I still don’t open my fucking mouth.
Nix steps in front of me.
“We’ll have an extra-large pepperoni pizza, two meat lovers Strombolis, and three large cokes.”
“Dining in?”
“Yes.”
“That’ll be $38.45.”
Nix takes out his debit card to pay.
“Sign the first receipt, the second is for you to keep. I’ll get your drinks now and bring your food when it’s ready.”
I watch Cocoa from where I sit. This is starting to become a pattern. She brings our drinks over.
The food arrives twenty minutes later.
“Do you guys need anything else?”
“I see you’re getting accustomed to serving your betters,” I say. “It’s good that you so easily accepted your lot in life.”
She shoots me a death glare then walks off.
Fucking Harry keeps touching her waist, lower back, shoulders, and leans over her unnecessarily. I start to see red.
When we finish our meals, we leave. I’m about to enter my vehicle when I see Harry on the side of the building taking a smoke break. I walk over to him and give him one punch in the gut. I put all my weight into the blow. His cigarette leaves his lips as he falls to the ground. He’s coughing uncontrollably. Spittle shoots from his mouth.
“Mav, what the fuck?” asks Dee.
I kneel down close to Harry’s ear.
“Keep your fucking hands off Cocoa, you piece of shit. Don’t try to get her fired or report this. If you do, I’ll fuck you up. I know you’ve heard about me.”
I stand then walk towards my jeep.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Mav? Why did you do that?” asks Nix.
“He knows why.”
I get in my car and drive off, not giving a fuck what my friends think about what I did.
When I reach the second floor leading to my bedroom, I see John pulling his girlfriend, Christine, down the hall by her hair, their backs facing me.
“No, John, please not tonight. I’m still sore from the last time,” Christine cries.
“Shut up, bitch. You’ll go in this fucking room every night if I want you to. If you’re a good little whore tonight, I’ll go easy on you.”
Christine cries louder.
My father drags Christine into his torture room and closes the door.
I’ve been in that room plenty of times. My earliest memory of entering that room includes my father beating and sexual assaulting my mother in front of me when I was five years old.
“John, please. I’ll do whatever you want, just let Maverick go to his room. I don’t want him to see this.”
“No, he’ll watch so that he can learn that the only place a woman belongs is on her knees.”
