Girls Who Dreamt of Castles

Chapter Two

"Food is for eating, and good food is to be enjoyed... I think food is, actually, very beautiful in itself."
- Delia Smith.

Jollof rice, chicken, and salad.

That was Adira's favourite meal. She loved everything about it. Hot jollof rice, a well-seasoned piece of chicken, and a small bowl of cold salad - just the way her mother prepared and served it.

"I wish I could eat this forever!" she had beamed, tearing the piece of chicken she held in her tiny hands and licking her lips hungrily.

"Adira, what did I tell you about eating your meat before your food?" her father professed listlessly. "You're becoming more stubborn than usual."

"Sorry," she grinned and dropped her chicken. "Last time."

"Don't worry when you become a big girl, you can eat whatever and however you like. Any day, forever. Oh?" her mother replied and stroked her cheek.

Adira got back home late and it wasn't at all planned. Her body just decided on its own to take a longer route home and she also needed to buy some foodstuff since her fridge looked a little too empty lately. She had met the man again on her way home and thankfully for her, he didn't seem to remember her.

It was amazing that he didn't. The thought of him coming back to her and saying all the things he had said previously made her mad. She wished she had said something more before. She wished she did something, she wished she could do something but there was nothing she could do. It was now in the past.

When she arrived at her apartment, she entered, locked the door behind her before throwing her keys on the glass table that stood at the centre of the living room. The electricity was not on so it was dark and hot inside.

She opened the curtains and windows and then she circled the house out of habit, picking a few things that weren't in place and arranging them slowly. She moved to the middle of the room, dropped her belongings on the table, and strolled to her bedroom using the torch on her phone for better vision.

In the bedroom, she took off her clothes and went straight into the bathroom still using the torch on her phone.

She placed her phone on the toilet sink and stepped into the shower. It wasn't her usual long showers where she had to bathe with warm and cold water then warm water again. It was dark and she was too hungry and tired to stand, and it was also too hot to bathe in warm water, so she showered with just cold water instead.

After her short bath, the model got out of the shower and wrapped herself up in a clean white towel. She used two other different towels; a pink and a blue one to dab water from her face and hair respectively.

After cleaning herself up, she sat opposite her mirror and examined her face. It was perfect. There were no blemishes in sight.

She smiled as she checked other sorts of her skin. It was her hardest yet her favourite time of the night. It was the time when she had to pamper herself and apply so many expensive skincare products that she sometimes lost count of.

Having a skincare ritual wasn't easy, especially when she had to do it diligently. Nobody wanted to see a model with a face full of pimples or spots. It was absurd - a fashion blasphemy.

After she was done with her hair and skincare routine, she put on her nightdress and headed to the kitchen. There, she began to prepare herself a decent meal. If a decent meal meant one with a lot of fat and grease, then so be it. She hadn't had a decent meal in years now and she wasn't even exaggerating. She always went for the small, dry stuff with lots of fruits and vegetables and lots and lots and lots of water.

Eating a small amount of food wasn't easy, especially when she had to do it diligently.

For other people, there was always time for everything. There was a time to eat, a time not to eat, and a time to eat certain meals. She didn't have time for any of that.

Adira stared at the food she had prepared for herself thoughtfully. She hadn't touched it yet. From where she sat, it didn't look like something she should touch.

She had cooked for herself a small plate of jollof rice, garnished with carrot and green beans to make it look more like a healthy meal. And also with a well-seasoned chicken, which she took from the freezer, and a glass of red wine.

Yes, she had planned it for a long time and now the food had finally been prepared, she didn't feel like eating.

The electricity shot back on as she continued to stare at the food in the same manner, only this time terrifyingly.

She could see the glossiness of the food that came from all the oil and fat and it made her feel sick. Not the kind of sickness that made her nauseous. It was the kind that made her feel funny inside - the kind that came before the one that made her feel nauseous.

She forked the piece of chicken slowly, then dropped the cutlery on the China plate with a soft clash.

She sighed and got up. What was I even thinking? she thought. She couldn't eat the food even if she tried. She couldn't touch it because she knew she wouldn't enjoy it.

Why did I ever try?

She lingered in the kitchen for a while, debating on what to do with the food. Then, with a frown on her face, she sat down again, contemplating her life a little longer.

Her food was already getting cold and she was starting to feel a little nauseous.

Finally, she had agreed with herself. It was hard settling for it after all she had gone through.

She stroked her hair in frustration. She rather felt things had been taken out of her hand. Then, as if she had nothing to do, she took out her laptop from its bag and searched her email box pensively. It was also part of her night ritual and she hated it because she always had the same results every night. She didn't find the email she was looking for.

Typical.

She blew air out of her mouth and moaned in frustration. Then she stood up from her seat again and collected her cleaning things. With it, she cleaned the kitchen. Everything in it; the floor, the sink, the tables, and chairs.

When she was done, she marched to her table, grabbed the plate of food, and emptied everything in the wastebasket.

Adira was in bed. She wasn't sleeping but she wished she was. She sat Indian-style, her laptop opened in front of her, and a wine bottle beside her. She wasn't going through her emails(which was a huge surprise). No, she was watching short, fashion movies by Vogue. She had saved millions of them on her laptop, watching at least a dozen every day. It wasn't something she wished she was doing but she always found herself doing it.

Like many other things she did, it was like a ritual. A sad, life-sucking, full bag of annoying ritual.

People were living her dream life and there she was; in the middle of the night, sipping cheap, red wine directly from its bottle and thinking: Oh, well! My life is kind of boring.