Seph's perceptive eyes trace the contours of my face with an unspoken comprehension, her gaze boring into mine – a tad more focused on the dark circles. She raises a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just inches from my face.
I close my eyes. Hmm, I wonder what she's thinking right now, what conclusions she's coming to, does she think I'm ill? Or she'll assume it's nothing serious, that this is just the result of staying up one night; staying up deliberately...
Then her cool fingers make contact with the shadows beneath my eyes, and for a fleeting moment, everything else fades away. All that remains is the gentle sensation of her touch. I open my eyes. Her huge blue ones meld to mine with concern and something else that sends an alarming rush of heat through my blood.
What in the world—
Seph swallows and immediately lowers her hand, back to the table.
I look down, waiting for a snide remark, laughter, or being called a 'pathetic excuse for pity'. None of it comes through,
"Does this happen every night?" She asks softly,
Now it is my turn to stare at her. No one has ever asked me that, and here she is, making me question my own opinions.
I make a more or less gesture with my hand, "Yeah. Sometimes I'm able to sleep for an hour, when I'm lucky, three hours. And sometimes, no sleep at all." I sigh, rubbing the heel of my hand against a tired eye,
Telling her the truth can't hurt, right? Well, a bit of the truth...
Seph's eyebrows draw in, a troubled look crossing her face as she bites into a wing, chewing thoughtfully.
Time to change the topic before I get called a freak. "I didn't know what else to do, so whenever I can't sleep, I come here to cook something. It helps prepare for the contest, too." I go on,
Better this than laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Wishing I'd drift off to sleep without any trouble,
"Has it always been this fun?"
I shake my head, "Hmm, I think the new company makes it better," I muse,
Seph smiles before asking another question, "Do the others know?" The words didn't even leave her mouth as guilt marrs her pretty features,
"Oh they know, they care so much," I say wryly, scoffing silently.
Mom knew. After all, I went to her the first week I couldn't sleep. However, all she said to me was that this is my excuse to get sympathy and attention, by faking "ill".
Parents. I thought she'd understand. After all, she lost her husband that day, too. But no, I hoped too much. She must know about this now as well but either she deliberately ignores it or genuinely doesn't give a damn, I don't know.
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.
The warm water runs over my hands as I scrub the remnants of our midnight snack off the plates, the soft clinking of cutlery against the sink around us.
Seph is leaning against the counter, her dark red hair catching the dim light. Her eyes follow a bubble of dishwashing liquid before it pops, "Let me do the dishes," she insists for the third time,
I shake my head, "No way, I was kidding earlier." I remind her, she'd just find a way to hurt herself again.
She goes back to the stool and sits on it, "So, tell me again how does this competition work?" She asks, leaning forward interestedly.
I wipe my hands on a towel after putting the last plate away, my eyes on the kitchen island, where Seph's hand is tracing idle patterns.
"The main thing is the themes and rounds." I explain, "Each round has a specific theme, like comfort food or Halloween's best. Then we have a time limit to get the ingredients, then create a dish under the theme given. The judges score based on creativity, taste, and presentation."
She lets out a low whistle, "Damn, that sounds fun!"
'Culinary Craze' is a prestigious cooking contest that takes place every two years, where aspiring individuals from all over the world come to take part. Out of hundreds, only twenty are selected to compete. Two contestants are eliminated in each round, leading to the final, one on one. The winner gets a cash prize and acceptance to their dream culinary school.
Growing up, I've never been into video games or sports. Neither of those captured my interest as much as cooking did. I wasn't into action movies either. Instead, I watched MasterChef, or recipe videos whenever I was free.
Sometimes I would open my notebook, and make up my dishes. That was fun. That's the 80 percent reason I'm doing this contest, my love for cooking. The plan is to graduate with top honors and become a renowned chef. Since I was a kid, my dream is to own a chain of restaurants, each with its own unique theme and signature dishes.
The twenty percent reason? I want to go somewhere else, leave this city and its hauntings behind, and get a new start.
"So wait," Seph's voice brings me back to the kitchen, "What round are you on currently?"
"Round six." Tomorrow afternoon, and I can't wait,
She smiles, "You–you're done with fi–five rounds already?" she asks, stifling a yawn.
"Yes," I respond, then glance at my watch. Four thirty a.m. So much for being considerate, time flew by so quickly. Before I can say something, she raises her hand.
"Sleep doesn't come to you? Even when you try?"
"Nope." I try to offer a small smile, but it feels forced. I want to say something else, something about the competition but the words fail me. My mind drifts back to the anxiety attack. I swallow hard.
I can't lose control, but that is precisely what's happening. Don't think about it. Still, despite my attempts to engage, I feel like I'm navigating a foggy labyrinth, the walls of emotions threatening to swallow me whole.
Seph's looking at me closely. She's doing her best to sit up straight, but I know her better. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks. The way her fingers trace patterns on the table slows down.
"Alright, I'll explain everything else later," I say. This isn't the time to talk about me, and there's no way I'm going down memory lane, not a chance. "You're tired."
She quickly shakes her head, "N-no, I'm fine." she says, though the weariness in her eyes betray her words.
"Really," I urge, "It's nearly five, you should go to bed."
"But I want to continue hearing whatever you wanna say," she says softly, placing her head on her arms. "Carry on,"
"Okay, that's it." I declare, walking to her, "You can catch up on the details later. Right now, you need sleep." I pause, watching her shake her head again, "You don't have to stay up for me." I add, my voice just above a whisper. Closing my eyes, I realize that my concern isn't on my struggles at the moment.
Oh.
She stayed up the night when she easily could've gone to bed. She could have said no when I asked. But...she didn't. She could've left right after having water, but she poured a glass for me too.
I open my eyes, waiting for her response. It doesn't come though. Her head's down, eyes closed. I shake my head with a sigh, she's too stubborn, but I don't mind that. I tilt my head to the right, contemplating what to do. Should I leave her here? Or Do I wake her up? Hmm,
I don't want to do either, though.
I bend slightly and place one hand beneath her knees, the other at her back.
I lift her in my arms as her head rests against my shoulder. I stiffen for a minute when her fingers clutch at the front of my shirt. I'm not fond of physical touch or anything of that sort. Jake says I'm acting as if there is a deadly virus going on. That's the way I prefer things, though, with everyone at arm's length.
Seph holding on to my shirt though, I don't know...I find it cute. Smiling, I walk out of the kitchen slowly, careful not to wake her up.
The sky outside comprises indigos melting into pale blues and lavenders. And the hues of rose complete the look.
I push open the door to Seph's room with my foot and walk in silently towards the bed. Gently prying her fingers off of my shirt, I lay her down. Unfolding the comforter, I place it over her body, up to her arms.
Lastly, I pull the curtains together so nothing ruins her sleep, and walk out. Closing the door, I see her chest rise and fall rhythmically.
God, I wish I could fall asleep that fast, but at the same time,
I'm thankful she gets to sleep peacefully.