He froze, his voice jumping up. “You dressed so nicely and even did your makeup, wasn’t it for me?”
I stared at him, completely lost. “Didn’t you say I look awful when I dress up? Why would I dress up for you?”
I clicked my tongue in frustration, slid around him, snatched my bag, and headed outside.
Chase always complained when I wore bold colors, saying they made me look cheap and immature.
Anything shorter than the knee was “trying to lure people.”
If I put on makeup, he laughed at me, saying I was “painting over my age.”
He especially disliked it when I spent time with girlfriends.
For years, to please him, I cut down my social life and packed away the dresses I loved.
I wore bland, loose office outfits each day, bare-faced, riding to work like someone twice my age.
All this while I hadn’t even turned thirty.
Meanwhile, at the company, Zaria turned her uniform into a tight skirt, wore full makeup, curled her hair into big waves, and he praised her for “having spark” and being “eager in her job.”
It was then I understood.
When someone was biased, nothing you did was right.
Luckily, I no longer had to worry about what he thought.
When my girl friends heard I was dumping Chase and heading overseas, they were stunned.
They knew too well how pathetic I used to act around him.
When they realized I was finally waking up, they almost set off fireworks
They took turns cursing at him; apparently, they’d disliked him for ages.
To send me off right, we finished one round of drinks, then hit a karaoke room, staying out until two in the morning.
When I came home, Chase hadn’t gone to sleep.
He sat on the sofa with a dark expression. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
I replied lightly, “Maybe I didn’t notice it.”
His expression turned even worse. “Astraea, I haven’t eaten anything yet.”
I slid through a silly clip a friend sent and nodded with no real focus.
“Then order takeout. At this hour, the rider should get here quickly.”
Once he couldn’t keep it in anymore, his voice got louder, with a bit of a wronged tone.
“My stomach acts up… I can’t eat takeout.”
I finally looked up from my phone, irritation plain in my eyes.
“Then make something yourself. There are ingredients in the fridge. I’m worn out, can you stop fussing at me like some old woman?”
He froze, thrown off, the color in his face slowly fading.
I didn’t bother giving him another look.