Hey, Cupcake

One-All That Chasing And I Get Nowhere With You

One-’All That Chasing And I Get Nowhere With You’

I pout.

I just threw my dark chocolate, icing covered, sprinkle dripped cupcake at the TV.

Why?

Because he was on it.

Again.

That’s the third cupcake this week.

His imperfectly perfect face. His shit like chocolate wavy hair. His sparkling green cat eyes.

Makes me want to throw a cupcake at him. That’s probably why I did it in the first place.

I groan, getting off my couch to go downstairs. The downstairs it the bakery; the upstairs is where my dad and I live. My dad owns the bakery in town. He makes the best cookies, pies, cakes, you name it. Our house isn’t really a house. More like an upstairs apartment. That’s all we really need; we’re only up here usually to sleep and eat. Then we’re out and around, doing what we have to do.

I jog down the stairs and open the door, letting it slam shut behind me.

And practically run into a girl two steps away from it.

I raise my eyebrows and carefully maneuver my way around her. My eyes scan around the overly crowed bakery. It’s only suppose to hold a small amount of people, but this is way over the limit. Cameras flash in my eyes, making me go temporarily blind. I blink a couple of times to get my vision back, then push past most of the screaming girls and cameras to see what’s going on.

“ALRIGHT, MOVE OUTTA THE WAY, WHAT THE HELL IS-” 

My voice automatically cuts off.

There, standing in my dad’s bakery, is Mike Thicke.

His sunglasses cover his eyes. A v-neck with a slick jacket covers his torso, showing off his pointed shoulders and smooth body. Jeans sling off his legs. And there, on his neck, is what makes me want to throw the fourth cupcake this week. It’s the music note necklace.

He’s got an arm slinging across the glass counter, the one we use to display our cakes, as he talks to some bimbo whose grinning widely. He hasn’t noticed me yet. I can still make my way out of here alive. I quickly blend myself in with the girls I know are not in here for the new cookie my dad invented, but the cookie with the music note necklace.

I duck down onto my knees, squeezing myself through teenage bodies to get to the front door. I have to hold my breath too, the perfume they all wear combines into one and stinks up the whole place. It’s going to take weeks to get the smell out of here.

Somewhere along the line, I start crawling on all fours. That’s how desperate I am to get out of here. He can’t see me here, not ever. I can’t face him again. Not after what he did to me. So I crawl faster. But that leads me to start dragging myself onto the floor, using my fists to pull myself towards the door.