybe it really should’ve

have saved

my fists, my nails digging into my palms despite the sting of

earlier. The pain anchors me, if only a little. I can’t give

him see me

relentless as ever, his

then again, it’s fitting, isn’t it? You never belonged here.

a—”

eyes ablaze,

he spits out next is

a stupid little slut who belongs in the bedroom, not

culinary world,” he hisses.

as though something shatters inside of me. My

I close the distance between us, my

I hiss, my voice trembling with the force of my anger,

even

widens, that infuriating, cocky

“Struck a

Before I can stop

hand poised to slap him

He’s a rat, a cockroach, a

and Karl, but he laughed while

slurs

He quickly glances at my raised hand, and

it—the flicker of doubt in his gaze, the realization that

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