His Phoenix

■A dish of drama■

I peered at Kwame over the top of my book. He was focused on his phone, his strong jaw taut with tension. He was sprawled over my bed, his long legs touching my headboard as he lay on his stomach.

He had his work face on. Lips on a straight line, a frown on his forehead, stress lines on his cheeks. He looked so serious. Smirking mischievously, I stretched my leg and tickled his back with my toes.

He squirmed comically and turned to face me with a playful scowl. Before i could pull my leg back, he grabbed on to it and yanked me forward. I slid over him with a yelp of surprise and he burst into laughter. Laughing, I wriggled as he drew my legs over his shoulders and trickled the soles of my feet.

It had been over a year since Kwame and I went on that first date and everything had sped on from there. After that date, we started spending more time together and we realised that we actually had a lot in common including our celibacy.

After telling Kwame about my celibacy, i had expected him to run off but was extremely surprised when he told me he was also celibate.

Apparently, the ugly end to his previous relationship prompted him to look for something deeper than physical intimacy. He told me the only thing he and his ex girlfriend had in common was their heightened sense of libido. Their relationship had been lacking and it had taught him a lot. He was determined to put off physical intimacy till we were both truly ready.

I had understood right away and was relieved that I wouldn't have to deal with anything I wasn't comfortable with.

He didn't make me feel awkward for my choice, instead, he empathized with me and was understanding and just perfect. We were compatible in almost every way.

Despite all this, Kwame still had his cons like every other person. He was a little strict in the traditional sense and felt that gender roles should be strongly enforced. On several occasions, he'd watch tv in the hall with Ophelia while i cooked and slaved away in the kitchen. I didn't mind cooking or cleaning in my apartment. It was my space after all.

What i did mind however, was how he tried to order me around like a maid whenever he came over. The man would plant himself on my couch or in my bed and throughout the visit, would only get up to go to the bathroom.

At first, i found it funny since he was just a guest but as the days turned to weeks, weeks to months and the months slowly became a year, his refusal to lend any help, which i had found funny in the beginning, slowly became a source of irritation. It quickly became one of the things we would constantly fight about.

Even now, as my insides clenched with laughter, my eyes riveted to the plates he had eaten from just a few moments earlier. They were stacked on my night stand like ceramic, tectonic plates, only a nudge away from toppling down onto my carpet.

Even as i gasped for air and tried to still his wriggling fingers, i couldn't get the thought that he was expecting me to clear the dishes out of my mind.

Eventually, he stopped his ticklish assault and planted a soft kiss on my leg. I panted with exhilaration as i fell back onto my pillows. Kwame laughed as he dragged himself up to me. He lifted a hand toward the night stand with the plates and for one short, hopefull moment, i was convinced he was reaching for the plates.

Oh he reached for the plates alright but instead of lifting them and taking them to the kitchen like i imagined, he pushed them further back on the nightstand and put his phone on the space he'd created.

My joyful mood turned sour when the oil on the edges of the plates slowly rolled towards the surface of my night stand. Hissing in irritation, i leapt off the bed, run to the night stand and grabbed the plates before the oil could stain everything.