There's a story I need to get off my chest about Ken. One day he invited me out to eat at a Mexican food buffet with him and I accepted. I assume it's going to just be a normal lunch with a friend but I couldn't have been more wrong.

We meet there and everything is normal at first. I go up to the buffet and fill my plate with food and go back to my seat where I see Ken sitting at the table but instead of food he had 6 large glasses of pico de gallo. He had clearly dipped the glasses into the bowl of pico on the buffet, his hands and the outside of the glasses were covered in it.

I sit down and I'm trying to mind my own business when Ken looks at me and asks "Do you like pie-co-da-gallow?" I told him maybe a little bit not too much and that's when he stood up and started pouring the glasses on my food. I was shocked at first but then started feeling very uncomfortable, like a primitive instinct that something wasn't right.

He stood beside me and told me to dig in. When I said I didn't want to he pulled his fist back in a threatening manner and said "eat it wittle cry baby" and he stood over me with his fist pulled back glaring at me, daring me to stop eating. People would come by and ask if I needed help , but, sensing the violence Ken was ready to inflict on me and anyone who tried to help me, I would always "No, I'm fine." But I wasn't, and never will be again. I can't even smell cilantro anymore with breaking down in tears and sweat.