MATURE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds he...
"Nobody's gonna love me better, I must stick with you forever..." ♫ Stickwitu by Pussycat Dolls.
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Baking was my stress reliever.
For any minor inconvenience I faced, I turned to sugar and sweets to make it all better. If I failed a test in school, if I lost a meaningful friendship, if a stupid drummer in leather pants broke my heart, I baked a cake, or cookies, or muffins and I did it until the sun rose the next day.
The habit came about from my father. When I was ten and failed my quiz on fractions, he ordered me into the kitchen and made me measure out all of the ingredients to make flan.
He taught me that making something sweet and warm to enjoy after a long day of work, school or studying, could change the outcome of the day. It could, if you let it, make you feel better.
However, I'd been baking for what felt like forever and all I was, was pissed off.
"I want to kill him."
"Cherry, don't you think that's a little-"
"No, I want to cut off his dick, drive to the nearest bridge and chuck it into the water for the fish to snack on!" My arm ached as I stirred a batch of triple-chocolate-cookies, mixing in the flour.
Arthur, who was visiting and sitting in my dining room sipping a cup of coffee, replied, "It's been two days and you're still this worked up about what he said to you? He apologized. I thought you'd feel more happy about it then pissed off."
"I'm pissed off because he's... he's so... ugh!" I threw down the spoon and wiped the flour off of my forehead, "You didn't hear him, Artie. He sounded so fucking... so fucking... sincere! It was disgusting and annoying and perfect like his stupid face and I just wanna smack him!"
"Okay wait, wait, wait," He swallowed down a bite of brownie and cleared his throat, "So, are you mad because he apologized perfectly or... are you mad because it made you wanna forgive him?"
"I'm mad because it was the wrong time and place," I huffed, grabbing a leftover raspberry from the tart pastries I made and popping it into my mouth. I placed my hands onto the counter and gripped it tight, "He stayed in New York with his ex-wife for two months before he had the sense to come back and say he was sorry."
"I thought you said that was because they were looking for his kid and--didn't you say yourself that he was manipulated and kinda caught in a shitty place-"
"Yes, ugh!" I gritted my teeth and picked up the spoon again, mixing to the high heavens.
"Oh my goodness," His chair scraped the floor and the next thing I knew, he was trying to take my spoon, "No more baking-"
"Artie-"
"No." He threw the spoon into the sink, "No more cookies, no more baking, no more being mad. You need to face the facts, Cherry. You've been stomping around the city for two days. Every time I see you, I duck. You have to make a decision sooner or later. Are you gonna forgive him or not?"
