Must Date The Chef

|| 43.

A yawn escapes me, my body screams tired, I should be asleep by now. But I am not. The eyes are still watching me. I sigh, Aaron is dead, he can't get me now but at the thought of his name, a shiver of dread trickles down my spine. He is dead, I try to remind myself, the dead have nothing in common with the living. But daddy is dead too and we have a connection through his pendant, memories too sacred for someone as vile as Aaron to experience. I blink, he can't reach me here.

My fingertips automatically brush my neck, my collarbone and a smile flits to my lips. I like to pretend I still have the necklace, that piece of cold metal rubbing against my skin is the closest form of physical contact I will ever have with him. I need it back. Now.

I cast another look around my room, there is no one here, I am safe. I stand and sit back almost immediately. My head shakes, I should stay in front of the mirror, that way I will see and be ready for any incoming attacks. None of that negligence again, no Mike to take me by surprise. Mike, bless his soul and Mary's too. If she ever got out, I hope she is doing fine, life is kinder to her.

Another yawn slips past my lips, I blink and stare at my bed with longing through the mirror. Only for this night, I can do it. My phone pings, I pick it to resume stalking the show's page, in my anger, I failed to ask him for the results. I tap on their recent post, they have announced the winners, they did it a few hours ago and my eyes lift to check the time on the corner of my screen.

It takes a few seconds for me to process the digits staring back at me. I blink, it is less than six hours to resumption and if I don't want to be cranky in the office, I need to go to bed right now but my feet are stuck to the ground. I can't move. Maybe I can but the voice in my head promises me I will be safer in front of the mirror and I believe it.

Images flood my vision as I swipe right on my screen, my heart hammers in my chest as my eyes zero in on the chefs posing by a table of different dishes. My shoulders relax when the picture of Paul smiling comes into view, I chuckle and trace his lip with longing. For stupid reasons, I tap on his username mentioned in the caption and my heart stops. My eyes brim with tears at the sight of the pictures in his account and my heart resumes beating at an erratic pace.

Guilt threatens to surface and I force it down, too overjoyed to feel anything other than love. I suck my bottom lip, eyes fixated on the couple grinning at the camera like it isn't us. I swipe to the right, tears leak to my cheeks, we look so in love in this picture, if our eyes don't convey that, his lips on my temple does. A sob escapes me at the time of the post, he made it after I left the house. My heart constricts, he deleted them, all the pictures of them, her. I place a hand over my chest, I can't handle his sweetness alone.

If he can post this after our squabble, why won't he pick my calls? I am sorry. The response remains the same when I redial his number, I contemplate on calling Chi but end up on his Instagram page smiling at the spam comments asking if she is the one.

Yes, she is, me, right here. I am a tap away from sending that when I catch myself and take a deep breath. There is no caption or tag on the post so no one can identify me, my index finger hover above the picture, I double tap on my screen and the love icon appears. I did not stalk him, it came to me.

The other post is a picture of him in an apron and a chef hat, I purse my lips, I have never seen him in one of these before. I keep swiping until I reach the end, my eyes lower to the caption and my lips part open. The feeling of guilt intensifies, I don't try to fight it as it crashes over me. I am a horrible girlfriend. I gulp, I should have listened to him, slept in his room so we can talk later in the day when my head is clearer. Maybe that's why he doesn't want to speak to me.

His last seen on WhatsApp gives me an idea to type up a long, contrite message which I spend minutes, maybe hours writing only to end up deleting it. I settle for a one-line message, purse my lips and try not to think too much about it as I hit the send button. I can still see his profile picture, he didn't block me, I close my eyes, he won't do that.