23:03
I can barely walk, but he rests his hand on my waist as the waiter escorts us to our table. He pulls out a seat.
"Easy" he whispers in my ear. Not that it goes any other way. Everything"s burning.
"What can I offer you?" the waiter asks meekly.
"The chef"s best!" he says to the waiter. I nervously fix my hair. His voice sounds strange.
"May I recommend wine?"
"Would you like a drink?" he asks, and my face flushes. I squeeze my thighs. I flow. God, it feels so strange.
"No," I say quietly.
"Then just mineral water."
The waiter walks away, and the "yes, sir" stares at me. The chair is uncomfortable. I nervously peer around the restaurant. At this late hour, there are hardly any people. Big windows, bright chandeliers, golden colors. It looks like an expensive place. It"s obvio
