What You're Thankful For

6 || The Next Gordon Ramsey

Don't want to, either.

When the insomnia began, it was terrible, especially because that was happening to me for the first time. I used to cover up the dark circles with concealer. That only went on for a few months though, and then–

A hand covers mine on the table. My gaze drops down, eyes widening.

Pull away. The voice in my head urges. Pull away now.

My fingers twitch once, and I force myself to take a deep breath, keeping my hand there. I feel my rigid shoulders loosen up ever so slightly.

Seph opens her mouth but I beat her to it. "I don't wish to talk further, abou–about this," I whisper, and I certainly don't wish to go through another episode, similar to the one earlier on.

It left me breathless, and even more in pain.

Time was ticking by quite slowly, being torturous, taunting me. While I lay on the floor for hours, sweating profusely, trying to get a hold of myself....and failing, failing miserably.

I inhale sharply. Don't think back. Be in the present.

Not thinking of anything else, I focus on Seph's hand on mine; long fingers, with the nails painted beige, matching the shorts she's wearing. I look up when she finally speaks,

"These are delicious," she remarks, "I'm already on my third one."

"You don't have to lie."

She regards me for a minute, then puts on a straight face, "What in the world is this?" she gasps, brandishing a wing, "Why did this chicken cross the road? Because you didn't freaking cook it! And this sauce," she faux-gags, and I narrow my eyes, "Remy from ratatouille would've done better! You wanna respectfully unalive every–"

Respectfully Unalive?!

"–vampire in Europe? Cause there's enough garlic in here to assist that mission of yours."

Despite myself–Whether it's the choice of her words or the way she imitated a British accent–I can't help but chuckle, the sound echoing against the backdrop of the earlier graveness.

Seph joins in too, and I revel in how her voice sounds. The next thing I know, we're laughing uncontrollably, and all the attempts to resist have failed.

This is what happens when you laugh after a long time. But the problem is, it's difficult to sober up then.

"Stop–laughing–" Seph says in between, "I–I–need to drink–water."

I spin on my stool so I'm looking at the wall now, trying to stifle my laughter, "You stop laughing!" I managed to say,

"You jerk, do you want me to choke?"

Oh, God. Deep breaths.

She pours water in two glasses, and passes one to me, "Damn, my cheeks hurt." She says, eyes all bright.

"Damn," My whole face aches, too, and I realize it is from laughing so hard. Due to my gaze on her, Serafina's high color returns, washing her face in a lovely bloom of pink. I like that, "What was that anyway? Am I looking at the next Gordon Ramsay?" I wonder, amused.

"Maybe you are," she jokes, "Oo, that reminds me, you mentioned a contest. What's that all about?"

"It's a cooking competition, let me explain all the details. But first," I raise my index finger, "You have to eat this too," I gesture to the tray below,

Seph grins, "Alright. And you as well, since you weren't there at dinner, now's your chance to eat in peace," she chides,

Everyone in the house noticed that, but only one mentioned it.