#116: Fallen: Fire and Redemption - Gathering Sheep
***Violet***
I wasn’t comfortable with the way I’d acted with Julian. I could see in his actions how much he was trying, doing everything and then some to make me happy, while I only knew how to retaliate with rudeness.
I even complained about the churros when I could’ve eaten thirty of them, they were so damn good. I have a weakness for carbs and fried stuff, sweets especially, even though I didn’t make them that often, because they felt like way more work than savory things.
It’s every chef’s battle, the war no one wants to face: pâtisserie.
But I was only thinking about that to ignore the bitter taste lingering at the back of my tongue as we stepped off the Ferris wheel, and I finally felt the weight of my actions crashing down on me along with the drizzle that ruined my blowout.
We ran to a stall that sold fries, with a tarp overhead and a few plastic tables. Julian ordered without asking me, knowing that in my state, I could’ve eaten the tables and chairs. But I felt bad, mostly because of one thing: I wanted to devour him.
The more he tried, put himself at my disposal, knelt in that silly way with his big shiny eyes looking up at me, hoping to ease the bitterness consuming me, the more I became addicted to having him like that.
But after months—crazy, chaotic months—I couldn’t feel like it was enough anymore. Cuddling while sleeping, kissing until we were breathless and our mouths turned purple, grinding with our clothes on until I felt like I could come just like that, with no effort at all. It was driving me crazy.
Because I created goals in my messed-up little head. I made up rules that only existed in the imaginary book written by my mind. And then I fought against them, as if real-life problems weren’t enough.
I was never puritan, and neither was Julian—obviously, considering how much of a dog he was, even if a loyal one. So this whole situation is unusual.
Months together, a getaway from the city, countless “I love yous” — on his part, obviously — and zero sex. Nothing.
That night, I planned everything, I was so sure of it, that the frustration ended up corrupting my desires. And now, it was Ethan’s birthday, and all I could focus on was how hot Julian looked in black.
It was contradictory and unfair, how tangled up my emotions were in a knot so twisted it was impossible to untangle. I didn’t know how much time I had with Julian before I messed it all up, because that’s what I did, I sabotaged things and just fucked up my life. But it was the truth. And I wanted to enjoy it while we were okay, together, living like a vanilla couple, as he’d said earlier.
It felt nice, this routine. Waking up together, stealing random kisses during the day while one of us was busy and the other was looking for something to do, since neither of us could handle idleness. Always finding more problems to keep our minds busy might be a way to ignore the obvious no one wants to say, and in our case, maybe it’s: we might be a ticking time bomb.
I want to believe we’re not, but my behavior shows otherwise. I ignore all that when he brings over the most beautiful portion of fries I’d seen in a while.
I looked back and saw the girl at the stall’s counter, looking miserable, but she had more talent than that place could offer her. I took a bite, then another, then a third—this was insanely good.
Now you might say: “Oh, Violet! It’s just fries, what’s the big deal?” And I’d punch you in the face instead of answering, because fries are precious and deserve proper care.
Just cutting and frying them makes them greasy, so there’s a whole process that has to be done. Try soaking them in ice water with baking soda, then pre-frying, freezing, and deep-frying. You can thank me later.
But it wasn’t just the girl’s fries that won me over, or that stunning pair of almond eyes that sparkled even from afar — I spoke like a guy, but sometimes I act like one too. Who am I kidding? They’d never look her in the eyes unless they were on her boobs.
“This herb aioli…” Julian shoved two fries into his mouth at once, squinting in a pleasure-filled expression that took my mind far beyond fries and pretty eyes—or boobs.
“Do you think she made it?” I asked, not-so-innocently.
He nodded. “Yeah, I saw her prepping more. Looked like it’s her dad’s stall from what I heard them arguing.”
“So she’s miserable?” I asked, but with a smile way too wide. Julian made a weird face until he relaxed and understood what I meant.
“She’s young, isn’t she?” He said it like a calf headed for slaughter.
“So am I, but I’m not gonna let you trade me for someone else.” I joked, and he rolled his eyes.
“You’re special. There’s a secret, something different you’re not telling me.” He shot back, tossing that unnecessary charm.
“Don’t start, not again. We almost didn’t make it off the Ferris wheel. I know the attendant looked away, but your pants…” He shushed me.
“No one else needs to know about my humiliations.” He whispered, laughing.
“If I were you, I’d be proud. Not every guy can flaunt a big…” He cut me off again, shoving a fry in my mouth. “Okay, let’s snatch this one? She seems promising, and frying fries is an art.”
“Fine, but you do the recruiting. I already got in trouble trying to poach waiters from that Japanese restaurant. The owner almost beat me up.” I laughed at the memory—it was a close call.
I stole his sauce container and scraped the last bit with the two leftover fries. I winked at the face he made, annoyed, and got up to approach the girl.
It was a good distraction. Great for the restaurant because we needed help, and because she seemed way too sad for someone in the prime of life. I know, I’m in no position to talk, but I wanted to try.
That way, I could keep myself busy without burning up in the kitchen. I could forget about Ethan for today and how badly I wanted to sit on Julian’s face every five seconds, and focus on a new goal: gathering sheep for the slaughter.