It is sitting in the center of our kitchen table, calling my name, telling me to eat it. I
valiantly ignore the call for all of ten seconds until my defenses are ruthlessly battered
down by a breeze that brings me a whiff of its delicious scent.
As quietly as I can, I pull out a chair and sit down, my eyes fixated on it. I know I
shouldn’t eat it. I will probably be relegated to the couch for at least a month. But how can
I resist? The crust is perfectly browned and looks like it has the exact amount of crisp to
satisfy my taste. And the apples appear to be suitably gooey.
Anyone else would have already eaten it so my having resisted this long should count for
something, like only two weeks on the couch.
I listen intently and upon hearing nothing conclude that my lover is occupied in another room.
If he does not see me eat it I could always claim someone had stolen it or that I had
accidentally thrown it out. He might believe it if I look cute enough.
It is still calling my name and I finally cave in, reaching across the table and bringing the
plate closer to me. I pick it up and slowly bring it up to my mouth, savoring the
anticipation of the first bite. I finally take a bite and all but moan as my taste buds are
overwhelmed with apples, cinnamon and sugar. I chew slowly, trying to draw out this wonderful
experience for as long as possible.
This slowness, however, does not last long as I find myself quickly devouring the pie, unable
to get enough of this wonderful taste. And before I know it, it is gone.
I lick my fingers, smiling to myself, when I am startled out of my afterglow by a loud shriek.
I look up, horrified, to see my lover standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at the empty
plate in front of me.
“That was MY apple pie, Hisoka!”
Notes: I hate apple pie :P
