Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

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Abby

My body feels as though it doesn’t belong to me as I stalk to the breakroom. I

feel like a puppet on strings that have been cut, like my limbs are made of lead

and my body might give out from beneath me at any moment.

When I’m alone in the breakroom once again, though, I can’t contain my fury

any longer.

“Dammit!” The word explodes out of my mouth, and without thinking, I whirl

around and let my shoe connect with the wall. There’s a faint but satisfying

crack, and when I pull away, there’s a slight dent where I unleashed my rage.

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It’s almost laughable, seeing how small the dent is. It’s like my own body won’t

even do what I want, let alone the ingredients on that stage out there.

My mind is whirling with so many thoughts that I barely even register the door

creaking open. But then that venomous voice, that voice that I’ll hear in my

nightmares for years to come, slices through the air like an arrow whizzing past

my ear.

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“Oh, Abby,” Daniel says, the sneer audible in his voice without me even having

to look at him. I can picture him without even turning around, that horrendous

smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Having a little tantrum, are we?”

“Don’t even start, Daniel,” I hiss, leaning on the counter, still not turning to face

him.

But he just chuckles. “What?” he says, coming closer now. “I’m allowed to be

concerned, aren’t I?”

I decide not to respond, but it seems as though that doesn’t satisfy Daniel. He

tuts, and I can feel my resolve beginning to crumble. “Boy, that sure was a mess

out there. You know, maybe it really should’ve been you dropping out, not

Bryan. It would have saved you the embarrassment.”

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms despite the sting of where they

dug in earlier. The pain anchors me, if only a little. I can’t give him the

satisfaction of letting him see me crumble.

But he continues, relentless as ever, his words dripping with condescension.

“But then again, it’s fitting, isn’t it? You never belonged here. You’re nothing but

a—”

I whirl around to face him, my eyes ablaze, my heart pounding in my chest. The

word he spits out next is vile, demeaning, and sexist.

“You’re nothing but a stupid little slut who belongs in the bedroom, not the

culinary world,” he hisses.

It’s as though something shatters inside of me. My resolve has crumbled; he

has won. I close the distance between us, my eyes shooting daggers at him.

“You,” I hiss, my voice trembling with the force of my anger, “are a disgusting

excuse for a chef. And an even worse excuse for a human being.”

His smile only widens, that infuriating, cocky smirk of a man who believes he

has already won. “Struck a nerve, have I?”

The muscles in my arm tense. Before I can stop myself, I’m stepping closer, my

arm raised, my hand poised to slap him across the face.

I know he deserves it. He’s a rat, a cockroach, a stain on this entire competition.

He not only sabotaged me and Karl, but he laughed while doing it, and now he

has the nerve to spit slurs in my face like it’s nothing.

Daniel’s eyes flick down. He quickly glances at my raised hand, and that’s finally

when I see it—the flicker of doubt in his gaze, the realization that he may have

finally pushed too far.

His smirk falters, if only for a moment, and in that fraction of a second, I can

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finally see him for what he really is—nothing more than a scared little boy in a

man’s body, hiding behind a loud mouth and a grating personality.

But then his calculated veneer reasserts itself, and he steps a little closer to me,

tilting his head to expose his cheek to me.

“Go ahead,” he goads, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. “Make my day, Abby.

You hit me, and I’ll love pressing charges. It’ll be a fun story to tell, how you and

your ‘sous chef’ are just a pair of violent criminals.”

The words are like a slap in the face, because he’s right.

“And then,” he leans in closer, “your precious little restaurant will be nothing but

a memory, shut down for good. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

My arm suddenly feels heavier than it should. Slowly, I lower my hand, letting it

fall back to my side, the weight of it grounding me just in time before I potentially

ruined everything I’ve worked so hard for.

I look away, my eyes stinging with tears that threaten to spill.

Daniel chuckles. “Ah, but she’s all bark and no bite, I see,” he teases, folding his

arms across his chest.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I murmur. “To be so cruel to a fellow chef,

in a field in which we all struggle to make it work, day in and day out. We should

be friends, allies, not… whatever this is.”

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