Must Date The Chef

|| 45.

Paul

Alfa won. He fucking did. It doesn't matter how often I replay the scenes leading up to the announcement in my head, I never find my fault. But I don't get it, I won the first and second round, the judges were pleased with my special. Where did I go wrong?

I stare at the ceiling without a clue what I am doing or my next move. What now? The lights in Chi's room are of a different design, sleeping in our--my room without her feels odd, I did it only once, barely slept a wink. My hands spread out on the bed, my eyes scan the room and a smile flits to my lips at the picture of us hanging from the wall.

Chi kept it. I hate that picture. Her tiny arm around my shoulders almost suffocated me, tears streamed down my cheeks and mucus formed small bubbles around my nostrils, yet that idiot called the cameraman still snapped us. The dizzying smile on Chi's lips makes me wonder now if she knew I was choking, if her arm had tightened around my neck deliberately. She was taller then, more mischievous and always had daddy's support. A yawn escapes me, I roll to my side and my head connects with the pillow.

A soft, feminine voice floats in and out of my subconscious, my hand reaches out for the owner, to cocoon her in my embrace, I need her. But I come up empty. I blink and stare at the walls of the room, the sleep vanishes, my painful reality dawns on me.

She is not here; she doesn't want me. The thought drives a blunt dagger through my heart, I bury my face into the pillow and let out a muffled scream. My head throbs, a strange feeling spreads throughout my chest and I wheeze. I don't want her too.

The pain migrates with a vengeance to my heart, I wince and hide my face in my palms until I can handle it. I have had enough of beautiful women and their ugly desire to hurt me without batting an eyelid. This shit fucking hurts, more than it did the last time. At least, Ella was a coward, she never said anything to my face, only a text.

Sweat sticks to my underarms, I turn on the AC and rise from the bed with the speed of a Sloth. No job. No girlfriend. No title. No love. There is nothing for me in Calabar anymore. My heart constricts, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut and pause briefly on my way to the kitchen, I sigh. I should have dissuaded her, talked myself out of going for that damn rigged show, we would have been at home, in bed. But I didn't, I couldn't.

Saying no to her has to be the most difficult thing on earth, everything I do is to make her happy. If she is happy, then I am too but I guess my happiness doesn't count. I run my fingers through my face and groan at the reminder of her text: I am sorry. I scoff, sorry doesn't cut it, it never has, never will. She should have let me be in my misery, instead of sending a text to mock me. Sorry for what? Hitting me or tearing us apart?

My hand locates my vibrating phone in the pocket of my tracksuit, I groan at the sight of the caller, this sister of mine is determined to frustrate me. The woman I want disturbing me hasn't called again, all I got was another fucking, pathetic text, it is always a text with these heartbreakers. When I am inside the kitchen, I take a long look at my screen, clear my throat and pick.

"Hey," I say to Chi whose excitement wanes at my sombre tone. I wish I have the secret to her constant happiness. "What's up?"

"Are you at home?" I shake my head until I remember she can't see me and reply in the negative. "You have been missing my calls."

Retrieving a bowl from the fridge, I insert it into the microwave and wince as the tempo of Chi's voice increases with each question. I haven't cooked in days, cooking without her here feels wrong, like I am cheating on the beautiful memories we created in this part of the house. Not only did she walk away with the broken pieces of my heart, she also took my ability to do simple things like cook. I barely exist. Fuck my life.