Page 51 of Save Me

Exhausted from chasing men all night.

I cook faster, that rage back. I don’t want Micah to chase strange men. I don’t want him to chase me either, but I definitely don’t want him to chase strange men.

The thoughts make my hands shake. I almost bail, but stop myself. I’m being a goddamn coward. Whatever it is, I can do this. I can face this game. I played it in the big leagues, so why am I letting this little league shit stress me out?

I sear the steak and put it in the oven. Thirty minutes before I put the fries in the oil, I grab my phone and check my messages.

CUPCAKELOVER: *Gasp* Forgive me, good sir, the human accusation was a momentary lack of judgment based on your preference for *cough* a dry, flightless bird.

CUPCAKELOVER: Well, they’re flightless now with the way they’ve been bred. I feel bad for them, really.

CUPCAKELOVER: I hope everything goes well! I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.

CUPCAKELOVER: Text me when you’re done!! Just to let me know the evil dentist hasn’t stolen your soul or something.

CUPCAKELOVER: You okay over there?

CUPCAKELOVER: My phone is being weird, so I’m sorry if I accidentally double-send anything.

That’s the last thing he sent; all of them delivered after I turned my phone back on. I feel my eyebrows drawing together. He didn’t take the bait. At least, he acts like he isn’t mad.

Maybe I underestimated him.

I pick up my phone.

Me: I made breakfast. Steak and fries. Even included the green fart veggies. It’ll be ready in 30

I let out a big breath and set my phone down. Even though I hate myself for participating, it also feels…empowering. Nothing bad is going to happen because I can play this right. I can take care of myself.

I throw the fries in the oil, waiting until they’re golden brown before pulling them out and putting them on the paper towel.

There’s a thump from upstairs that I recognize as Princess jumping down out of the bed. It makes me smile. He probably smells the food. I did make sure not to season the steak with garlic or onion yet, so I can cut a piece off for him.

Twenty minutes go by, and I check my messages to see if Micah’s responded.

Nothing.

I frown, my stomach tightening. Then, I shrug it off. This is just part of it, him making me wait.

I finish up the fries, then set the table.

He’s not playing. Why isn’t he playing?

I shake my head. Maybe he’s just not up yet. I take the steak out of the oven, but keep the tinfoil over it. I plate the broccoli so it doesn’t overcook, and leave the fries out on a plate. I can dump them back in the oil real quick before we eat.

I check my phone again. Still nothing. So I send a text.

Me: It’s ready!

I fidget with the table and the food until there’s nothing else to do. Five minutes feels like an hour. I keep checking my phone. Maybe he’s not awake yet?

Maybe he is, and you’ve just lost this round.

My stomach twists in knots. I stare out over the food, suddenly mortified. Oh my god, I did all of this just to embarrass myself.

The overwhelming urge to bury myself in a hole fills me. It’s been over an hour since my initial texts, and it’s mid-morning. I doubt Micah is still sleeping. He went to bed kinda early last night. Plus, I can hear Princess up.

Save this. Save it, don’t ruin this.