Unwanted Heat

Kenzie

Nope, clearly not cooled down yet. I can’t figure out what I did wrong but I know he’s mad at me for something. Something I did when he was getting a drink caused the shift in his mood but for the life of me I can’t figure it out. I’m left with no choice but to wait until we get home and hope that at some point he alerts me to my wrongdoings. He’s always quick to point out my mistakes, my flaws, so I’m sure I will know very quickly what it was that I did. I just have to hope he gets his anger out quickly. His outbursts usually only last for a few minutes before he storms out of the house to go to a bar. He’ll come back a few hours later, drunk and apologizing for what he did. The bruises will heal in a few days and during those days I will walk on eggshells, not wanting to anger him again and risk further damage. He’s already broken a couple of my ribs; that was pain I hope to never feel again so I do my best to not to anger him after an episode.

We pull into the garage a few minutes later and my anxiety is heightened, knowing what is about to come. There’s no avoiding his reaction, his anger, right now. There’s no point in arguing with whatever he thinks I did: I’ve learned the hard way that only angers him more. “Was I not fucking clear when we left the house today?” “You were,” I whisper.

“The moment I fucking leave you… that fucking moment you chose to flirt with the vice president of the company? And you fucking do it in front of me?!?!?”

Slap

“You’re a fucking slut! I can’t take you anywhere! He’s a fucking married man with a wife and sick child at home! Don’t you ever think about anyone other than yourself?”

“I’m sorry.”

Crack

His fist hits my face hard. I fall against the coffee table, catching my side before I finally land on floor. I want to argue with him, I want to tell him I wasn’t flirting, that we weren’t doing anything wrong but I know better than to say anything. If I argue with him it will only be worse.

“Am I not good enough for you? Do I not give you everything? I bought this fucking house for you! For your information I hate it! I hate the yard, the area, I hate everything about this fucking place but I bought it because you liked it. I pay for everything you need, you don’t have a want in the world that I don’t meet and this is how you thank me?!?!?”

His kicks my ribs, hard, knocking the wind right out of me. It’s the same side where my ribs were broken before. I don’t need an X-ray to tell me they’re broken again, as the pain I feel when I try to take a breath is all the confirmation I need.

“His eyes were all over you! They were glued to your fucking small tits and you did nothing to redirect him! You sat there and let him stare at your tits, doing nothing to stop him! I bet it turned you on when he looked at you, didn’t it? Did you want him to fuck you?”

“No!” I whimper as he kicks me hard again in the same spot.

“You’re a fucking liar,” he yanks my hair, pulling me from the floor and there is nothing I can do but following him as he nearly drags me across the room.

My back is slammed up against the wall, picture frames fall and shatter from the force. His eyes are dark with rage, darker than I’ve ever seen them. He is angry, furious even, and for the first time I’m petrified. He has scared me before but I always knew he would never take it too far but now I’m terrified that he won’t be able to stop. My eyes search the room, looking for what I don’t know but as I try to move from him, he pushes me against the wall, my head slamming hard against it.

“I do everything for you and you are nothing but an ungrateful slut who thinks she can flirt with the first man who says hello to her after I leave the table! Is it because he makes more money than I do?” His hand is around my neck the moment I open my mouth to answer. His grip is tightening, slowly cutting off my air supply. “You are a piece of shit! I should have known you would turn out just like your mother! My father was right: you are no better than she is! She was a fucking slut just like you are! Why I ever thought you were different is beyond me.”

His grip on my throat is tightening again, the room is slowly going black around me and in that moment I know… I know he’s going to kill me.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Fucking bitch.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kenzie,” Ruth calls.

“Bright and early,” I chuckle as the door closes behind me.

It’s nearly noon and I’ve already worked seven hours today. I have a couple of hours before I need to rush to my second job which I’m hoping to spend napping. By the time the day is over I will have worked about 12 hours, just like yesterday and most of the other days this week. I work four to five mornings a week at a place that I absolutely love. Most people probably wouldn’t find working in a bakery enjoyable, but since starting there, I’ve discovered how much I enjoy baking-something I never did before. When I first applied to the bakery, they were looking for just a cashier. However when they were short staffed one day, the owner asked me to whip up a batch of cookies and ever since has split my shift between baking and the register. Unfortunately as much as I love that job, it doesn’t come close to paying the rent so I also work a second job as a personal shopper in a high end department store. The pay isn’t the greatest either and I don’t particularly enjoy what I do, but it helps to pay the bills. The people I meet can be stuck up and often act like they’re better than you are, but every once in a while I will meet someone who is decent.

I don’t work in the neighborhood I live in, even though it would be much more convenient and wouldn’t require me to take a subway and bus each way to work. The reality is, the area I live in is a dump and there really are no decent paying jobs there. My options would be limited to corner stores and gas stations, neither of which is safe, so instead I spend 30 minutes commuting on the subway and bus-sometimes up to four times a day-so I can make enough money to return to the crappy neighborhood.

My apartment is in a rundown building, covered in graffiti. Like any other day there are people hanging out on the front steps already getting drunk or waiting to buy drugs. I ignore them and they ignore me; it works for everyone involved. My apartment is small: basically the living room and bedroom are the same space with a small “kitchen” area against one wall. There is a small fridge with a freezer, a very small sink and a hot plate. The bathroom is just off the living room/bedroom and is just big enough for one person. If you are sitting on the toilet and someone were to open the door, they would hit your knees. I’ve tried to make my space as warm and comfortable as possible: I’ve spent money I really didn’t have to paint the walls and buy small items that make it feel more like a home. No one but me sees it but the small touches make me smile when I come home and it reminds me that this is my own space, a space where no one can control what I do.

“Hello?” My phone rings the moment I sit down on my daybed.

“Kenzie, it’s Nancy. ”

“Hi Nancy, how are you?”

“I’m in a bind. We’re incredibly short staffed and I just received a call from one of your clients insisting that they need a dress tonight and that you are the only one she trust-”

“Bridget?”

“Yes,” she chuckles. “The only thing is, she insists she can’t wait until you are scheduled to come in because she needs this dress tonight. I know you’re not scheduled to come in until four…”

“What time does she need me?”

“No later than one thirty.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Kenzie! She said she will make it worth your time.”

“I’m sure she will. I’ll see you shortly.”

And like that, my plan for taking a nap is gone although, knowing Bridget as well as I do, she will definitely make it worth my time, that is always appreciated since money is tight. I quickly start a pot of coffee knowing I’m going to need it if I’m going to make it until closing tonight and stay awake on the bus ride home.

I’ve worked as a personal shopper for a few months now even if landing the job was pure luck because I’m hardly qualified for something like this. I was killing time between an interview at a coffee house and waiting for a bus when I decided to walk around the store to escape the rain. Why I chose this store was beyond me because there was no way I could even afford even a scarf in a place like this anymore. At one time this was the type of store I shopped in regularly, it was all part of the world I knew. Walking around I was surprised I didn’t miss this from my former life but instead it made me realize how much my life has changed since then. A few minutes later I noticed an older woman impatiently waiting at a counter desperately trying to get the cashier’s attention but the cashier was busy with a long line of people. I happen to walk by her when she mumbled under her breath about useless staff who probably wouldn’t be able to tell her if the item was this year’s design or last year’s.

Flashback

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but did you have a question about that purse?”

“Yes, I doubt you would know but I need to know if this is from this year’s collection or if you just routinely stock out of date designs?” she asks, her voice full of disregard and annoyance.

“Ma’am I can’t tell you what this store stocks, but I can assure you that the purse you are holding is from this year’s catalogue. If I remember correctly, it was only released to stores within the last 60 days-” “Are you sure?” she asks.

“Ms. Wilder, I am so sorry-” a woman quickly approaches us, giving an evil eye to the cashier who still appears to be overwhelmed with her customers.

“Apparently you don’t value my business,” the woman I now know as Ms. Wilder says. “This young lady came to my rescue and assisted me. I want her to be my personal shopper or you will lose my entire account-”

“But-”

“Get me the manager now!” Ms. Wilder hisses.

“I…. Um… Ms. Wilder?” I ask nervously.

“What is it?” she snaps.

“I don’t work here, so I can’t-”

“You will by the time I leave.”

“Ms. Wilder,” an older man dressed in a perfect suit approaches us.

“Mr. Goodman, nice to see you again,” she shakes his hand and smiles.

“You’re looking lovely as always, Ms. Wilder. How can I assist you this fine afternoon?” he sends me a withering look, obviously trying to figure out what I’m doing here.

“You see, my usual personal shopper over there,” Ms. Wilder glares at the woman who is just behind Mr. Goodman. “Showed up late yet again for our appointment, leaving me to find the purse I needed for the gala tonight. I wanted someone to answer a very important question and could not find a single one of your staff members who could spare a couple of minutes to help someone like me, who I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, has a very large account with your store-”

“Of course not Ms. Wilder, I cannot apologize enough-” he quickly interjects.

“I have decided to give you one final chance at keeping my account but you blow this and I’ll take my business somewhere else.” “Of course! Anything you want Ms. Wilder-” “Fire her,” she glares at the woman.

“Done,” he gestures for her to leave them which she does in tears.

“Hire this lovely woman and assign her to my entire account,” she gestures at me.

“Ms. Wilder, this is highly unusual-”

“I’m sure by now you know that I’m a very unusual woman Mr. Goodman,” Ms. Wilder argues.

“If Ms-” he looks at me questioningly.

“Rose…Mackenzie Rose,” I nearly whisper trying to find my voice in the confusion that is unfolding before me.

“If Ms. Rose has time, I would love to discuss the personal shopper position that recently became available.”

“Thank you, Mr. Goodman,” I confirm.

“Then that settles it. I will call tomorrow to schedule my first appointment with Ms. Rose.”