I reach the hospital half an hour later than I had planned last night, all thanks to the jerk of the century who just had to punish me for God knows what sin.
At the time he tossed me out of the apartment, I was so damn mad at him that I almost wanted to go back and kill him. But I decided to take the elevator instead, and during the entire ride from the building to the bakery, I reminded myself this is what he pays me for: to have s*x with him whenever, however, and wherever he wants; to please him and keep him sexually satisfied; to ignore my needs in favor of his, because apparently, his needs being fulfilled is the top priority in that house.
Meaning, I shouldn’t be mad for doing my job. After all, that’s how I get paid and how my sister gets treated. If I think more deeply, perhaps
