I glare at her—traitor.
My feet don’t touch the ground as he carries me from the store, but as he passes the lady who called me crazy, I show her what crazy looks like as I kick her in the stomach.
She collapses to the ground in hysterics while I roll my eyes. I barely touched her. What a drama queen.
As I’m carried outside like a naughty child, I laugh maniacally because this is the most fun I’ve had all day. Onlookers whisper behind their hands, secretly enjoying the show they’ll no doubt share with their friends over Sunday brunch.
As we’re headed for the bus, I fight with all my might. I don’t want to go back on there. I need to think on my feet.
“I need to use the restroom!” I cry, hoping this works.
“Too bad,” he gruffly replies.
“Okay then. I’ll just go now then.”
The threat
