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

of his lips. “Having a little

start, Daniel,” I hiss, leaning on the counter, still not turning

him.

he says, coming closer

concerned, aren’t I?”

not to respond, but it seems as though that

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

it really should’ve been you

would have saved

nails digging into my

pain anchors me, if only

of letting him see

he continues, relentless as ever,

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

a—”

whirl around to face him, my eyes

spits out next is vile, demeaning,

little slut who belongs in the bedroom,

culinary world,” he hisses.

though something shatters inside of me.

I close the distance between us,

with the force of my

chef. And an even worse

cocky smirk of

“Struck a

Before I can stop myself, I’m

poised to slap him

rat, a cockroach, a stain on this entire

me and Karl, but he laughed

nerve to spit slurs in my face like it’s

glances at my raised hand, and

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

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