If someone has ever told you that emptiness isn’t an emotion…or a feeling. Well they’re wrong, and you knew this now because you were sitting in bed clutching your stomach as it howled its misery. Yes, you had stopped eating.
It wasn’t a gradual thing; it was really more of a snap decision really.
And why had you decided to do this?
One word. Francis.
No, he hadn’t insulted you on your weight. None of his friends did, but still a bit of fat here and there when compared to your extremely good looking boyfriend made you feel unworthy of being with such an amazing and beautiful human being.
“___________,” a voice from the crack of your open door called, “___________, are you alright?”
“No,” you moaned as your stomach called for food.
That’s when Francis took the liberty and walked into your room. “___________, you haven’t eaten in the past few days. Get up, you need to eat.”
You shook your head and turned over on your other side.
“Cheri, s'il vous plait. Get up,” he whispered into your ear. Tickling your neck with his scraggily chin.
“F-Francis, stop,” you half giggled half moaned.
“Non,” he whispered sexily and kissed your neck gently.
You groaned and turned over to look at him, “Francis…please go away…”
“Amour, come on,” he whispered pulling at your arms.
“Francis, I don’t want to,” you whined.
Sighing Francis picked you up and carried you to the kitchen.
“Francis, I said no! Put me down!” You shouted.
Francis didn’t until he set you on the kitchen counter. “Now I’m going to make you dinner. What do you want?”
You crossed your arms and pouted, “I’m not hungry.” Sighing Francis started to make chicken. Finally the smell got to you and you slid off the counter and hugged Francis from behind, “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Francis asked, clearly playing with you.
“I’m sorry,” you said a little louder.
He smirked, “Hmm, I can’t quite hear you.”
“I’M FREAKINGSORRY, OK?”
He laughed, “Now, tell me in French.”
He turned around to see your scowl.
“Come on now, cheri, just say it.” He pressed his nose against yours.
“Je suis désolé,” you grumbled.
He smiled, “Good girl,” he mumbled pressing his lips against yours. Sneakily he snaked his arms around your waist pulling you closer. And you put your arms around his neck.
Francis then licked your bottom lip and you granted him entrance. The two of you broke as he lifted you up and you put your legs around his waist. While he kissed up and down your neck you moaned, “Francis…”
“Hmm.”
“I love you,” you moaned.
He smiled against your skin, “Tell me in French.”
You groaned as his scratchy chin scraped against your now wet neck, “Je t'aime…”
Francis continued his work on your neck.
That’s when you started smelling smoke. “Francis…”
“Hmm…”
“You’re food is smoking!”
“Ahh!” he snapped his neck up and set you down quickly then tried to put out his mini fire.