Were's the Love?

Chapter 46: Eating Piles of Paste; or Summoning The Very Big Bad Wolf

"What are you doing?" Jason asks as he walks into the kitchen.

It is honestly taking everything in me not to roll my eyes and groan at his idiotic question. Any moron with half a brain should be able to see that I'm cooking dinner. Seriously, I am standing in front of the counter, where a tray of raw chicken sits, with a jar of seasoning in my hand while a pot of peeled and diced potatoes boils away on the stove next to me. Now, unless I've suddenly become a part of some weird cult that enjoys sacrificing store-bought chicken thighs and soggy potatoes to the great oven gods, which I haven't, it should be pretty clear what I'm doing.

But, instead of being a sarcastic bitch, like I desperately want to be, I sigh and answer him as politely as I can.

"I'm making dinner, Jason."

"I'll do it!" He runs over and gently pushes me out of the way.

"No. You've done enough lately." I force a smile. "The least I can do is make us a nice meal."

"Nah, you don't have to do that!" Jason grins. "I like doing things for you. Plus, you've been on your feet all day, so you should use this time to relax."

"You've been on your feet more than I have and you spent the day chasing after rogue balls. So, if anyone needs to relax, it's you." I try to shove him out of the way, but he stands firm. "Seriously, Jason, go watch some TV. I'll cook."

Jason turns and, for a moment, I think I might have actually won the argument. But, nope. Instead of moving out of my way, he scoops me up and carries me out of the kitchen and into the living room. I'd struggle, but it's pointless. Not only is he stronger, but he's incredibly stubborn when he wants to be.

I know, it surprised me too. He seems like such a pushover, but damn it all if he hasn't been the most bullheaded idiot in the world this past week. Especially when it concerns me.

"Stay," Jason orders after he sets me down on the couch. He kisses my forehead and leaves me alone so he can finish preparing the meal that I was making. Because, clearly, heavens forbid I do anything while he's around.

I really don't know what's gotten into him recently, but it's pissing me off. Ever since he came back from picking up dinner a week ago, he's been the most irritating person I've ever met! He won't let me do anything! I can't cook. I can't clean. I can't even go to the bathroom without him checking on me to make sure I'm okay. What the hell is there to worry about while I'm in the bathroom?! It's the fucking bathroom! Is he concerned that the toilet is suddenly going to come to life and swallow me up? It's completely ridiculous!

And that's not the worst of it! I can't even eat what I want anymore!

On Sunday, his parents invited us over for a barbeque. At one point, I got up to refill my glass and do you know what Jason did while I was gone? The asshole ate my steak and replaced it with a fucking chicken breast!

I hate chicken breasts! Jason knows this, yet he still chose a breast over a thigh or leg! Not that it would have mattered if he had. I don't think I need to tell you this, but after eating a few bites of the most perfectly grilled and seasoned steak you've ever had, any cut of chicken is just going to be a huge disappointment.

When I asked him why he did it, he just muttered something about rare steak being bad for my health.

Now, there are several things wrong with what he said. First off, it wasn't rare. It was medium rare, meaning it was cooked enough to kill most of the dangerous bacteria lingering inside. Second, I eat raw rats, fur and all, as an owl! I don't think a little pink in my steak is going to kill me! Third, where does he get off trying to tell me what I should or shouldn't eat?! I don't go around, ripping bags of potato chips or stealing cookies out of his hands when I see him eating them and those things have far less nutritional value than my steak did!