“Hey! Hey, Fi!” my boss, Andy, shouted as I walk past the restaurant. I knew I should’ve taken the long way. It’s my day off and I’d rather eat a live rat than work.

“Fi! FI! FI-O-NA! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”

I was being rude. I knew I was being rude. I should just turn around and see what he wants just to be courteous. I already knew what he’s going to say: “Oh, Fi, I’m sorry to do this, but we’re getting slammed. Can you please come in for the lunch rush?” But I didn’t want to. I always say yes to him. I always say yes to everyone. My therapist says I need to start asserting myself and saying NO and meaning NO. I woke up this morning and decided today was the day I start. But now I felt like I walked past the restaurant purposely. It felt dirty and wrong, like I want to be a pushover.

I turned around. “Hey, Andy.”

He combed his hands through his hair, let out a sigh, and said, “Jesus Christ, Fi! Don’t make me run down the street yelling for you like a fucking madman.”

“Okay, sorry. What’s up?” I asked, feeling ashamed.

“Vikki’s called in sick—something about her kid having tonsillitis—and Margie was a no-show, meaning I don’t have anybody for the lunch rush, and you know as all as I do that Fridays are one of our busiest days…”

He trailed off, waiting for me to offer to work. But I was going to say no this time. Truly I was. If not just for my independence, but also because I know Dan, my boyfriend, is working the fryer and I don’t particularly want to see him.

When I don’t say anything, he continued: “Fi, I’m sorry to do this, but we’re getting slammed. Can you please come in for the lunch shift?”

I moved my weight from my left foot to my right, feeling discomfort with my impending no. He stared at me with a pleading look in his eyes. Finally, I say, “Andy, I don’t think I can…today is my day off and I was going to do some shopping…and…stuff…”

“Well you can shop after the lunch rush. Please, my girl, don’t leave me hanging.”

“I just…I really wanted to…”

“Fiona, come on. Don’t say no.”

I gave in. I always do. Maybe tomorrow I can practice saying no.

We went inside and I barely looked at Dan, but I did notice that he was wearing the Mastodon t-shirt that I got him for his birthday. Probably he’s going to try to smooth things over today.

I grabbed my apron and notepad out of my locker, threw my hair up in a messy top knot, washed my hands, plastered my best waitress smile on my face, and got out there.

Andy was right. We were getting slammed. Nearly all of the tables in my section were full when I started at eleven am, and I anticipated that the other two sections as well as the counter would be full by noon. At least I’d get good tips today—tips I didn’t have to share with anyone.

My first set of orders were easy-peasy. They were the usual elderly crowd requesting their usual sandwiches: turkey club, tuna salad, and egg salad.

With noon came the younger customers. Teenagers meant French fries. French fries meant interacting with Dan. Not for the first time, I felt an anger rising up deep in my belly, threatening to explode. I was able to keep it at bay around the customers, converting that energy to almost manic hyperactivity and friendliness.

I managed to flit in and out of the kitchen without talking to Dan for almost three and a half hours. That’s the beauty of being in a busy restaurant. Constant movement. No time for chit-chat.

But with 2:30 came a lull and a lull meant Dan time. I knew we were going to confront each other. I could feel it. I was armed with my therapist’s voice in my head, urging me to assert myself, and I felt ready. Now or never, you know?

I walked into the kitchen and Dan was bullshitting with Freddy the line cook and Marco the dishwasher. They were laughing at whatever dudes laugh at, but then they noticed me and the mood in the room darkened. Marco hurried over to the dirty dishes like he was a field doctor rushing toward a wounded man on the battlefield. Freddy was suddenly very interested in scraping the grease from his cooktop. Dan was watching me with that look in his eye that usually really gets me going, but this time it made me hate him. I’ve never hated anyone before. It feels burning and ooey and I was having a hard time climbing out of it.

“Hey, babe,” he said, “want to go outside?”

“Yeah, sure.” There I go again with my yesses.

We went out to the alleyway where Freddy and Marco like to smoke joints and throw pennies during their breaks. Andy had set up a small table and chair set out there a couple of years ago back as a gesture to a long gone waitress who complained that there was nowhere to sit in peace during breaks, but they were seldom used. Except for today.

I sat across from Dan and waited to hear his spiel. It’s one I’ve heard one too many times before, only before I was too afraid to leave him. This time felt different in many ways; for one, I knew more.

He tried to put his hand on my knee as he said, “Baby, I know I did you wrong, but can’t you forgive me like those other times? You’re my angel, my everything. I’m just a man, and men have urges.”

I turned my chair so he couldn’t touch me any longer. I said, “Save it.”

He looked shocked.

I said, “I found her.”

He turned white. Swallowed. Said, “Who?”

“The woman in the basement.”

“Oh, Sandra.”

“Yes, Sandra. You had her tied up. I took the restraints off of her.”

The color came back to his face and it was red. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“She said it was consensual. She said you’ve been practicing S&M in our basement twice a week for seven months. Seven months.”

“She liked it.”

“But she said she’d had enough and wanted to go and you wouldn’t let her go.”

“I wasn’t done yet.”

“She said she was afraid to go home so I helped her leave and you’re not going to find her.”

His eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

I rested my hands on my lap. I said, “I found the videos. They don’t look consensual.”

“I’m a sick man, Fi.”

“I brought them to the police. Dan, I’m scared. I don’t want you to hurt me. You have to go away and get better.”

He stood up and I braced myself for the backhand that he was sure to deliver, but just as he raised his hand, Andy was in the doorway. He said, “I wouldn’t do that.”

The cops were there. They took him away . The look he gave me as they cuffed him will haunt me for years.

Andy says I should move and get a restraining order. That is something I can definitely say yes to.

I asserted myself today. I saved myself today. I became myself today.