Must Date The Chef

|| 40.

I hate periods.

A bout of pain hits me, wreaking havoc on my abdomen and my insides knot violently. I clutch the bedsheet, let out a muffled cry as I shift into a more comfortable position to ease the cramping. Paul's palm covers my lower back, I blink back tears as my head raises from the pillow to offer him a small smile which he has trouble reciprocating.

We maintain that position in silence with my forehead digging into the pillow and his hand glued to my back as if it will ease my suffering. Sweat stings my eyes, trails down my cheeks until I wipe my face dry, I place my hand on my stomach and fall to my side as the pain subsides. I manage a laugh at Paul's furrowed brows threatening to merge into one and he frowns. My lips curl into a small smile, my eyelids grow heavier and his fingers brush the side of my face.

Seconds slowly turn to minutes punctuated by my sighs, the throbbing pain reduces to a dull ache. My eyes fly open, I drag his hand to take a peek at his wristwatch and my eyebrows almost disappears into my hairline at the time staring back at me.

"You shouldn't be here," I state. His answer comes in the form of stroking my cheek, I close my eyes briefly and sigh, his touch is comforting. "Babe, go. You will be late."

"I'm not going," he replies with furrowed brows and the pad of his thumb brushing my lips. "I can't leave you here like this."

"I'll be fine," I start. Another bout of pain hits me, I wince and grit my teeth as I curl into a foetal position. When my eyes open, Paul is staring down at me with worry and I try to smile. "It only hurts on the first day, I'll try to be fine but please, go." He makes no move to leave, I add, "If I need anything, you will be the first person I call, promise."

His chest rises and falls, he places a kiss on my forehead but I stop him from leaving to repay the gesture. "I'll call you. Goodluck."

"I don't need it," he says with a smile as he gets off the bed, already heading for the wardrobe. I shake my head. "It's for losers."

Stifling the urge to roll my eyes or throw the pillows at his head, I say, "Pompous ass."

He smacks his behind and winks, I let out a small laugh. "Your favourite pompous ass." This time, I roll my eyes at his back before my gaze returns to the ceiling. The quietude is broken by the sound of rustling clothes, he brings out two shirts to place in front of him. "This," he raises the first, a blue shirt for a few seconds, then lowers it, "or this."

"Wear both of them. Wear the first on top of the second," I reply with a straight face and he scowls. I giggle and look away, he is not the only one allowed to fool around. "Okay," I stare at the two, "I prefer the second one."

"I'm ready to go," his voice filters to my subconscious, I blink and yawn, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand. I weave my fingers into his beards, pull his face down for a brief kiss. He mimics my position on the bed, we lay on our sides with our heads propped on the pillows, he smiles at me and his hand stretches to touch my jaw. "Are you sure you will be okay?" I nod and cover his hand with mine. "If you need anything you will call me?" I nod again. "Do you need anything before I leave? Water? Food?"

"No," I reply, "just go. I will be fine, I'm a big girl." He chuckles, his lips part open and close as if he changed his mind on his reply. Moving to sit at the edge of the bed with a smile tugging on the corner of my lips, he thumps his feet on the ground. "Win for us o. Don't come back here without a trophy."

At my words, he straightens up to look at me, I close my eyes and stick out my tongue. "What if I don't win? Will I still be the best boyfriend in the world? Your favourite?"

"Who said you are my favourite or the best?" His index finger points to his chest, I roll my eyes and hiss. "Anyways... win or lose, you will always be the best boo and my favourite." I turn away to avoid seeing that arrogant grin plastered on his face, his ego is double the size of him. "Don't sha lose."