Chapter 19: Dom talk
1490 Words
I hated that I was hungry.
Hated that my body still needed things when my mind was screaming that I didn’t belong here.
But I did what Dominic asked—because sometimes survival meant choosing the lesser humiliation.
Before the waitress returned, my eyes caught the small stack of cards near the edge of the bar. The restaurant’s name. The address. Proof that this place existed without him. Proof that I could exist without him.
I slipped one into my bra, pressing it flat against my skin like a promise I wasn’t sure I’d ever keep.
If I came back, it would be on my own terms.
When the waitress returned, Dominic ordered first—confident, calm, like this place was familiar to him. Like the world made sense when he spoke to it.
When it was my turn, I didn’t hesitate.
“I’ll have an open tab,” I said. “And one shot is whisky.”
His head snapped toward me.
Not anger.
Surprise.
I pulled my license from my wallet and handed it over before anyone could question me. When the waitress nodded and walked away, I saw it then—the tension in Dominic’s shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.
“At least you’re letting me help you,” he said quietly. “But… why are you drinking, Thumper?”
The first shot arrived before I answered.
I took it without ceremony.
The burn slid down my throat, sharp and grounding, and for the first time all night my thoughts slowed enough for me to breathe.
Because being sober meant feeling everything at once.
And right now, that would break me.
“Because,” I said after a moment, my voice steadier than I felt, “I’m tired of being talked about like I’m fragile. Or broken. Or one bad decision away from being locked up.”
I reached for the lime but didn’t use it.
“I’m not doing this to forget. I’m doing this so I don’t drown.”
The second shot waited.
And I knew—deep down—that this wasn’t about the alcohol.
It was about control.
About proving to myself that even here, even now, I still had choices.
Dominic didn’t let go of my hand as I kept taking the shots.
By the fourth one, the warmth had settled deep in my chest—heavy, loosening things I’d kept locked down for too long.
When the food arrived, I didn’t hesitate. My stomach was already warning me, and I knew better than to ignore it again.
As I started eating, my body slowly unclenched. The tightness eased. The buzzing in my head softened. I heard Dominic quietly ask the waitress for water and a soda, like he’d been thinking ahead for me without saying it out loud.
Once the appetizers were gone, I reached for the water, suddenly aware of my body in a way that made me panic just a little. I shifted in my seat, careful, trying to be discreet—because the last thing I needed was to embarrass myself on top of everything else.
When the main course arrived, my body betrayed me anyway.
I turned slightly, covering my mouth with my napkin as a small, very human sound slipped out. Mortification crawled up my spine.
Dominic finally let go of my hand—not to pull away, but to speak.
“Gasses are normal,” he said calmly. “I won’t make fun of you for your body doing what it’s built to do. All I ask is that you warn me if it’s the kind that might kill my sense of smell.”
I looked at him.
He was trying not to smile.
And despite myself… I laughed.
A small, surprised sound that felt foreign in my chest. Relief followed it—real, unexpected relief. He wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t annoyed. He wasn’t cataloging another reason I was too much or not enough.
He was just… there.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel punished for being human.
As my body settled, I slowed down, eating more carefully now. Every bite tasted incredible, grounding me further. I took another sip of water, letting the coolness steady me as the noise inside my head finally quieted.
For a moment—just a moment—I felt safe.
Finishing my meal, I watched the desserts being served to other tables—warm plates, melting ice cream, spoons tapping porcelain—and for the first time in what felt like almost a week, my body felt full. Not just fed, but quiet. Steady. Like something inside me had finally stopped screaming long enough to breathe.
The alcohol softened the sharp edges of my fear. Gave me courage I usually didn’t allow myself to have. The kind that slips out before I can stop it.
“I needed this meal more than I thought,” I said, meeting Dominic’s eyes. “Thank you, Dom. I really did enjoy it.”
My fingers tightened slightly around the napkin in my lap. My heart was already racing, but I pushed forward anyway.
“But I want to talk about those girls again,” I continued, my voice steadier than I felt. “Because I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say. You keep talking like I’m too much and they’re… less than somehow. Like I’m the prize and they’re not.”
I swallowed hard.
“And it’s backwards. Completely backwards.” My chest tightened as the words came out. “I’m the ugly one. Not them.”
Saying it out loud felt like tearing something open. Like admitting a truth I’d carried so long it had become part of me.
Dominic didn’t answer right away.
His face shifted—thoughtful, conflicted, almost wounded—like he was trying to untangle something that mattered more than pride or winning an argument. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, careful.
“First,” he said, “I’m honored you’ve nicknamed me like that. And I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, because I intend for this to become a habit—for us.”
He paused, leaning back slightly, giving the moment room to breathe.
“And you keep forgetting something about me,” he continued. “Sabrina told you this, but it’s true. I’ve never dated. Not once. I really haven’t. I’ve always been busy with work. With responsibility. And now… now I finally have a reason to date.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“But you seem to forget that part of who I am.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Shame flooded me, hot and sudden, curling in my stomach. I felt exposed—like I’d taken every cruel thought I’d ever had about myself and thrown it at him without realizing it.
I felt small. Embarrassed. Ashamed.
Not because he corrected me.
But because, deep down, I knew he was right.
And realizing that made me feel like a complete cunt.
Breathing deeply, I finally said what had been clawing at the inside of my chest. I let the alcohol carry me, let it loosen the locks I usually kept tight, even if it meant I would crash later—harder than before.
“But that still doesn’t mean I’m more attractive than they are,” I said, my voice rough. “Have you really seen them, Dom? They have things I’ll never have. Things I missed my chance at.”
I laughed weakly, the sound brittle.
“I don’t get another puberty. Not unless I get pregnant—and even that isn’t some miracle guarantee. So are you sure you even know what you’re asking for?” My throat tightened. “Because I swear… I don’t think you do.”
Dominic didn’t interrupt me.
He pushed his plate away, the movement slow and deliberate, like he wanted nothing between us but honesty. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, meeting my eyes without flinching.
“If being drunk is the only way you’ll say what you keep buried when you’re sober,” he said calmly, “then I’m fine with it.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“But I’m asking for a copy of the footage from this restaurant.”
I frowned slightly, confused.
“Not to trap you,” he continued. “Not to embarrass you. I want it so you don’t forget what mattered to me tonight.”
He leaned in just a little closer.
“Because I can tell you this right now, and I won’t soften it—those girls are not what I want. Not now. Not ever.” His voice lowered. “The only person I came here for is the woman sitting across from me.”
The words didn’t feel flashy or rehearsed.
They felt chosen.
And that scared me more than anything else he could’ve said.
- Writer
