“Come here.”

He’d say, gesturing you near. Using his index and middle finger to gesture you close. He’d give you commands. Expect you to follow them.

“No. Don’t eat that.”

He’d tell you. Snatching whatever you’d found and throwing it to the side. A brief look of condescension, with a hint of disgust. Shocked that you’d even consider it. He’d tell you what to wear. You’d comply out of habit. And he’d smile. Like it was the best thing in the world.

Like now; he peered over your shoulder, eyes flicking to the food in your lap. His lip wrinkled in distaste.

“I told you not to eat that. It’s shit.”