What is wrong with women? Why do
they always give me such a hard time? After all, it’s not as though I’ve failed
to make any effort with them. Have I not opened the doors for them? Have I not
listened to their problems and told them it’ll be all right or that they
deserve better? Have I not prepared special dishes for them? Have I not told
them they’re gorgeous enough? So what, precisely, is the bloody problem?
Fuck. I might be needing more onions.
I reached for the fifth onion and sliced
it into tiny bits. And sliced it. And sliced it. And sliced it. Tears crawled
from the back of my eyes, wanting to come out, but I struggled to push them
back. This chopping onions thing was definitely a nice distraction. It had
taken my mind off Naomi. At least for the moment.
Disappointment. Chop. Disenchantment. Chop.
Disillusionment. Chop. Dismay. Chop.
That’s what you let yourself in for
when you set sail for Naomiville. My heart had sunk so low it was practically
underground.
Two days ago when Naomi informed me of her plan to go ‘hibernating,’
I didn’t think she was dead serious about it. But, yes, it had been two days.
Two days since that kitchen incident and not a momentous thing was happening
between us. She was always in her room or anywhere else but around me. It was
as if Naomi was deliberately avoiding me. Whenever we’re stuck alone somewhere,
she would hurriedly excuse herself and run away. I wanted to know what that
attempted kiss meant. I need
to know.
Disappointment. Chop. Disenchantment. Chop.
Disillusionment. Chop. Dismay. Chop.
Sometimes when I see Naomi around – which were only a few
moments, she would always act as if nothing happened, as if everything was the
same. But my days had never been the same since that night we almost kissed.
She wanted to kiss me. She wanted me, period. And I wanted her too. These were
the crazifying thoughts that have been flitting around inside my brain for a
while now.
The questions that Effy left me with two nights ago had
still been unanswered.
There were just tons of things that I wanted to find out and it frustrated me
that I was dealing with two of the most guarded and enigmatic creatures on
earth. Headache-givers, those two really were. I think they just enjoy messing
with my head.
Disappointment. Chop. Disenchantment. Chop.
Disillusionment. Chop. Dismay. Chop.
The violence of the motion and the harshness of the onion
fumes was strangely therapeutic.
“Who does she think she is stringing me along like that?” I
muttered with a sniffle as I went on slashing more onions. “Thinks she can fuck
with my head like that? What an evil mindfucker. First she makes me think she’s
into me by attempting to snog me, then she acts like nothing happened. What the
fuck was that stunt? That bloody coward!”
I punctuated those final three words with a brutal hack
against the chopping board.
“Everything all right? Every time I see you, your mood
just gets better and better,” Thomas said early on Wednesday morning, taking a
stance against a kitchen counter. “Makes me glad I’m hitting the streets to go
jogging instead of hanging out here in the kitchen. Especially when you’re
holding a knife.”
“Thanks,” I said. I brushed the back of my hand against my
brow and eyes, wiping off the sweat and tears built up over an hour of chopping
onion I didn’t need.
“What are you trying to make?”
“French onion soup.”
“Seems to me you’re out to feed the whole dorm.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Wanna borrow these onion goggles I got from Karen? They’re
quite handy,” he offered, with a friendly smile plastered on his face.
I gave him a lopsided sad smile. “No, thank you. For some
strange reason, I feel like torturing myself right now.”
Thomas chuckled then bent over and propped his elbows on the
countertop. His face turned from teasing to serious. “Let me guess . . . You’re
in here, working a certain thing out of your system?”
“No.” I glanced down at the growing pile of onion. “Well, yeah.
But not exactly like that. I’m working my frustrations at that certain thing
out of my system.”
“Just go back to bed and sleep it off.”
“I’d just dream about . . . that certain thing.”
Thomas shrugged, then took a sip from a mug of coffee in his
hands. “Wish I could do anything to help. But when you deal with that sort of
woman—”
“Wait . . .” I said, looking at him cautiously. “You know who
it is?”
“You don’t have to tell me; it’s kind of obvious, Emily. I saw
the way you looked at Naomi in the basement during the dorm tour. Completely smitten, I say.”
I pinched at the
bridge of my nose. “God, she’s so frustrating, Thomas.”
“But you can’t get enough of her.”
“Naomi Campbell might be a complex human being, but when she
reveals the soft side of her, it’s so beautiful. It’s almost fantasy-like. And
I love that about her. It pulls me in,” I shared, hating myself for sounding
like a love-starved puppy. “Two nights ago, I got to spend a really wonderful,
enlightening time with her. God, Thomas. It was one of the best nights of my
life. When she opened up to me and I got to know her a lot deeper, it’s like –
it just felt like the most natural thing, you know. I still get all tingly just
thinking about it.”
Thomas was nodding his head sympathetically. “I feel you,
Emily. I really do.”
“She’s a mythical creature. I wish I knew how to figure her
out.”
“You just need patience, Emily,” he said, putting an encouraging
hand on my shoulder. “Some girls require three times more effort to crack. It’s
just unfortunate you’re after one of them. But I wish you the best of luck,
man.”
As soon as Thomas turned to leave, I went back to chopping onions.
Disappointment. Chop. Disenchantment. Chop. Disillusionment. Chop. Dismay. Chop.
Trust me, that’s what you let yourself in for when you set sail for Naomiville.
More updates to come!
