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“I think…I need to eat. I think…I’m hungry.”
“You think?”
“I haven’t felt hungry in years. But all of a sudden, I’m really, really…hungry.”
“In that case, I’ll find you something to eat.”
“And then?”
“Then we will go back to doing exactly what we do best. We will be us. You and me. You’re working until three, and I’ll no doubt be here until midnight. Mark is taking you out, and he won’t leave your side tonight. He tells me you have a hot date with someone called Dieter. You’d better not be having a steamy affair behind my back.”
A smile. A smile was all I needed right now.
“Never,” he said.
“Then I’ll come home and we’ll…”
Words. We didn’t always need them.
“Can we go…?” he began.
“Eat?” I nodded and smiled and followed him out from behind his desk. “And Hugo? Stick your tips in the bank. Or spend them. Do whatever you want with them. Just don’t stash them in the sofa. It’s a really old sofa, and you’ll never see them again. I’ve lost a phone and a watch and countless other things down that sofa. One day, I’ll need to take a saw to it and see what else is in there.”
“You’re an idiot,” he said softly.
I was. Not that it mattered
Hugo
Something had changed in my head today, and I didn’t know how to describe it. Like there was some kind of filter that had been ripped off, clarity flooding my usually muddled thoughts.
I sat in the restaurant break room, chewing a fingernail and wanting to sink through the floor. I was supposed to be out in the lobby working, and everyone knew I’d had a much longer break than was allowed. If I’d been in trouble before, now every single one of my colleagues washating on me, and I knew how bad it looked. Nobody liked a slacker, drama or not, and I’d brought enough drama today to last me a lifetime.
I didn’t need this, drawing attention to myself and getting Ben in trouble, because here he was, carrying two plates, still in his normal clothes with a chef’s apron tied messily around his waist.
“There,” he said quietly. “Eat. I put on extra pickles. I know you like them.”
We weren’t allowed lunch off the à la carte menu. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to even be in the restaurant break room and would no doubt at some point be called in for a chat with HR and end up on a disciplinary. Ben was the head chef and could probably get away with doing whatever he wanted—upper management and all that—but still. I hated that he might get into trouble for me.
He'd brought burgers. A normal-sized one for him, his plate piled high with chips, dipping sauce and lettuce leaves. Mine was a child’s portion. A mini burger and a small stack of chips. Something that would be served at a toddler’s birthday party, and I was honestly sick of it. Sick of myself.
I picked up a chip and put it carefully in my mouth. Chewed. Picked up another one, dipped it into the tomato sauce. Almost swallowed it whole. It was…
Breathing was difficult. Really difficult. But it was delicious. Comforting to the point that I wanted to cry.
I was sick of the world as I knew it, and once again, the filter was off. I greedily swapped plates, grabbed a handful of chips and shoved them in my mouth. They were too hot, scalding my tongue, but I didn’t care. I recognised the feeling now. I was starving. I’d been starving for more than a decade, and I’d had enough, because the feeling of food in my mouthwas overwhelming, like something I’d somehow lost and suddenly found again.
It felt good, all those heavenly flavours flooding my taste buds. I snatched the burger off his plate with both hands like I really was a toddler, then I shoved it in my mouth, taking a big, showy bite, juices running down my chin as I closed my eyes and for the first time today allowed myself to feel.
It was fine, to allow myself this. I deserved it. I deserved better than all the crap I’d put up with, and it had to change. All of it.
It felt so good to chew something that wasn’t a chemical bar of carefully put together nutrition. Sawdust shaped into a stick that kept me alive but didn’t fill me with guilt. I was done with guilt. I was done with being me. Done with having to think every time I put anything in my mouth.
I hadn’t felt alive. The sensations of the crisp pickle and sharp onion and juicy textures blending into something explosive in my mouth? This was being alive!
I was so lost in my own world that for a moment I’d forgotten Ben was there, watching me with a concerned look on his face.
“Hungry,” I slobbered out.
